Page 106 of Cherry Beats

“That was so much worse than outside of VINYL!”

“As the band gets bigger, the crowds get thicker,” Dicky muttered, crossing his leg over the other and slinking back into the leather seat as he, too, picked up his phone and began scrolling through it. “And now it’s going to get worse before it ever gets better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I dared myself to ask, annoyed by yet another man thinking he could intimidate me with his shitty mind games. Freddie, Rhett, and Dicky could go fuck themselves with their behaviour.

He glared up from under his thick eyebrows, not leaving room for misinterpretation on how he felt about my presence.

“I mean, Tessa, now that you’re on the scene, the press will be even keener to get closer to the band.” He pointed a lazy finger at Presley. “It may have escaped your notice, but you happen to be screwing around with England’s most eligible bachelor. Scrap that… theworld’smost eligible bachelor.”

“Watch your tongue, Dicky,” Presley growled, his body tensing beside mine.

“No.” I touched his arm, keeping him in place. “Let him finish. Let him say what he has to say. Let him get it off his chest once and for all.”

I saw the slight twitch of Dicky’s nostrils. “Do you know the one thing people adore more than good music, Tess? A love story.” He uncurled his legs and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he glanced between the two of us. “A scandal is great, but it’s the love story they want, and you’ve given that to them now. They’ll enjoy nothing more than building you two up and being a part of your creation, and then when they’ve had enough of that, they’ll enjoy nothing more than tearing you apart. Whether you want to admit this to yourself or not, there’s no going back for you after this. You can’t return to your normal life and simply be that girl who once jumped on a private jet with Presley West.”

Presley groaned, and I squeezed his arm tighter, letting him know that I was okay.

“If you think that you can slide into this life and hide in the shadows, hide behind the stage curtains, lock yourself away in hotel rooms and eat room service for the rest of your days without being detected, you’re wrong. If you think you can slip back behind that bar you love working at so much after this, you’re wrong.”

“Dicky,” Julia sighed, somewhat defeated by the realities around us as she glanced down at her feet.

Dicky glanced between Presley and me, his face serious. “If either one of you thinks I’m here to stop whatever you’ve got going on then you’re wrong. I’m not going to be that guy, and if I’ve learnt anything in my life while working with musicians, it’s that if you tell them to go one way with their careers, they’ll sure as shit do the exact opposite. I’m not trying to be the Debbie Downer of this band, but I am going to give you guys one piece of advice before this adventure of yours really kicks in, and I’m going to hope like hell you take it.

“Whatever skeletons you’ve got hidden in your closets, get them out in the open with each other as soon as possible because the one thing that can blow this whole thing to shit for both of you is unexpected truths being splashed across the front page of every newspaper that exists. If you’re not honest with each other now, that shit will sting like a bitch when it comes out. If you’ve got nothing to hide, you stand a better chance of not hating each other once this affair of yours is over.”

Over?

The possibility winded me.

What scared me more, though, was the look on Presley’s face as he turned away from me and stared out at the sea of flashing lights beyond the tinted windows.

A look that said he had secrets.

Ones he didn’t want to share with anybody.

Not even me.

Chapter Thirty-Four

We soon arrived at another swanky hotel. The Four Seasons was situated just off the Champs-Élysées, where we ushered past the few waiting paparazzi who had figured out where the band were staying.

People I didn’t know were buzzing around me—the apartment we’d been thrown into this time was away from the other guys in the band. It was a separate room for Presley and me—one with enough space, yet again, to hold at least a hundred people. I stood there spinning slowly, looking at each stranger’s face milling around while Presley took everything in his stride.

“You doing okay over here?” Julia whispered in my ear from behind me.

“Who are all these people?” I asked, pointing at one guy whose jeans were so far down his arse, I couldn’t figure out how they were staying up.

“Roadies, PR people, crew.” She shrugged. “Life in the band demands zero privacy.” She smiled with sympathy. “It’s one big family where everyone knows everyone, and people come and go as they please.”

All I wanted was an hour alone with Presley. An hour to ground myself—to remind my heart why we were doing this and who we were here for—him. Always him. Perhaps a little for myself, too.

“Don’t listen to what Dicky said, Tessa. The hardest part won’t be the media and their lies.” Julia reached up and squeezed my shoulder, leaning in. “The hardest part will always be having to share him. With us, with the crew, the band, the fans.”

Before I could question her on that, she walked away, leaving me standing there, searching for Presley in a small sea of strangers.

As soon as my suitcase was dumped inside the room, I distracted myself by dragging it over to the side, away from the madness, and I opened it up, needing to grab my toiletries and wash the day away. A few minutes later, the shower water rained down on me, drowning out the noise—drowning out the racing sound of my heart. My hands pushed through the wet tendrils of my hair as I tried to enjoy the temporary peace of my own thoughts.

I’m in Paris.

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