Page 32 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ivy
The next few days pass uneventfully.
Well, mostly.
Freddie spends a lot of time in the studio, each day coming home a little more invigorated than he was the day before.
And I spend a lot of time with Carina. Her recently graduated and currently unemployed status means she doesn’t have to hurry to get back to Knoxville, and I’m enjoying her company, so we aren’t in any rush to take her home.
We watch movies, go to the spa to get massages, and tour the Country Music Hall of Fame.
We go shopping and to the Johnny Cash Museum, and we wander up and down Broadway, visiting different music venues and sampling overpriced mocktails.
At first, I wasn’t sure about going out, afraid people might recognize me, but without Freddie beside me, it’s easy to fly under the radar.
I wear a hat, sunglasses, and no makeup, intentionally dressing myself down, and it works.
Aside from two teenage girls who eye me in a record store, whispering behind their hands, no one else pays me much notice.
At first, it’s slightly awkward having Jason, a member of Wayne’s security team, following behind us—Freddie insisted, just in case—but after the first outing, we get really good at ignoring him.
At home, we bake cookies and make our favorite meals, and while I keep up with what little work Freddie is still letting me do, Carina spends a good chunk of each day playing with Jace’s kids.
Jace’s mom, Shay, is incredible—she reminds me a lot of our mom—and she’s mothering us as much as she’s mothering her grandkids.
Annie, who is only three and a half, talks like a tiny adult and has learned how to roll her eyes in a way that I’m sure will frustrate her father in a few years. But for right now, it’s so completely adorable that Carina keeps coming up with ways to trigger it.
Shay thinks it’s hilarious, but I should probably apologize to Jace before he flies back to California. It’s possible Carina has accidentally taught Annie how to be a drama queen.
As a couple, Freddie and I go out together twice.
Once as a group because Freddie wants to take the other members of Midnight Rush out to dinner.
And once for lunch, just the two of us, because Sloane texts and suggests we make an appearance at an upscale restaurant where paparazzi are known to hang out, hoping to spot celebrities.
The paparazzi scene in Nashville is nothing like it is in LA, but there’s enough country music royalty living in the city that there are always photographers around trying to grab relevant shots.
Both times, Freddie keeps me close, holding my hand, keeping his arm around me. He is attentive and thoughtful and basically the perfect boyfriend.
Perfect fake boyfriend, anyway.
But he is also intentional. Measured in a way that makes me think he’s being careful with me. He was unguarded that first night home, when I talked to him outside his bedroom, but he hasn’t been since then.
I can appreciate his efforts to be cautious—I’m sure he doesn’t want to take advantage—but I also hate his efforts to be cautious. Because they are constant reminders that all of this is fake.
When we hold hands on our way into the restaurant or he guides me through the dining room with his hand on the small of my back, it’s fake.
When we stand at the curb, waiting for the car, and he wraps his arm around me, pressing a kiss against my temple—also fake. Even if the way his lips make me feel is anything but.
Still, our efforts are paying off. The public is eating up any scrap of information about our new relationship, and the buzz is having a noticeable impact.
Freddie’s numbers are up across all platforms, and everyone is talking about the new album, speculating about when the first single will drop.
His label is happy, his agent is happy, and now, Freddie is finally writing again, so he’s happy too.
That makes me happy, but I still feel like I’m holding my breath. Like we’re building a house out of straw, and when the whole thing collapses, I’ll be the one standing in the middle of the wreckage.
On the morning of the party at Voltage Records, I stretch across the foot of my bed while Carina goes through my clothes, trying to find something for me to wear .
“Are these seriously your only options?” she asks. She steps out of my closet holding all three of the only dresses I actually own. “None of these will work. They’re all too casual.”
“The party is casual,” I say.
“No,” Carina says. “The party isn’t formal. That doesn’t mean you can wear jeans and a t-shirt.” She moves back into the closet and hangs up the dresses. “Why have we not talked about this? We could have bought something this week. We went shopping multiple times.”
“Shopping for you ,” I say. “Which is different. I hate shopping for me.” I reach for the black dress hanging in the middle. “I’ll just wear this one. I pair it with my red leather jacket and my boots. It’s a great outfit.”
Carina props her hands on her hips. “It’s eighty-five degrees out. You can’t wear leather to this party.” She starts pacing across the wood floor of my bedroom, reaching the plush rug that sits under my bed before turning and heading back to the closet.
“Just the dress, then,” I say. “It’ll be fine. I managed to dress myself the other two times I went out with Freddie this week. And nobody said anything about my clothes.”
“But this is different,” Carina says. “This isn’t a small, private gathering.
This is a party where the goal is to see and be seen.
Not to mention the fact that the party is at Voltage Records.
That means you’ll have the opportunity to network, to meet people who you hope you’ll be working for when all of this is over. ”
My gut tightens the slightest bit. I hadn’t thought about networking, but Carina is right. If that’s what I want, the party really could be an opportunity to nurture some connections. But is it what I want ?
Finding clarity on that point is basically impossible considering my present circumstances.
It hurts to think about not working for Freddie, but I’m not entirely sure if that’s because I don’t want to leave my job or I just don’t want to leave him.
Either way, making a little extra effort tonight can’t hurt.
“Right. Networking,” I say. “So I need something that’s both professional enough to be taken seriously but also fabulous enough to look like I belong on the arm of the world’s biggest popstar. I guess we should have gone shopping.”
“Shopping for what?”
I look up to see Freddie standing in my open bedroom doorway, his long arms lifted over his head and his hands grasping the door frame.
“An outfit for Ivy to wear to the party tonight,” Carina answers for me. “Please tell her she can’t wear her plain black dress that she’s already worn a million trillion times.”
Freddie’s eyes shift to me before he says, “I love her black dress. But also, that’s why I’m here.”
I sit up. “It is?”
“I promised I would help you pick out something for the movie premiere, so I thought we could do that today. Then Natasha can help you choose something for tonight too.”
“Yes!” Carina says. “Perfect. Wait. Who’s Natasha?”
“My stylist,” Freddie says. “And she just pulled up with a van full of clothes. Should I tell her to set up in here?”
Carina spins to look at me. “The shopping comes to you? This is incredible.” She spins and races from the room, likely to watch Natasha and her team bring everything inside.
This is less overwhelming for me because I’ve seen her do this for Freddie. But it does feel weird to know it’s me who will be trying on the clothes this time.
“Wren’s here too,” Freddie says, finally coming into the room. “When she heard it was you getting styled, she didn’t want to miss out on the action.”
When Wren isn’t on tour with Freddie, handling his wardrobe needs for his shows, she works out of Natasha’s studio.
It’ll be good to see her again, though I can already imagine her I told you so face.
She was relentless in her teasing during the last few tour stops before the break.
Every time Freddie and I were in the same room, she was shooting me knowing looks and raising her eyebrows suggestively.
It was always good-natured and completely harmless. But that doesn’t mean she won’t gloat.
Freddie sits down on the bench at the foot of my bed.
“I hope this isn’t too much,” he says, a hint of vulnerability in his tone.
“I just thought you deserved the whole experience. Natasha has someone coming for hair and makeup too—tonight, then again for the premiere. But you don’t have to do that part if you don’t want to.
I’m not saying you need hair and makeup.
Just that it’s available if you do want it.
” He rubs his palms down his thighs like he’s nervous.
Which— is he nervous? I don’t know why he would be.
“It isn’t too much,” I say. “It’s amazing. And the hair and makeup is great too. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You don’t need any help.”
My heart flutters in my chest. “I don’t?”
Freddie holds my gaze for a long moment.
“You’re beautiful exactly as you are.” His voice is low, his tone sincere, giving his words a weight that assures me he isn’t feeding me a line.
He really thinks I’m beautiful. Which. Maybe he’s just making an objective observation. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
Before I can respond, Carina bursts back into the room, pulling a rolling cart full of shoeboxes in behind her. I breathe out a sigh of relief as Natasha appears in the doorway.
“Have I found the right room?” she asks.
“This is it!” Carina says, then she turns and says to me, “I’m so excited!”