“Just know that the time we spent together was everything we could ever have wanted,” I say, swallowing around the ache in my throat. “Just know for that short amount of time, you were all we wanted.”
“Goodbye, Asher,” she whispers, and then the phone line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand, hoping that she was cut off accidently, praying that she’ll call back, but she doesn’t.
For a long time, I stare at myself in the mirror, replaying our conversation in my mind. Did I say what she needed to hear? Did she understand that we love her and would do anything to be what she needs in her life? Did she appreciate that we’re sacrificing the best thing that’s ever happened to us so that she can keep the fairy tale?
As I splash some water onto my face, I can’t shake the feeling that the fairy tale Luna has isn’t the fairy tale she really wants.
Maybe I’m just overlaying my own hopes. Maybe I’m reading something into nothing.
All I know is that she’ll have to be the one to tell us that a life with us is her true happy ever after. We could never make that decision for her.
30
LUNA
Calling Asher was a mistake, not because he said anything wrong. He didn’t. Not really.
It was a mistake because it just brought back everything that I lost.
I can’t sleep without my men around me. I can’t sleep knowing that they aren’t close by. I pace around my room, feeling hollow-stomached and weary. I have an urge to eat a huge rack of ribs with a side of sweet potato fries, but I also feel as though I might throw up at any second.
Anxiousness is wreaking havoc with my digestion and my state of mind.
Maybe I’m being an idiot for not trusting Mr. Wright and his team. They haven’t done anything wrong as such. Well, apart from the slightly leering looks they give me and the fact that they don’t really care if I’m happy or not.
The Steel 7 men were a different breed of bodyguard. They were more than just contractors looking out for my safety. They were like friends before they became more.
And now I have no one.
Jordy and Tyler, the only people in the world who really love me, are so far away that they feel lost in a mirage of the past.
Eventually, I slump into bed for a few hours of what feels like half-awake sleep. When there’s a knock on the door to wake me, my eyes are dry and stuck together, and my shoulders feel tense.
Breakfast is yogurt and berries when all I want is waffles with butter and maple syrup. Conversation happens around me but never includes me. It’s as though I’m invisible, and it makes me feel even hollower inside.
This was the day I’d planned to go sightseeing in London. I imagined taking an open-top red bus tour around the city. I’d picked out places that I wanted to see. Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. Tate Modern and St. Paul’s Cathedral. Buckingham Palace and some shopping in Regent Street. I imagined strolling around with my men, laughing, and having fun. Instead, I’m trapped in my hotel room all day, waiting for the limo to pick me up to take me to the television studios later.
I watch TV, enjoying the numbness of mindless entertainment. I keep my phone on silent because there is no one that I want to talk to right now. My aloneness has become a cocoon of safety. Any kind of conversation would just bring my sadness welling back to the surface.
I don’t bother putting on makeup before we head out. I wear my slouchiest jumper, a warm coat, leggings, and a baseball cap to travel to the studio.
When we arrive, I’m hustled into my dressing room for the evening and fussed over by a team of people who are there to make me beautiful. The hairdresser uses a giant curling tong to set my hair into large, loose curls, then pins it up on one side with a diamante clip. The makeup artist focuses on my eyes, making them dark and smoky and using thick false lashes to exaggerate them even further. The dress I have to wear is made from jade-green satin. It has cut-out sides and wraps across my breasts in a way that enhances my curves. When I’m ready, I stand in front of the mirror, and I almost don’t recognize myself.
They’ve made me beautiful, yes. But somehow, it’s erased the essence of me at the same time. The outfit and makeup are like a disguise. Is this what happens to all celebrities? Their image smudges out the authentic truth of who they really are?
I warm up my voice, going through the motions but not really focusing on my actions. My stomach roils with nerves as I go to wait in the green room, coming face to face with a Hollywood actor who ignores me and a British comedian who doesn’t stop telling jokes. I try to smile in all the right places, but I’m not really listening. My fingers twist in my lap as my nerves build and build.
It’s not like me to feel this trembly. Even when I first started singing, I went out into each performance too hyped up to feel the flutter of winged creatures in my belly. When I had the Steel 7 around me, I fed off their appreciation and confidence. Now, my team of bodyguards stands around the perimeter of the room, making everyone feel on edge, as I watch the other celebrities being interviewed by the annoying host.
My performance is last, which means I have a long time to wait. There’s a live studio audience who clap and cheer in all the right places for the other talent. I just hope they’ll be as kind to me.
Eventually, I’m called to take my place on a stage to the side of the main interview area. The stage is dark, and the audience is focused on the Hollywood actor who is now all smiles and filled with entertaining stories. Such a fake. There’s no stool for me to perch on, just a single microphone standing like a lonesome baby tree in the middle. My silver sandals click on the hard floor as I make my way to my mark. The stage manager smiles, checking the microphone by tapping in gently. “You ready?” she asks.
I give her a simple nod, but inside, I feel anything but.
I try to feel the words that Asher spoke to me last night. You sparkle like that brightest diamond, he said. He called me a superstar. That’s the Luna they want me to be. It’s the Luna that everyone wants me to be, but who do I want to be?
I don’t even know anymore.
The crowd begins to clap, and from the other side of the stage, I hear the host begin to introduce me.
“Discovered on the side of the road, singing for change, Luna Evans’ rise to the top has been remarkable. She’s here to sing her new single tonight. Give a round of applause for Luna Evans.”
The spotlight focuses on me, and the huge cameras in front of the stage begin to move. The backing music begins to play, sounding out the first bars. Listening for my cue, I start to sing a song I’d know in my sleep. The words pour out of me, but I don’t feel them. The song doesn’t match my mood at all.
A stabbing pain rips through my stomach, stunning me momentarily, but I push through. Professionalism has to be my priority. I’m making up for mistakes right now. I’m under the microscope, and the world is poised to notice even a tiny error.
The audience is in darkness, but they’re close enough that I can see people whispering to each other. My paranoia flares, imagining that they are saying negative things about me. Slut. Whore. All the things I might have thought about a girl caught with seven men before I’d been in that kind of relationship myself. My head begins to throb, but I carry on, feeling sweat prickling under my arms and running down the small of my back.