“That’s how it has to be, isn’t it?” she asks after nearly a minute of silence. “A secret. It always has to be a secret.”
Her words are vague, but I know exactly what she’s talking about.
“Are you bad at keeping secrets?” I tease, very much wanting to lighten the mood.
“I’m too good at it,” she says. “I kept this side of myself secret from everyone, even myself, my whole life.”
It’s my turn to move so I have her eye contact. “Cassie, it’s not your fault.”
“What?” She frowns.
“It’s not your fault you didn’t kiss a girl until tonight. It’s not your fault that you felt it was your dirty little secret. It’s not your fault that you will have to keep this side of you hidden from the world for the sake of your career. It’s not your fault that that will sometimes make you feel ashamed and embarrassed and conflicted and angry and sad.”
A half-smile joins her frown. “Are you talking to me or yourself right now?”
“I’m talking to both of us. It’s fucked up that who we fuck is other people’s business.”
“Why have you never talked about it publicly? Being gay or bisexual or whatever?”
I open my mouth to answer, but I find there are no words. Not a fully formed sentence, at least.
“I do, in my songs. It’s right there, if you listen closely enough.”
Cassie goes quiet for a while. I wonder if she’s singing some of my songs to herself, in that pretty little head of hers. Like she did earlier. I wonder how many of my songs she knows. The possibility that she knows any of my songs makes me feel more than I want to, so I fill the silence to distract myself.
“Like I said, why should we talk about it when it’s nobody’s damn business. And also, I don’t need the stress. I have a hard enough time as it is getting death threats from the religious nutters who think my music is going to corrupt the next generation.”
“You get death threats?” She sounds as horrified as she looks.
“Of course,youdon’t,” I scoff. “I bet you don’t get any hate mail at all.”
“Oh, I get plenty. From the female fans who think they’re in love with Stephan. But Kevin manages all that for me now.”
“Same.” I sniff. “I now make sure Martin only gives me the mail from fans who send hundred-dollar bills or gold-plated jewellery to me.”
“Wow, I don’t get anything like that. You know, someone sent me rose hips the other day. From England. Told me to plant them in my garden here in LA, in case I was feeling homesick. I thought that was quite sweet.”
“Yeah, I don’t think we have many sweet fans,” I say with another snort.
“Yes, you do,” she says confidently.
My eyebrows pull together, waiting for her to elaborate.
“Me,” she says with the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen in my life.
So, of course, I have to kiss her.
We’re still kissing when there’s a knock at the door to announce our food has arrived, and it’s only because I feel my stomach growling that I reluctantly break our kiss.
Somehow, after our plates are empty and our stomachs are full, we’ve ended up back in bed, entwined together. This time, Cassie is lying flat on her back, her head propped up by pillows, and the side of my face rests on her chest. Her robe has loosened a little, and I’m granted a patch of her warm, smooth skin to nuzzle against. It’s my bad ear, because otherwise I doubt I’d be able to hear her speak, and I can feel the softest thump of her heart against my cheek. But I don’t hear it, and that makes me sadder than I will ever share with her or anyone.
“Do you miss home?” she asks as she runs her fingers through my hair. I wonder if she likes finding knots there, like I did. I’m glad she’s close enough that I can hear her speaking with only a little muffling.
“Home? You mean Sweden?”
“Yes.”
“Sweden hasn’t been home for a long time.”