Page 50 of Fa-La La-La Land
My heart threatens to crack with the truth of what Stella’s said. I want to believe her, but my whole career is at risk, and I’m not sure she’s right. “This…” I point to myself. “Is the Rhys you called grumpy and boring.”
Stella winces. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry. But I’ve shown you what I really think about you. If you give your fans some time, they’ll grow to like you. Same way I have.”
Stella steps closer, but I step back. Herlikedrives me away.
Maybe it’s opening up in the song that’s done it, but I can’t stop the feelings that come out. Letting a drop of emotionbesides happiness into my music has opened the floodgates. Hearing Stella say shelikesme doesn’t help. Like isn’t big enough for the way I feel about her.
“I don’t want to beliked—I want to be loved. They love the old Rhys. Your job’s to show I’m still him.”
Her head snaps back. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
“It’s not working,” I bark.
Stella goes quiet and levels me with a steely gaze. “Because it’s not authentic. It’s not you. And you need to stop pretending that it is. It’s not about people loving you, Rhys. It’s about loving yourself. It’s about knowing your worth comes from inside, not outside.”
Her jaw tightens, like she’s gearing up for a fight, but I’ve got no answer for her. We stare at each other for what seems like a lifetime before she turns on her heel and hurries back to the pool house.
I watch her, wondering how a girl from backwater Idaho with no experience in the real world can be so sure she knows what she’s talking about. Or why I think she might be right.
Knowing my worth takes more work than affirmations said to myself in the mirror. Wish I knew the next step to get me there.
Chapter Sixteen
Stella
Iwalk back to my place, hoping Rhys might stop me, but he doesn’t. Once inside, I lean against the door, replaying everything—Rhys’s song, the fight, the look on his face when I walked away. This thing between us is so new, I don’t know if we just had our first fight or if I ended something that could’ve been great.
I push away from the door and make it as far as the couch before the fuzzy blanket there beckons to come cuddle. I flop down, pull the blanket over me, then prop a Santa pillow under my head. I smell sandalwood. Rhys used this pillow.
If I can recognize his scent, maybe I know him better than I thought. That’s how I felt listening to his song, too.
All I could think while it was playing was that I was hearing therealRhys James—that and wondering whether the song was about me. I don’t want to get too in my head about it, but he had a lot to say—sing—about Christmas and brown eyes. Those are kind of my thing. Sure, a lot of people with brown eyes might also love Christmas, but how many of thembelievein it, like I do?
I bury my nose in the pillow and take a deep breath, but I don’t smell Rhys. A laugh scrapes out of my throat. I imagined his scent lingering here, just like I’m imagining he wrote those lyrics about me. EvenIcan spot wishful thinking when it’s right in front of my face. Or, in my head.
Who could blame me? Any woman with an ounce of romance in her would want “December Dreams” to be about her. The lyrics are so tender and heartfelt. I’ve heard nothing like it from Rhys—on stage or in person—but itfeltso authentically him.
In the last few weeks, what I’ve discovered is that both Rhys’s grumpy exterior in real life and his hyper-showy persona on stage are masks that hide someone much deeper, much more sensitive and caring than I ever imagined. The Rhys I’ve seen day in and day out is so much better than the Rhys I fantasized about for years. Everyone should get to know that Rhys. Not as thoroughly as I hope to, but he could at least give the public a glimpse of his artistic sensitivity.
But pushing him to share that song might just push him away. He could easily fire me or disappear from my life altogether. Even as new as my feelings for him are, and despite how hard I fought against falling for him, I’m not ready to let him go. So, as much as he deserves to create art that’s authentic to who he is and who he’ll become—not who hewas—I think I have to resist shoving him in the direction I want him to go. I don’t want to do the same thing to him that Danny’s already done.
What I want to do is apologize, but I hear the advice Georgia’s given me more than once: give it a second. It’s just past eight, but the only thing that can coax me out of my cocoon is the button on my jeans digging into my stomach. I unwind myself from the blanket long enough to put on my favorite Christmas jammies: flannel shorts and a tank top with a rock star Santa printedall over them.
Then it’s back to the sofa and my blankie. I wish I could call Mom and ask for her advice, but she doesn’t know Rhys and I have been seeing each other. I’m the one who insisted we keep our relationship private, and I’ve held myself to that rule.
Britta and Dex don’t even know. They suspect, thanks to the barbecue disaster a few days ago. I burned everything, but every time Rhys took a bite, he said how delicious the food was, even though no one else could pretend to choke down. More than once, Britta caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. On her way out, she whispered, “Something you want to tell me?”
Not now, there isn’t.
Which leaves me with one option. I grab my phone and pull up my purchased Amazon movies, scroll toIt’s a Wonderful Life,and send it to the TV. I don’t always watch the classic before Thanksgiving, but I know it will give me the cathartic release I need right now.
I cry when George thinks all is lost, again when the town saves him, and again when Clarence gets his wings. By the credits, Jimmy Stewart’s done exactly what I needed—made me cry. I dry my eyes, wondering if it’s too late to text Rhys an apology. Before I’ve finished typing, my phone dings with a text from Rhys:
There’s only one person I want to share this with. You.
Seconds later, an attachment appears with the title “December Dreams.” A staggered laugh escapes my chest, and I open the file to listen again. By the last line, I’m flooded with the same emotions I felt a few hours ago. The song issoooogood. Aside from my yearly letters from Dad, this may be the best gift I’ve ever received. Rhys has offered me a piece of his heart. I want to keep it safe and all tomyself.
Which is what I’ll do for now, even though I don’t think that’s what’s best for Rhys. Letting people see the real Rhys is the key to reviving his career. As much as I want this song to be only mine, when the time is right, I’ll encourage him to share it. Because Rhys without a music career won’t be Rhys. And Rhys acting as anyone other than himself on stage isn’t making him happy.
