Page 22

Chapter Thirteen

T he next morning, reality came knockingor buzzing, rather. Myst’s phone wouldn’t stop vibrating as message after message popped up from her management team. She groaned, burying her face in the pillow while George chuckled from the armchair by the window.

“Looks like someone’s missed,” he teased.

“Missed? More like hunted,” Myst mumbled, reluctantly sitting up. She scrolled through her messages, her shoulders sinking. “I’ve got a meeting. Last-minute. Of course.”

“Want me to come along and glare at them for you?” George offered with mock seriousness.

“Tempting,” she said with a small smile. “But no, I’ll handle it. You enjoy Rome without me for a bit. Just don’t get lost, big guy.”

“Who, me?” George grinned. “Never.”

She kissed his cheek and headed out, summoning her professional armour as she made her way to the meeting.

It was held in a sleek conference room, all polished wood and glass, a painful contrast to the ancient city sprawled out beyond the windows.

Myst struggled to keep her attention on the agenda, wishing she could be out there with George, visiting the Vatican or driving to Pompeii or something infinitely more interesting than a long list of upcoming appearances and interviews.

She started paying attention suddenly when her manager made a comment about her relationship.

“I beg your pardon?” Her head snapped around. “Say that again.”

“Look, Myst,” her manager said, adjusting his glasses, “we know George is important to you. But these distractions, they can take a tollnot just on you, but on your career. You need to stay focused.”

“George isn’t a distraction,” Myst said sharply. She folded her arms, her petite frame radiating defiance. “He’s part of my life, and I’m allowed to have one outside of all this.”

“Of course,” her manager replied smoothly, though the tension in the room was palpable. Myst pressed her lips together, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior.

After the meeting, Jessie caught up with her in the hallway. “Don’t let them push you around,” she said quietly, her eyes concerned. “There’s no show without you, Myst. Remember that. Put yourself first.”

Myst exhaled slowly, Jessie’s words settling deep in her chest. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “I need to remember that.”

George leaned against the wrought-iron balcony of their hotel room, his phone buzzing insistently in his pocket.

The late afternoon sun bathed the Roman skyline in amber and gold, but George hardly noticed.

Tugging his phone free, he glanced at the screen and instantly recognized the message thread; his coach back home on the Gold Coast.

“Hey, Dennis. Pre-season starts next week. Hope you’re keeping fit. We’ll need you sharp this year.”

His jaw tightened as he reread the text, the familiar weight of obligation settling across his broad shoulders.

He stared out at the city below, its chaotic beauty a far cry from the regimented world of rugby drills and playbooks.

The realization struck him like a shoulder to the ribs; this time with Myst was slipping away. A week? That wasn’t much time at all.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, but the thoughts lingered like an opponent he couldn’t shake.

What happens when I leave? How do we make this work?

Her life was all glittering stages and flashing cameras, while his revolved around muddy fields and gruelling training sessions.

He rubbed a hand over his face, the coarse stubble there grounding him for a moment.

Long-distance relationships weren’t just tough, they were brutal. Could they survive it?

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his spiralling thoughts.

Myst stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor.

She looked stunning, as always, but there was a tension in the set of her shoulders, the way she dropped her bag onto the nearest chair without her usual grace.

“How’d it go?” George asked, straightening up.

“Fine,” she said quickly, brushing past him toward the window. Too quickly. She crossed her arms, staring out at the rooftops like they held the answers she needed.

“Uh-huh.” George wasn’t buying it. He took a step closer, his voice softening. “Myst, come on. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” she snapped, then sighed, pressing her fingers to her temple. “I’m sorry. It’s, it’s just work stuff. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Work stuff, huh?” he echoed, watching her carefully. She was clamming up, shutting him out like she sometimes did when she didn’t want to seem vulnerable. But he wasn’t having it, not today. “You sure about that?”

She hesitated, her lips parting as if to brush him off again. Then, she stopped herself. Her shoulders slumped, and she turned to face him fully, her blue eyes searching his face as if weighing whether she could let him in. Finally, she exhaled, long and slow, and began to speak.

“Jessie said something after the meeting,” she started, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “She reminded me that there’s no show without me. No music. No tours. None of it works unless I say it does.”

“Smart woman, your cousin,” George said, nodding. Encouraging her to keep going.

“Yeah, she is,” Myst said with a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“But it’s hard, you know? They… they think they can tell me what’s best for me.

Like my personal life isn’t mine to decide.

Like…like you’re some kind of liability instead of…

” She trailed off, shaking her head, and then gestured vaguely at him. “Instead of you .”

“Liability, huh?” George smirked, trying to lighten the mood even though the word stung. “I didn’t know dating a rugby player came with so many risks.”

“Apparently, it does,” she muttered, but her tone softened as the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“But Jessie’s right. I need to be firm with them.

My personal life is mine , and I’m not going to let anyone pressure me into giving that up.

Not even for…this.“ She waved a hand vaguely, indicating the fancy hotel room, the sparkling stage outfits hanging on a rail, her career.

“Good,” George said simply. His gaze softened as he studied her. “You deserve that, Myst. To call the shots. And for what it’s worth, I’m still going to be here. Liability or not.”

Her laugh was quiet but real, and it eased the tightness in his chest. “Thanks,” she said, stepping closer and resting her hands lightly on his forearms. Her touch was grounding in a way he hadn’t realized he needed until now. “It’s been a day, huh?”

“Yeah,” George admitted, his mind briefly flickering back to the message from his coach, still sitting unanswered in his pocket.

But he pushed the thought aside for now, focusing on the woman standing before him, the one who made the chaos of both their lives feel a little steadier.

“But you handled it. And tomorrow’s gonna be better. ”

“Tomorrow’s the concert,” Myst said with a small groan, though the glimmer of excitement in her eyes betrayed her. “And you’re coming, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” George replied with a grin. “Front row seat for my favorite rock star.”

“Better be,” she teased, leaning up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Now, let’s find something to eat before I collapse. Deal?”

“Deal,” George said, his worries momentarily fading as he followed her out the door. “You’ve found a restaurant?”

“Yep, it’s not far away. They’re holding a table for us.”

The narrow, cobblestone street hummed with life as George held the door open for Myst, the low murmur of conversation and the faint clink of glasses spilling out from inside the jazz club.

A warm, golden light bathed the room, flickering off mismatched tables and casting soft shadows on exposed brick walls.

The air was thick with the rich swirl of saxophone notes and the occasional smoky laugh from the crowd.

It felt miles away from the glossy arenas Myst had grown used to, a world stripped back, raw, and unpolished.

“Well,” George said, ducking slightly under the low-hung string lights as they stepped inside. “This is...cozy.”

“Cozy is a polite way to say tiny,” Myst teased, nudging him playfully with her elbow. “You sure you’ll fit in here? Ceiling looks like it’s got a bone to pick with your head.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” he shot back with a grin.

Their table was in the corner, close enough to feel the pulse of the upright bass but far enough to avoid the sharp glare of the stage lights.

Myst slipped into her seat, leaning her chin on her hand as she took in the scene; the trumpet player softly adjusting his mute, the singer swaying gently with her eyes closed, the pianist hunched over the keys like he was sharing secrets only the music could understand.

It was intimate, imperfect, and utterly captivating.

“Look at you,” George said, his voice cutting gently into her thoughts. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her with a smirk that was both amused and fond. “Haven’t seen you this starry-eyed.”

“Forgive me if I’m having a moment. This,” she gestured vaguely toward the stage, where the drummer was tapping out a heartbeat rhythm on his snare, “this reminds me why I fell in love with music in the first place.”

“Not the pyrotechnics and screaming fans?” George teased, earning him a mock-glare. “Kidding, kidding. But seriously, you look at home here.”

“That’s the thing.” Myst exhaled, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table.

“I miss this. The closeness, the connection. When you’re performing in a stadium, it’s like yelling into the void sometimes.

But here...” She trailed off, her pale blue eyes shimmering with something almost wistful.

“Here, you can feel people breathing with you. It’s different. ”