Page 57 of Royal Bosshole

“I know, I know. So you wouldn't put pressure on her, but then at the end of the day she didn't know how you really felt. And there you are, over in Lenovia, miserable, I imagine. Just think about it. Come on over, see how she's doing. Share everything, and then, if she's still not interested, then you could move on. That's how moving on works, you know. You need closure first.”

I'd honestly been thinking about it for days, especially after my talk with my dad. I'd been so stark in my mind that she would never forgive me for what I did. But what if she would? What if she thought about me as much as I thought about her?

“You're right. I've been thinking about it, Peter.”

“Really? God, I thought you'd take more convincing. So, when are you coming?”

I hadn't thought that my answer had sounded very convincing, but now that I'd said it, I knew I needed to go. My dad was right. If there was a chance that there was happiness somewhere, I needed to find it. I was losing Lenovia anyway. I had nothing else to lose.

“I don't know, a few days, I guess? Do you know anything about her gigs and when she's singing?”

“I'll send you the info. I've been hanging out at the coffee shop a bit more and been kind of seeing the manager of that place. Jen. She and Lily are good friends. She'll help you.”

I grinned. “Good for you, Peter.”

“Yeah, well, it's still early.” But I could hear his smile through the phone. “Now go pack. I'll send you the information. Can't wait to see you, man.”

“You too.” I hung up and went back into my father's room.

When I sat back down again, he was awake.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you by talking on the phone.”

“It's perfectly alright, son. Now, it sounds like you're ready to get your head out of your ass.”

I laughed. I laughed so hard that tears came to my eyes. “Yes, Father, I am.”

“Good. Now get the hell out of here.”

* * *

LILY

I wasn't sure what it was, but James had been on my mind even more lately. It had been about three days since my interview, and I'd had a few dreams about him since then. No one had mentioned him or anything, but I had this weird feeling that somehow, he'd seen the interview. He'd seen that singing, and he knew about everything. It made me happy, but at the same time, it made me uncertain. Every time I saw a dark-haired man with tall, broad shoulders around, I thought it was him. And every time I heard an accent that wasn't American, I instantly thought he'd come back for me.

You need to get a serious hold of yourself, Princess Lilian.

I had started calling myself by my princess name when I was not behaving. It made me laugh and it felt stupid. But I felt like it was something my grandmother would have done if she had been the one to tell me about everything.

I thought that over time I'd forget about him. That it would get easier with each day. But it only got worse. Chest tightening, muscle tension, aching, warm desperation. The man I still annoyingly loved.

“You ready?” Harriet asked while inside the back room of Bogart’s.

“Yeah,” I said, sipping down my white wine. “You said it's going to be a big crowd tonight, huh?”

“Definitely. Especially after that interview.” She winked at me. “I'm trying to use you as much as possible before you get too famous to come here anymore.”

“Are you kidding, Harriet?” I asked with a laugh. “I will always want to come here. This is my favorite era of time. That whole jazzy twenties/thirties thing going on here? Men with suspenders. I’ve got a huge thing for it.”

She laughed. “You are a girl after my own heart,” she said in all seriousness. “Now get up on backstage. I'm going to announce you.”

“Great. I'll be there in a sec.” I finished off my wine, and I ran over the words to the song I was going to sing that night.

Harriet wanted me to sing “Cold-hearted Prince.” My hit song.

Maybe that was why he was on my mind so much. Lately, I'd been practicing and practicing knowing that the crowd was going to be pretty big tonight, knowing that I had a few more gigs lined up and I needed everything to be perfect.

The makeup artist had done wonders with my hair and face, but I still touched it and adjusted it, hoping it looked all right. It was good that I couldn't see everyone with the bright lights. But the bright lights meant they could seriously see me.

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