Just the word brings a smile to my face, almost as bright as the one Felicity wore when I asked her if she’d go out to dinner with me before our show, tonight.
Walking to the window, I look out over New York City’s impressive skyline. This is by far the nicest hotel we’ve stayed at — our penthouse suite occupies the entire 52ndfloor, boasting four balconies, a full library, and a soaking tub in the master bathroom that made Felicity’s eyes bug out of her head.
I smirk.
I’ve got very particular plans involving that tub, as soon as we get back here tonight…
Dropping my towel, I walk to the bed where my duffle sits beside Felicity’s suitcase. I yank a t-shirt and jeans from the depths and dress quickly, impatient to find her and get the fuck out of here. We’ve only got a handful of hours to eat and explore before we’re due onstage at Madison Square Garden, playing our second to last set.
Hard to believe it’s almost over.
We haven’t talked about what will happen after we play our final show. Haven’t discussed whether the end of the tour means the end of Wildwood as well. Two years ago, when our fates were all hanging on Felicity, she said yes — agreed to make an album, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do.
That’s just who she is.
Since the moment we met, Felicity Wilde has put her own needs last. Sacrificed her own dreams, if it meant letting me chase mine. So I know, if I ask her to stay, if I ask her to keep making music with me and the guys…
She’ll do it.
For me. For Aiden. For Lincoln.
She’d never forgive herself for standing in the way of our dreams… because she loves us. More than herself, more than her own hesitations, more than every instinct inside her that wants to shy away from the spotlight.
But what she doesn’t seem to realize yet is… we love her, too. All three of us, in our own ways. I see it in Aiden’s smile when he looks at her as she sings, hear it in Linc’s laugh as he makes a joke at her expense. And regardless of the fame we’d be relinquishing, regardless of the lifestyle we’d be giving up… if she asked, we’d walk away.
For her.
I shove my phone into my back pocket and start searching for my wallet. It’s not in the bathroom, not in my duffle, not on the bedside table… not anywhere. With a frustrated growl, I flip the lid of Felicity’s suitcase closed to search beneath it, sending sundresses flying in all directions. I hear a thud as something hits the floor.
Bending to look, I expect to find my wallet. Instead, I find her songwriting notebook, the pages splayed open to a column of inky scribbles. I reach out to snap it back closed, but my eyes catch on the unmistakable tear stains marring the page.
Despite the voice of reason shouting from the back of my mind that this is private, that I have no right to read her innermost thoughts… A fissure of curiosity ripples through me as my fingers close around the notebook. And when my eyes snag on the song title —NINETEEN— I can’t help myself. I shut out my screaming conscience as my eyes devour her lyrics.
By the time I finish reading, my hands are clenching the book so hard, I think the spine might snap as shock and grief and anger — so much anger, I can hardly bear it — strangle all the joy out of me.
No more secrets,she promised me, weeks ago. A liar, lying in the circle of my arms.
Only moments ago, I was smiling to myself as I planned out a romantic evening. Now, the expression on my face is one of cool calculation, as I look ahead to the show.
No more secrets, baby,I promise darkly.Not after tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
felicity
“I’ll be herewhen you’re ready to go back upstairs, Miss Wilde.”
I smile at the newest addition to my security detail — a fifth unit, added after the encounter with my mother — as I step aboard the bus. He stations himself by the doors, an intimidating tower of muscle and brawn in the otherwise deserted parking garage beneath our hotel.
“Diaz,” he grunted a few days ago, when I asked his name.
Another chatterbox, naturally.
Shivering in the chilly underground climate, I tug my thin sweater tighter around my body. I probably should’ve worn something heavier, but I want to look nice for my date with Ryder.
An anticipatory grin spreads across my face.
A real, honest-to-god date at a real, honest-to-god restaurant.