Page 52 of Fa-La La-La Land
I close my eyes and drift back to sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Rhys
When Stella introduces her mum to me in the Salt Lake City airport, Gia Sparks surprises me by throwing her arms around my neck and pecking me on the lips.
Before I know what’s happening, she’s got my face between her thumb and fingers.
“You are even more beautiful in real life, Rhys James,” she says, squeezing my cheeks.
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Sparks,” I say, glancing around the airline’s private lounge to make sure no one’s recognized me. Derek is nearby keeping watch, but Gia isn’t exactly helping with the whole low-profile thing, and for a “private” lounge, the place is packed.
“No ‘Mrs. Sparks’ for you, Rhys James. You call me Gia.”
“Mamma, keep your voice down,” Stella says, prying Gia’s hands from my cheeks. “And you don’t need to call him by his full name unless you want photographers following us all over Italy.”
Gia scoffs. “In my town, there is nothing to photograph. No one moves fast enough to even think of taking a picture. The only thing Rhys has to fear is getting too bored.”
“They wouldn’t be there to take pictures of Stagno. They’d be there to take pictures of him!” Stella hisses through her teeth.
Gia smiles at me while digging through her purse. “He is very beautiful. Even more beautiful than you said.”
Stella’s face turns three shades of red, and I laugh—until Gia pulls out her phone and snaps a photo.
“Mamma!” Stella whisper-yells.
“We’re on holiday! I must make a record.” Gia tucks away her purse, slides her arm through mine, and steers me from the buffet I was about to attack. “Don’t eat too much airplane food. I will feed you when we get to Stagno. My sister, Angela, is already preparing.”
“Mamma, let him eat. We’ve got a nine-hour flight.” Stella tugs me back.
Gia throws up her hands. “Have it your way, but don’t blame me when the airplane food makes him too sick to eat the good stuff when we get to Italy.”
She rattles off dishes I don’t recognize, but she’s convincing enough that I only take two slices of banana bread instead of three. I’ve known Gia thirty seconds and already know why Stella is who she is.
Our trip to Italy is short—only a few days—and while we’re flying first class, it’s been a fair bit since I’ve flown commercial. When I haven’t been on VibeHouse’s jet, I’ve been on Archie’s. I’m more on edge than usual, worrying about being recognized. This trip’s not about me; it’s about Stella and Gia. I don’t want anything, especially fans, to ruin it. The whole point is for Stella to cross things off her list and for Gia to reconnect with family.
To maintain some privacy, we’re the last people to board the plane, and we’ll be the first off when we land in Pisa. Stella didn’t want Gia flying alone, so we flew from LA to Salt Lake so we could fly the rest of the way together.
Once we’re on the plane, I’m restless. I can’t move around the plane without risking a hundred people noticing me or snapping photos. But when my brain won’t stop, I surf or I pace. Can’t do either of those here.
Winter Lights is only a month away, and the song Danny’s sent me, “Under the Christmas Lights,” is the musical equivalent of mass-produced wrapping paper. Painfully generic, built for a Target commercial. I haven’t done more than glance through it. Every time I set up to practice it in my studio, I end up singing “December Dreams” or my version of “Fa-La La-La Land” or one of the other songs I’ve been messing with.
I’m supposed to rehearse with the band and start learning the choreography the Monday after Thanksgiving. I’ve never been this under-prepared for a concert.
I did what Stella wanted and played “December Dreams” for Danny. Didn’t get to the bridge before he shot me down. Said it was “nice, but not you.” Maybe someone else—Noah Kahan, Zach Bryan—could pull it off. He reckons I can’t.
I’d like to prove him wrong. The fact I can’t riles me every time I try to practice the mindless song Danny claims is “catchy, festive, totally on-brand—exactly what Winter Lights needs.” Which he follows up with promises like, “You’ll thank me when the streams roll in.”
Can’t pictureeverthanking him for making me sing lines like:
Under the Christmas lights,
Everything’s shiny and new,
Under the Christmas lights,
All I want is you.
