“Luna, we need to get the dances wrapped up,” Angelica shouts from behind the huge speakers at the side of the stage. “Lucas might be busting your balls, but it’s for a good reason. We’re on the clock.”
“I need to eat,” Luna yells. “I’m not a machine.”
There’s a long moment of silence while Angelica gathers all of her patience.
“Okay, everyone, take ten, and then we’ll get back to it.”
The dancers who had been fixed to their spots, waiting to see what was going to happen, drift to the other side of the stage. I smile as Jax grins in their direction. He’s always had a way with the ladies that isn’t sleezy or creepy. He just loves women and loves life and is happy to show his appreciation for both.
“You can do this, Luna. This part’s the grind, but later, when you’re on stage, and the crowd is shouting your name, you’re going to forget all the hard work and just bask in the glory.”
“You’re right,” she says. “I know you’re right. It’s just, I know I can do it. Even if we’re getting it wrong now, I know what needs to be done. I just wish Lucas had more confidence.”
“This is his job. He’s only got this far because he demands perfection.”
“I guess.”
“Just trust that everyone around you is working to deliver the best possible experience for everybody buying a ticket.”
“And what about me. Should I trust that they have my best interests at heart too?”
“You can trust that I do.”
I leave my words to hang between us so that she feels the full weight of them. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that talking too much smells like weakness. There is a reason that the strong-silent-type description exists and is so appealing to women.
Luna places the salad back on the table and gracefully stands. She’s so little that I’m looking down, and she’s gazing up, her eyes wide and searching. I guess she must find what she was looking for in my expression because she blinks slowly and whispers, “Thank you.” Then she’s jogging across the stage.
“I’m ready. Let’s kick the living shit out of this routine.”
“Yeah,” the dance team shouts in unison, bounding onto the stage.
Lucas starts the music again, and, in a flash, Luna is dancing, her body lithe, her movements perfectly in time. She hits every beat and masters every move, and even though she’s disheveled and sweaty, she still exudes superstar from every pore.
As the music draws to a close, Lucas begins clapping, and his tanned face is lit up by a mouthful of exceptionally white teeth. “That’s it. Perfect. Perfect,” he shouts, and I want to call out that he shouldn’t doubt the girl whose talent has bought us all to this place.
She’s got this.
She was made for this.
And maybe I was too.
There isn’t much for me back home. My family doesn’t want to know me. I’ve stepped too far outside the fold for them to ever accept me back. I knew, when I left home and the church behind, that I would never be a part of that life. Sometimes, I regret it. In the middle of the night, when I lie awake, I feel the loss of my parents and my brothers more keenly. When things are going wrong, my instinct is always to find the right piece of scripture to fit the circumstance, and I have to push back in case I drag myself back into a place where I never felt truly comfortable.
But when I’m with my Steel 7 brothers, I know I’ve found the kind of home that counts. A home without judgment or expectation. A home where I can expand to become the self I couldn’t be when I was surrounded by so many rules.
And looking after Luna has given me a sense of purpose that I haven’t felt in a while.
She’s like a shining diamond, set into a priceless crown.
After Luna’s soaked up the appreciation, she surprises me by bounding over and throwing her arms around me. For a second, my chest feels like the wind has been knocked out of it, and I can’t find a thing to say that fits with this moment. Then Luna’s off to hug all the dancers that are going to contribute to making tonight’s performance spectacular.
When I look over, I find Jax with a knowing smile on his face. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I doubt that it’s the same as me.
I want this girl.
Stupid as it might seem to crave the person I’m being paid to protect; I can’t help myself.
Her safety is in my hands, but I wish it was her heart.
6
LUNA
The rumble of so many people seated in such a large venue is something that I'm not sure I'll ever get used to. In a way, the crowd feels like a huge animal. Before a show, I'm worried that the animal will be angry, but during a show, I feed off the animal's appreciation. It's electric, hearing my name shouted by thousands of people. It's addictive knowing that they are all there just to experience my talent and creativity.
Backstage, there is a buzz of anticipation. It's the first night of the tour, so everyone is feeling uncertain. We've practiced hard, but things can still go wrong. Adella, my makeup artist, puts the finishing touches on my scarlet lipstick. With dark smoky eyes, the look is strong and intense, which it needs to be to create an impact all the way to the back of the stadium. I'm laced into a corset that feels too tight. I've raised concerns about it but the costume designer for the tour assures me that it's going to be fine for me to sing and dance in. Apparently it fits with the whole tour aesthetic.
And who am I to question their judgment?
Only the poor woman who has to struggle to wear it.
My eyes find Elijah's in the mirror. He's standing close by as though he can feel my nerves and wants to provide me with some reassurance. His strong presence is enough to settle the butterflies a little, and his pretty blue eyes are soft and encouraging. I can still remember what it felt like to have my arms around him, to breathe in his scent. It was instinct to rush over to him when I got the dance right. Instinct to share my happiness and success, and it felt right to be in his arms.
I felt protected and cared for.
But I'm stupid because the way he is with me isn't personal. It's not about him being my friend. It's certainly not about more. He is my bodyguard. Protecting me is his job.
"You're done," Adella says, lowering her brush. "Break a leg." Her smile is broad, her own fuchsia pink lipstick perfectly in place.
Rising from the chair, I smooth the tiny, ruffled skirt over my red net tights. The look is punky and alternative, which suits me and fits with the image that Blueday Records have been cultivating for me.
Innocent with a sexy edge.
It's kind of gross, but who am I to question them when they've propelled me so high, so fast.
"I need to warm up my voice," I tell Elijah. "Can you clear the room?"
"Sure."
As I make my way to the corner of my dressing room, I can hear his low, husky voice urging everyone to leave.
When it's quiet, I shake out my arms, facing the wall while I loosen my lips and jaw muscles. None of this is attractive: not the sticking out of my tongue as far as it goes or the rhythmic blowing of breath through my O-shaped mouth.
I never knew that any of this was important until my vocal coach walked me through a routine. Nurturing and preserving my voice takes priority over appearance. These exercises are a must. I begin to sigh, allowing my voice to gradually build, letting it wander up and down the full range of notes that I can sing. When I'm confident that I've hit the highest and lowest notes, I begin to hum and finish with some gentle lip roles and tongue trills.