Page 80 of Fa-La La-La Land
And so many more. I raise my eyes to Stella, who’s grinning so wide, my own grin slips out.
“Is this for real?” I whisper.
“Are you serious?” she squeals. “Rhys! The only one who’s surprised by these likes is you. I’ve been telling you how good those songs are. Do you believe me now?”
My smile fades, and I hand her mobile back. “It’s all fleeting. Everyone who loves my songs today could change their minds tomorrow.”
In the blink of an eye, Stella’s expression hardens. “So what? Doyoulove those songs?”
Her laser-focused gaze holds me too tightly, making me squirm. She’s needling for a confession I don’t want to cough up. It’s hard enough to have the songs I’m proudest of out in public before I’m ready—beforethey’reready. Admitting I love them will only make it hurt worse when so-called fans move on.
“Rhys.” The tenderness in her voice draws my eyes back to hers, and my chest eases.
“All this engagement is good for your career,” she says. “But those comments don’t have anything to do with who you are. The songs are a piece of you, not all of you. If you’re the only one who loves them, that’s enough.” Stella threads her fingers through mine and tugs me closer, looking up at me with those dark, steady eyes that see every part of me. “Know your worth.”
Her emphasis on the last words and her soft expression free the joy I’ve guarded like something fragile I’ve been too scared to touch.
“I do love them, La-La.”
“So do I. And I’ll never stop loving them because they helped me see who you really are.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’s that?” I loop my arms around her waist, leaning closer, but she slips away before I can close the gap.
“I’ll show you.” She scrolls through her mobile, then shows me video she took yesterday while I was singing to Lynette and the other people at the Garden. Then she pulls up another of me serving soup, smiling at people in line, and another of me wrapping a blanket around an older man who looked half-frozen.
“This is who you are, Rhys,” she says, showing me clip after clip. “Someone who feels and cares deeply. Someone who wants to use music not only to make people happy but also to sit with them through the hard stuff.”
“That’s what you see?” I tear my eyes away from Stella’s mobile and find her studying me.
“Of course it is. That’s what I want everyone to see…”
I lift my eyebrows. “You want to post these.”
Stella nods. “Only if you want, but I think we should before you listen to those messages from Danny.” She points to the last video, still playing, of me talking to Lynette over our steaming cups of coffee. “You’re going to need fan support if Danny and VibeHouse come after you. We need to take control of the narrative now and tellyourstory.”
I smile and fold her into my arms. “How’d a bloke like me get so lucky to have you in my life?”
“I reckon you’ve been a very good boy this year.” She snuggles into my chest, squeezing me tight. “I think you might even get what you asked Santa for, just not in the way you expected.”
I try to pull back to question her about how she knows what I asked for, but she’s clinging too tight, and truth is, I don’t want to let her go. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Stella
The peace and quiet was nice while it lasted—all thirty seconds of it. That’s about all Rhys and I get for the rest of the day because not even a major storm system can keep the spotlight from finding him. I’m just glad this time it’s the kind he deserves, illuminating all the good things about him instead of searching for him like he’s an escaped criminal.
While I stitch together clips of him helping with the rescue, Rhys doesn’t listen to Danny’s voicemails. The texts and messages from his parents and friends are more important. They tell him everything he needs to hear: they love his music, and they’re proud of him.
And once I’ve posted my rescue video on his accounts, we turn our attention to the comments on the viral video of him. He chooses the most frequent questions and remarks, then with the fireplace and Christmas tree in the background, I record his responses, including to the question about whether he’ll be singing “Cinnamon” and the new “Fa-La” at Winter Lights Live.
Rhys looks right into the camera with his perfected smolder. “Yeah, mate. ‘Course I am. Hope to see you there.”
He ends with a wink, but as soon as my camera’s off, his smolder disappears, replaced by a shrewd but nervous smirk. “No walking that one back once it’s posted.”
“I don’t have to put it up, but I think forcing Danny’s hand is the only way to deal with him. People love the songs. He’s too smart to walk away from money on the table just to prove he’s in charge.” I want to reassure Rhys as his girlfriend, but right now I’m his social media strategist. “What’s happening on TikTok and Insta isn’t only about engaging content—it’s about leveraging that content to get what you want. What you deserve.”
I’m five feet away from him, but as soon as Rhys lifts his hooded gaze to me, I know I’m in trouble.
