Broken Little Melodies(74)
Pulling in a deep breath, I nod, and suddenly we’re in motion.
The applause and wild screams of the fans raises a few more decibels once we’re standing in the blinding spotlight. Roman wraps one arm around my waist and waves his hand high in the air with the other. It takes several minutes before they’re able to calm down enough to hear Roman speak.
“I brought someone extra special for you all to meet tonight,” he says, taking the microphone off the stand. He drops his arm from my waist and turns to face me with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen grace his lips. “This gorgeous fucking woman right here is my muse—the reason I was able to write so many hits. She’s had my heart for as long as I can remember, and I know she’ll win yours over too once you get to know her. You’re going to want to remember this moment, because it won’t be long before you’ll see her name topping the charts. Philadelphia, I want to hear you give it all you’ve fucking got for the undeniably sexy, one and only Isabelle Martin!”
Their cheers fill the warm sky like a living thing, weaving its way through my veins and electrifying me in a way I’ve never experienced when playing for a small crowd at Vinnie’s.
Roman squeezes me tightly against his side and leans in to say, “They’re cheering for you, babe! Greet your future fans!”
My cheeks are ready to split when I smile into the ocean of faces surrounding us and raise my hand. Somehow their excitement intensifies.
“See? They like you already!”
As Roman’s kissing the side of my head, I’m all at once given a preview of what it would be like to headline my own show and hear thousands of fans begging me to play another song. And suddenly I want this lifestyle more than I’ve ever wanted anything. The tours, the fans, the label deals, all of it. I want to live my dream while becoming a coveted name in the rock industry. And I want Roman there for every milestone, good or bad.
But when I look down to the front row, my stomach drops. Brooke stands with her hands gripping the gate keeping them from rushing the stage. Her hateful glare doesn’t get to me, but the determination in her hard expression does.
She’s clearly not giving Roman up without a fight.
Game on, bitch.
Roman and I part ways with a deep, searing kiss that has the crowd roaring in approval. Somehow I find my way off the stage even though my head’s floating among the clouds.
I find Normie waiting for me, nostrils flared and chest puffed out. “Enjoy this while it lasts,” he yells over the opening chords of the band’s first encore song. “Roman only invited you along on this tour to insure he wouldn’t stutter on stage.”
My heart skips a beat before resuming at a painfully slow pace. Covering one ear, I lean in closer and give a slight shake of my head. “What?”
“If you don’t believe me, ask Reggie. He suggested Roman find you the day before the show in New York. Won’t be long before he realizes you were merely a placebo, and sends you on your way.” With a forced laugh, he leaves me alone with my thoughts.
Although I’m not stupid enough to believe that Roman only asked me on this tour as a way to save his career—because after everything we’ve been through that would be ridiculous—I can’t help wondering if there could be some truth to what Normie said, and what that would mean for our future.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Roman
Later the next day, Belle sleeps in my arms as the bus heads for Ohio. She wanted to throw an afterparty in Philly, so we gathered the guys in our hotel suite a few miles down the road and didn’t kick them out until three in the morning. An endless supply of booze and groupies flowed freely throughout the night. Since I’m a stickler about being known as an obnoxious rock band, I made Rip and Dillon swear before the tour started that they’d act like civilized adults. For the most part they behaved, only warranting a couple warnings from hotel staff that we needed to keep the noise down.
A few of the guys from a well-known Brooklyn-based band that we opened for a couple years back stopped by later with their entourage. They couldn’t catch our show in New York because of other commitments, so they drove down to Philly. Belle and the lead singer’s wife hit it off right away and talked about shit like life on the road, what it’s like to be stalked on social media, and some clothing line. I also overheard the wife giving Belle advice on how to deal with groupies, but I didn’t really pay that much attention. I was too busy watching my girl from the corner of my eye, adoring the fuck out of the giant smile that never seemed to leave her lips.