Page 67 of Six Ways to Write a Love Letter

“Things are great,” Remy said, working very hard not to think of the way Vivi had looked that morning amid the linen sheets or about the sight of her writing in the notebook when he woke up.

“Really?”

“You sound surprised,” Remy joked. “No faith in your little brother’s romantic prowess?”

“I’m not surprised, just…I mean, fuck, I don’t know what it’s like to date a Vivi Swan. Wait, are you dating? Can you date someone if you don’t actually go on dates with them? Holy shit, Remy, you’rehooking upwith Vivi Swan.”

“It’s not like that,” Remy said, but he laughed and turned around, checking to make sure no one was headed back to the stage yet.

“It is too! She’s got that other guy for the streets and you for the sheets. Nice.”

Remy’s laughter stopped short at the mention of Noel, however playful Val had meant it to be. He spoke quickly. “Well, they don’t really see each other. And it’s complicated.”

“I mean, they see each other. They were together in Portugal for something. I saw the pictures on Celeste’s computer.”

“Yeah. Well, still. Not often,” Remy said, except really, his mind was racing. They were together in Portugal? That wasn’t long ago at all. She’d called him from Portugal. She’d never mentioned Noel was there with her. Never mentioned the first tattoo, baited him with the story about the second…

Val was quiet for a moment—he knew Remy well enough to know his brother’s voice had gone dark. “Things are going well?” he asked again, and this time, he sounded particularly sincere.

“Things are complicated with her,” Remy said slowly. “But I really…she’s great, Val.”

Val made a sound that Remy knew meant he was nodding. “She thinks you’re great?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Then it shouldn’t be complicated,” Val said wisely. “If you’re both all in, it isn’t complicated. Messy, maybe, but not complicated.”

Remy considered the difference between the words. Messy was, perhaps, Noel. Messy was their time together being stolen. Complicated…

Complicatedwas Remy’s lingering wonder if Viviwasn’tall in. If they were together only because it meant Vivi was able to scribble down songs about him in the early morning.Messy, after all, was easy to fix—so why hadn’t she left Noel and gone public with Remy, if there wasn’t something more complicated at work deep down?

They hung up a few minutes later, and Remy rushed back to the stage, trying not to let his brother’s words gain weight in his mind—trying not to let them press out the memory of the way Vivi felt against him that morning.

Remy sat at his drum set, waiting for the safety checks. While stagehands flittered around the set, he lifted his phone and, with a sigh, pulled up the article Val was talking about—searching forVivi SwanandPortugalbrought it up nearly immediately. He tapped to open it.

Pictures pulled up. Vivi, in a short red romper with tall heels, standing beside Noel.

She’d been there with him, just like Val said. Which, of course, of course she was—she hadn’t lied to him. But she hadn’t told him either. Vivi had acted like Portugal was any other business trip, not one that involved another series of pictures proving that, so far as the world knew, she and Noel Reid were a couple. She and Noel were messy, perhaps, but not complicated.