“Fuck.” Ezra whistled low. “You think being my boyfriend would be a punchline. Wow.”
“It’s not that I think that.” God. I really shouldn’t have attempted speaking, should have stayed silent. “But people—”
“Always with the mythical other people.” He waved a hand. “You could ignore the paparazzi, but you won’t. You’ll stare back at them and miss the good thing right under your damn nose.”
“We do have a good thing. The best. But I can’t think only of myself here. That wouldn’t be right—”
“Right for whom? What about right for you? Fair for you? You deserve more than your blasted reputation. We deserve more.”
I was back to being unable to speak, eyes burning, lips clamped together. I didn’t cry. I didn’t. But it took tensing every single muscle to hold the tears at bay.
“But you can’t see it.” Ezra shook his head, deciding for me again. “I’m not going to beg, Duncan. Do you want this to work out or not?”
If I spoke, I’d bawl, my truest feelings that close to the surface. Yes, yes, I wanted this to work out, but it couldn’t. Admitting how much I wanted this wouldn’t be enough to make it possible. I moved my jaw from side to side, trying to loosen it. I needed to say something, but Ezra was already flopping back down on the bed, pulling the covers over his shoulders. Time was up.
“You better go now,” he said woodenly, not even looking at me as he rolled to face the far wall. “Don’t worry. I’ll be ready for the sound check.”
“Ezra. I’m—” I managed to croak, but he cut me off with his own pained noise.
“Don’t you dare apologize. You’re going to say you’re sorry and that this never should have happened, and I’m so not here for that.” He spoke to the wall, but his voice was far firmer than mine. “I’m not gonna regret a damn thing about us, and you don’t get to erase everything good that happened by acting like we made some unforgivable mistake.”
“That’s not what—”
“Just go.” He waved off my final attempt to speak. “Unless you’re going to say yes, I don’t want to hear it.”
I quickly shoved on my shoes and walked to the door on shaking legs, not trusting myself to look back at the bed. The yes was right there, in my throat, on my tongue, in my heart, but I couldn’t let it out. Saying yes meant saying no to the values I’d held close for so many years. I wasn’t sure I could live with letting myself be that selfish, but I also had no idea how I was supposed to go on without Ezra either. Fuck. The ultimate no-win situation and all I could do was honor Ezra’s request and creep quietly from the suite.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ezra
Through some minor miracle, I managed to make it through the show. Iconic venue, flashbulbs everywhere, tons of celebrity sightings in the audience. It should have been the best night of the tour, but instead, every note felt flat, my brain about as effective as a rusty tuba. We’d done the show so much that muscle memory carried me through, letting me operate on autopilot, but I had no such place to retreat to for the wrap party.
The label had arranged to take over a swank SoHo club, a multistory affair with chrome staircases and glittery details. The alcohol flowed freely, appetizers were circulating, and VIP guests were packed into the expansive space.
And I was miserable. I’d taken up residence in a velvet-padded booth on the first floor with Carl and a couple of other band members. The booth was raised and slightly off to the side with a view of the dance floor and the large U-shaped bar in the center of the room.
“Oh my word. The label outdid themselves,” Kate marveled as she slid in next to me, holding a champagne flute. She’d done her hair up and worn a pretty red number that probably had more to do with Kennedy arriving in town than the wrap party.
“Yes, we did,” Ilene said smoothly, appearing seemingly out of thin air in a slinky black dress. She, too, was in town for the last concert, the label having sent her to oversee the party and all their top-tier invitees. “But you all earned it. Sales and airplay are way up. Marketing says we can raise ticket prices at least twenty percent for the next tour, which better be soon.”
“Of course.” Kate nodded enthusiastically before downing more champagne.
“I hate the idea of raising prices for Royals.” My voice was hoarse from the concert and my failure to hydrate afterward. Damn it, I even missed the way Duncan would often manage to be in my dressing room post-show, water at the ready, giving me a little break before my next set of obligations.