Page 21 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ivy
After my conversation with Freddie, it takes me a very long time to fall asleep. Mostly because I can’t stop cataloging all the reasons why faking a relationship with Freddie Ridgefield is a terrible idea.
A small part of my brain wonders if I agreed because of how much I wish we could be in a relationship for real.
If we can’t be, maybe faking is the next best thing?
It’s a ridiculous thought. But as I toss and turn, readjusting my hotel pillow for the millionth time, my brain keeps circling back to the feel of his lips on mine, and I find myself hoping that at some point, I’ll have a reason to kiss him again.
I manage to grab a few hours of sleep, but I wake up just after six a.m. and make the mistake of reaching for my phone. As soon as I see the screen, lit up with dozens of notifications, any hope of going back to sleep quickly vanishes.
I glance over at Carina, still snoring softly on the other side of our king-size bed.
As early as she crashed yesterday, she can’t sleep much longer, but I try to be quiet anyway.
We need to have a serious conversation as soon as she’s awake, and I’d rather have my wits about me—read: coffee in my bloodstream—before we do.
After a shower and a latte I have delivered from the coffee shop a block away from the hotel, I sneak into the bathroom with my cell phone and laptop and start wading through my many notifications.
They’ve doubled since I first woke up, and they include a text from my mom that, based on the first few words visible in the notification, I’m nervous to read in full.
Bracing myself, I open the message and squint at my phone, reading it through one eye.
Mom
IVY CLARE CONWAY, why did you not tell me your boss kissed you? THIS IS SO EXCITING! Assuming you’re excited. You are, right? This is a good thing? I always suspected there was something going on between the two of you. I want all the details as soon as you have time!
Well. Okay, then. I thought her all-caps use of my name might take the message in a different direction, but this isn’t that bad.
Except, it is bad. Because now I have to decide if I tell my parents that it’s all a publicity stunt.
Mom would understand, but my salt-of-the-earth father would find the whole situation utterly ridiculous.
He hates pretense. He’s honest and straightforward and thinks the truth should always be most important.
I don’t disagree with him—most of the time. But the situation is so much more complicated. Too complicated. Which is why I settle on a benign response to my mom that feels true, even if it isn’t the entire truth.
Ivy
Definitely exciting. I’m swamped with work—kind of a lot of PR stuff happening right now—but I’ll call soon and fill you in!
Mom
Sounds good. How’s Carina?
I exhale slowly, happy she bought my excuse. At least for now.
Ivy
Still sleeping.
Mom
I’m so glad she’s safe. Will she stay with you until you’re back in Tennessee?
Ivy
We only have one more show before the break, and it’s tonight, so she can travel back with me. Freddie won’t mind.
Mom
Not now, he won’t. ;)
The winking emoji makes me smile, even as it triggers a tiny twinge of guilt I choose to ignore.
Ivy
I’ll call you once Carina is up and we’ve had the chance to talk.
Mom
Thanks. I’m glad you’re there for her. So grateful for you and your steadying presence.
I read her last text two times before I set the phone face down on the counter and reach for my laptop. That’s always been my role when it comes to Carina. Keep her safe. Help her make good choices. Set a good example.
I don’t mind it. Not really. But sometimes I hardly feel capable of making good choices for myself, much less someone else, my present circumstances notwithstanding.
After reading—and ignoring—a few more Freddie-related messages from old friends, approving a stack of invoices from the tour’s catering team, and reading through the first draft of Kat’s press release, I order Carina a new cell phone and make arrangements for it to be delivered to the hotel before we leave in the morning.
“Ivy?”
I jump off the closed toilet seat where I set up office and fling open the door. “Hey! You’re awake!”
Carina’s face is flushed, but her eyes are clear, and a wave of relief washes over me.
She yawns. “What time is it? Did I sleep all night?”
“It’s almost eight.” I move to the dresser where I left a latte for her. I pick it up and carry it over. “It’s still warm,” I say, handing her the cup. “I don’t know how they insulate these so well. Magic, probably.”
She takes it with one hand while she rubs her eyes with the other, smudging a little mascara onto her cheek. “Where’s Freddie?”
“A few rooms over. Probably still asleep. He has a show tonight. How are you feeling? ”
She takes a long sip of her latte before looking around the room like she can’t quite figure out how she got here. “Foggy,” she finally says.
“I bet.” I move over to my bag and pull out some acetaminophen, then take them back to her. “You’ll probably need these.”
She nods gratefully and swallows them down.
There are a million questions coursing through my brain, the loudest one being, What on earth were you thinking?! But what’s done is done. Asking that question isn’t going to change anything that already happened.
I sit on the edge of the bed and tug my feet up, crossing them under me. “How much do you remember about yesterday?”
She frowns. “Bits and pieces. It was bad, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. You were pretty out of it.” I hesitate a beat before asking, “Was it just alcohol?”
She quickly nods. “I didn’t do any of the harder stuff. I mean, not really. I had some weed yesterday morning. I was probably a tiny bit high when you showed up.”
“But have you been drinking every day? You were at the beach house, what, two weeks? Please tell me you weren’t just partying the whole time.”
She shrugs, her eyes darting away like that’s exactly what she was doing.
I force myself to take a deep breath. “Carina?—”
“I know,” she says, cutting me off. “I know. Please don’t lecture me.
I was thinking about Daphne the whole time, and I was so careful because of that.
But Margot was just being so nice to me and acting like I was her very favorite person.
I was wearing her clothes, eating all this delicious food—caterers were constantly in and out.
And so many famous people were there, Ivy.
” She sits up a little taller. “You would not believe the things I saw.”
I would believe it, which is exactly why it makes my stomach churn to think of Carina in the middle of it.
“When did your phone break?”
“Like the second freaking day,” Carina says. “It was so annoying. Then Margot kept saying she’d get me a new one, then that she had gotten me a new one and it would be there any minute. But I think she was probably lying to me the whole time. Seems like something she would do.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” I say. “I ordered you a new phone. So we don’t need one from her anyway. It should be delivered within the hour.”
Carina blinks. “You just…ordered a whole new phone? Isn’t that, like, at least a thousand bucks?”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Freddie can afford it as well as Margot can. And he insisted because he feels responsible. Since you met Margot at his release party.”
On this, I didn’t fight Freddie. He pays me well enough that I could have afforded to buy it myself, but I know Freddie, and I know how guilty he feels about everything that happened. For him, paying to replace Carina’s phone is a small thing financially but a big thing emotionally.
I won’t take that away from him just to make a point.
“Tell him thanks for me,” Carina says.
“You can tell him yourself,” I say. “I figured you’d just fly home with us tomorrow.”
“You’re going home?”
“Back to Nashville. We’ve got two months off. I can drive you the rest of the way to Knoxville once we’re there.”
“Or I could just stay with you in Nashville,” she says, a little too eagerly .
“I’m not inviting you to crash at Freddie’s place,” I say. “We’ve had this conversation before.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like his place isn’t big enough.”
“Not the point.”
I almost tell her that as soon as I have my own place, she can come stay with me anytime she wants. But she’ll want to know all my reasons for moving out of my very free living situation, and that’s not a conversation I feel like having right now.
Besides, if she thought she had a chance, I can easily see her wanting to move in with me full time. She’s never lived away from home—she lived with Mom and Dad while she attended UT—so she’d probably love to get out on her own. But I’m not sure living with me is the right answer.
It’s hard enough not to worry about her all the time as it is. If I were constantly aware of what she’s up to and where she’s going, I might never sleep.
And Mom would probably call me twelve million times a day.
Carina flops back onto her pillows, propping herself up enough that she can reach for her latte and take a long sip. “So when you say fly home with us, are we talking on a commercial flight? Or…on Freddie’s plane?” She looks much too excited about this possibility.
“Freddie does not have his own plane.”
“So we are flying commercial,” she says.
“It’s a private plane that we chartered for the trip. But trust me when I say America’s airports do not want to deal with Freddie Ridgefield on a commercial flight. This is definitely easiest on everyone.”
“Chill,” Carina says. “I’m not going to send you hate mail about his carbon footprint.
I’m just happy I get to see Freddie again.
” Carina says this with a breezy nonchalance, but I don’t miss the excitement dancing in her eyes.
She likes to act like she’s no longer star-struck when she’s around Freddie—she’s met him multiple times—but she’s clearly still impacted.