Page 82 of One More Made Up Love Song
“Great. Thanks, guys,” an event organizer says, motioning for us to move forward. I hold out a hand to Ivy, and she joins me from where she and Laney were standing off to the side. We walk toward Vivica Rose, an entertainment reporter who’s smiling wide, microphone at the ready. I’ve met her before, so I greet her by name and introduce Ivy, then she comments on our matching bracelets.
“These were made by Jace’s daughter, Annie,” I say, holding up my wrist. “I think she’s got a future in fashion.”
“It must be so special to be here with the rest of the band members from Midnight Rush,” Vivica says to me. “And, of course, with the new love in your life. Congratulations, by the way. I want to talk about romance in just a moment, but first, can you tell me a little about what it’s like to be with your bandmates again?”
Ivy squeezes my hand once, and I squeeze it back.
“It’s great,” I answer. “Jace, Leo, Adam—they’re my best friends in the world. Whenever we’re together, we just fall back into it. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Even though we aren’t making music together regularly, over the past year, we’ve been talking or texting almost every day. And we’re proud of the song that’s a part of this incredible movie we’re all celebrating. So, yeah. It’s amazing to be here and to share the evening with them.”
“Good answer,” Ivy whispers. “You make this look easy.”
“And it must also be special to have Ivy with you,” Vivica says, shifting the microphone to Ivy. “Is this overwhelming for you?”
I drop her hand and slip my arm around her, resting my palm on the small of her back.
“It’s definitely a different experience being on this side of things as opposed to behind the scenes,” she says, “but I’m proud of Freddie and just happy to be here with him, soaking it all in.”
I look down at her and grin. She thinks I make this look easy? She’s a natural.
“Okay, I’ve got a very specific question, if you don’t mind me getting personal.”
I expect Vivica to turn the microphone back to me, but she keeps it in front of Ivy.
“You’ve worked with Freddie for a number of years, but as far as I understand it, the romantic part of your relationship is relatively new. Was there a specific moment when you realized your feelings for him had shifted into something more?”
I’m about to tell Ivy she doesn’t have to answer, but then she nods.
“I actually remember the exact moment,” she says. “We were on tour—which, we’re almostalwayson tour—and we got word from security that a mom and daughter outside the gates had a problem with their tickets and couldn’t get in. I don’t remember what happened—something about the ticket account having been hacked and their seats transferred to someone else. Whatever the reason, they couldn’t get in, and the daughter was completely devastated.”
I remember the concert Ivy is talking about, and I’m impressed with her quick thinking. That she was able to recall a memory so easily.
“So the security team messaged us to see if there was anything we could do,” Ivy continues. “I told Freddie about it, and he immediately popped up off the couch in his dressing room, grabbed a couple of security guys, and went in search of them. It was a nightmare for security. He literally just ran through the crowds like it was no big deal, and everyone was watching and freaking out. But then he found this mom and her kid, and he crouched down in front of the little girl—she was probably eleven or twelve?—and told her he’d love for her to be his special guest at the concert.” Ivy looks up at me one more time, the gold in her eyes brighter than usual as she says, “I respected Freddie from day one. He makes that very easy because he’s genuinely a good man. But that day—” She licks her lips and something in her expression shifts. “That’s when I realized I was in love with him. That’s when everything changed.”
Ivy’s words wash over me, sending a wave of heat pushing out to my fingertips and down to my toes. I know she’s pretending, playing it up for the narrative we’re trying to sell, but her words land like truth, and I have no idea what to do with that possibility.
Except her wordscan’tbe true, because the experience she’s talking about happened well over three years ago. It wasn’t even the same tour we’re on now.
If she’s telling the truth, does that mean…?
Is it possible she’s had feelings for me all this time?
The yearning that swells in my chest is almost painful.
Iwanther to be telling the truth.
Desperately.
Beside me, Ivy clears her throat, elbowing me gently in the ribs, and brings my focus back to the present. Clearly, Vivica has asked me a question, and I completely missed it.
“Sorry, I—” I look down at Ivy. “You’ve never told me that.”
She shrugs her shoulders like it’s no big deal. “You never asked.”
Vivica repeats her last question for me, something about the new album and when fans can expect an update, then we say goodbye and we’re ushered to the next interview.
No one digs quite as deeply as Vivica did, keeping things relatively surface level, which is good for me. Because in my mind, I’m thinking through countless interactions with Ivy in a new light.
Has she truly been standing right in front of me all this time, hiding feelings I didn’t know she had—and I’ve never noticed? Over the past couple of weeks, so many things have come into focus for me. Ivy’s brilliance, her sharp wit, her unending loyalty. How incredibly beautiful she is, like she is tonight, red-carpet ready, but also at home in her pajamas with her curls piled on top of her head and an oversized hoodie hiding everything from her shoulders down to her knees.
