Page 23 of One More Made Up Love Song
I don’t expect a reply, so I’m not surprised when one doesn’t come through. I send a few more texts to a couple of Carina’s friends—the ones who are enough of my friends that I also have their numbers—but no one responds with anything helpful.
I make my way back to her Instagram feed, but this time, I click over to the posts she’s tagged in and not just the ones she’s posted herself.
The most recent image makes my stomach fall into my shoes.
Carina is smiling, and she looks great. Gorgeous and healthy, her eyes wide and bright. It’s the other person in the photo who concerns me.
I zoom in, pulling the woman’s face into focus just to make sure I’m not seeing things. But there’s no mistaking it. Carina’s arm is draped over Margot Valemont’s shoulders. And Margot Valemont has never been anything but bad news.
At least when it comes to Freddie.
I sigh and drop my phone into my lap, lifting my fingers to my temples.
Margot is an influencer—the daughter of a very wealthy fashion designer—and has an enormous presence on social media. Carina met her briefly, outside of Freddie’s releaseparty for his last album, but I had no idea they knew each other well enough for Carina to show up in Margot’s Instagram photos. And I can’t shake the certainty that however this happened, the fact that I work for Freddie and Carina ismysister has something to do with it.
Freddie’s history with Margot is pretty straightforward. They went out a couple of times when he was still part of Midnight Rush. They were both teenagers and it didn’t go anywhere. But Margot had a harder time with that than Freddie did, and since then, she’s developed a habit of dropping his name whenever it suits her purposes. Every time they happen to be in the same place, she latches onto him like they’re long-lost friends. She tags him in photos of parties he hasn’t attended. She mentions him in interviews, hinting just enough to keep rumors going that they’ve been in an on-again, off-again relationship for years.
I can easily imagine Margot reaching out to Carina on purpose—a way to narrow the degrees of separation between her and Freddie just a little bit more.
Which, rumors are just rumors. And most of the time, they don’t matter.
But Margot has…shall we say…acomplicatedreputation. She’s known for throwing days-long parties wilder than anything any normal person could imagine. She’s been arrested multiple times on a variety of charges—shoplifting, driving under the influence, malicious destruction of personal property. The list is long, but not as long as the line of zeroes at the end of her father’s bank account balance, so she’s never been held accountable. At least not publicly.
The point is, with Freddie’s newly rehabbed reputation, the last thing he needs is for his name to appear in aheadline anywhere near Margot’s. Which means Carina needs to get away from Margot—the sooner the better.
I switch back to my text thread and send another message.
Ivy
Hey. Are you with Margot? Carina, it’s not a good idea. Can you call me? Wherever you are, I can help you leave. Send a car. Buy you a plane ticket. Whatever you need.
Back on Instagram, I click over to Margot’s account. I can’t find anything else that suggests she and Carina are still together, but Carina’s lack of response is still concerning. The photo of the two of them was posted just yesterday. It looks like they’re at a beach, but the background is generic enough that it could beanybeach. East Coast, West Coast, or anywhere else.
I could always just call Margot and ask where they are. I doubt Freddie still has her number, but he could get it if he wanted it.
But if word got back to Margot that Freddie was looking for her, he’d never hear the end of it. And neither would the paparazzi. I’ve never known any celebrity—if you can even call Margot a celebrity—who leans into tabloid attention more than she does.
Which means—maybe I just leave this alone?
Carina’s an adult. She’s got enough sense in her head to take care of herself.
But she’s usually pretty good at responding to text messages, so her lack of response is more concerning than not.
I turn off my phone and lean my head back against thecrate, closing my eyes. The bass from Freddie’s show reverberates through my body, making my ribs rattle, but I’m so used to it at this point, I hardly notice the noise.
“Thank you,” Freddie says to the crowd when a particularly loud eruption of cheers comes to a stop. “I’m liking the energy here tonight, but we’re going to slow things down for a minute. Do we have any couples in the crowd?”
Another cheer fills the stadium.
“A few, then,” Freddie jokes. “What about right here in the front row? The two of you? You’re together?”
I can’t hear the other side of Freddie’s conversation, but it’s easy enough to follow along. It helps that he does this every show—finds a couple in the crowd before singing his first single from his first solo album. As far as love songs go, it’s pretty perfect. Freddie is tagged in wedding videos multiple times a day by couples who use it for their first dance, even years after its release. It’s still trending on TikTok, and rightly so. Even though Freddie’s music is strongly pop, “Only Always” has a more timeless vibe to it, and the lyrics are smart enough that they don’t really get stale.
I tend to get tired of music really fast, cycling stuff through my playlist regularly, but evenIstill like this song. Which is saying a lot.
“How many years have you been together?” I hear Freddie ask. “Ten?” he says, after another pause. “And tonight is your anniversary?”
I stretch and climb off the box, knowing that the next time Freddie is backstage, he’ll ask me to get a gift basket to the couple in the front row. It’s become somewhat of a game for me to anticipate when and if Freddie will request one,mostly so I can give him a smug look when he asks and I get to tell him it’s already done.
