Page 15 of Sangria

“Van is flipping the hell out because you were flirting with that extra.” My face must morph into something dangerous because Darian steps back and raises his hands as ifthatis going to protect him from the beatdown he’s about to receive.

“In case you’ve forgotten Big Brother, Van cheated. Not just emotionally but physically in the worst way possible. If he had kissed another woman, I’d probably be able to forgive him after he groveled for a year, but he gave himself to someone else when he vowed that I would be the only one. If Van has a problem with me talking to the father of the girl who is the lead in our video, he can take it up with Laura. . . oh wait, he’s sleeping with her too, not to mention he has a girlfriend already.”

“I’m just saying—”

“What exactly? That I’m supposed to open my arms and let that piece of shit back into my life?”

“What? Hell no,” he says, shaking his head. “We’re at work. I told him he needs to remain professional, and so do you.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s right. Not that I was flirting with the man outside, but even if I were, that’s my choice and my business. Darian pulls me into a hug and rests his chin on top of my head.

“I know shit’s hard, Z. We’re all feeling it.”

That was something I didn’t want to happen, for the band to suffer. I know the easiest thing is for me to forget that Van has destroyed our marriage, but I can’t. If he wasn’t happy all he had to do was say something but had to go and do the more hurtful act out there. We could’ve easily parted amicably and saved ourselves a lot of pain. Although I can’t imagine the pain being any less than it is now.

“We could kick him out.”

“Caleb would never go for it,” Darian says. He’s right. Honestly, I think the label would probably prefer that I quit than to lose Van.

A loud voice booms outside the dressing room, announcing that lunch is over and it’s time to get back to work. Reluctantly, I follow Darian out of the dressing room and find myself looking down the hall to see if I can spot Levi. For the life of me, I can’t understand why I would do that. I don’t know if it’s because of his accent or because he sticks out like a sore thumb. He seems to be so out of place with this plaid shirt and cowboy boots. I look down at my gloved hand and smile. It hurts like a bitch, but the way he tried to take care of me stands out clearly in my mind.

It’s another two hours when we finally wrap. I catch wind that the dancers are all going back to Stormy Austin’s house for a party and that everyone is invited. Everyone that is except for Reverend Sister because honestly, why would they think to invite the band knowing full well we’d tell them no.

Still, I’m curious and ask one of the choreographers to point out who Stormy is. Call it a hazard of the job or whatnot, but I’ve never learned any of the extra’s names prior to now. When he points to Levi’s daughter, a small smile plays on my lips. The urge to ask for directions is pressing, but I refrain and head to the dressing room instead to grab my bag so I can head home.

I quickly change back into the shorts and tank top that I arrived in and cover my eyes with my sunglasses. At least now when the paparazzi take my picture, I’ll have make-up on and won’t look like death warmed over.

Outside, the dancers are all chatting about the shoot and how they thought it went well. One comments that he didn’t like the song and if I wasn’t in a hurry to get out of there, I’d grab his name and make sure he never worked another day in the industry again.

“Can we talk?” Van says when I’m halfway to my car. In front of me, Levi and his daughter are handing out pieces of paper, which I’m assuming contain their address. Levi looks over and smiles, but it quickly fades. No doubt because of the look on my face that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Van.

“No, we have nothing to talk about.” I step to move around him, but he blocks me.

“At least let me explain, Z. You owe me that.”

I raise my glasses so he can see my eyes. Unfortunately for me, tears that I have held back all day decide this is the time to make their appearance. “I owe you? I didn’t do anything to warrant you cheating on me, Van,” I grit out, trying to keep my voice low. “Get out of my way and out of my life.” For emphasis, I jab him in the chest with my finger.

“I’m done playing around Zara. I’m heading over now so we can talk about this shit.”

“I won’t be home.”

“Yeah you will,” he says as he heads toward his car. I hate that he’s right, that he knows me so well to know that I will be home because I’m afraid to go anywhere else. I could go to Darian’s, but Van would go there next.

I glance back at the crowd around Levi and Stormy and catch him looking again. This time when he smiles, I return the gesture and head toward him.

“So hey, I don’t usually invite myself to other people’s parties—”

“Oh! My! God! You want to come to my house?” Stormy says, interrupting me. The people around her seem thrilled, but I can’t grasp whether it’s fake or not.

“I thought that maybe. . . you guys seem cool,” I say to the group of them. By now they’ve all pasted on their phony smiles and are happily agreeing.

“Here’s our address,” Levi says, handing me a piece of paper. “This is very low-key and last minute.”

“Thanks.” I hold the piece of paper up like I’m reaffirming an appointment. The only thing that is keeping me from going is the fact that I don’t know these people and they will likely have their cell phones out. The last thing I want is to have my picture plastered all over social media or have to explain myself to Laura, not that we’re on speaking terms. Although going to their house seems like a better option than sitting home and having Van show up with the paparazzi lingering around out front.

As odd as it sounds, being at the Austin's house where everything is normal seems to be my best option right now. I feel awkward standing there with Levi looking at me and my hand suspended in the air, and before I can make a bigger fool out of myself, I pocket the slip of paper and head toward my car. The quicker I can get out of there, the better.

But because I’m a glutton for punishment, I figure I’ll stop at the store, so I don’t show up empty-handed, and while I sit in my car I place a ridiculous order and pay for rush delivery. . . out in the parking lot. I use the time that I’m sitting there to contemplate my life.

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