Oops! I Married a Rock Star

“Yeah, but what if Devlin wants to stay longer? He seems to enjoy being your husband. And people here seem to like him, and, you know… Everything.”

“Come on, Tasha. Drover? He’s a globetrotting, hard-core rocker who normally spends his free time in places like Spain.”

“People can change.”

“Yeah, but he has certain expectations. He wants somebody who can support him by going to the band’s concerts. You know I can’t really do that.” Events with so many people just overwhelm me. The reception after my solo show was pretty terrifying, and that was only dozens of people. I can’t imagine being surrounded by tens of thousands of screaming fans at a concert.

“Did Devlin say he wants you to do that?” Tasha asks.

“No.” Because he and I aren’t together for real. “But he was most definitely offended when he learned Jeff didn’t come to the art show to support me. And he told me how he feels about people who don’t support their significant others, which means he wants somebody who can be at the band’s concerts and things. And that… Well, that’s going to be hard, although… I guess I could give it a try.” I stare up at the ceiling. The chair’s rocking motion is doing very little to make me feel calm. Actually, the back and forth from the chair sounds like “the end, the end, the end.” Shit.

“Maybe you should just talk to him about it.”

I close my eyes. Talking to him sounds so scary. Like jumping off a cliff scary. What if he doesn’t want to stay together?

It’s better not to know than know for certain we’ll be saying goodbye. That way I can at least torture myself with some slim hope. “Yeah. But… Maybe he’s only okay with the marriage and all that because it’s going to end soon.”

Tasha mulls things over for a few moments. “Has he given you any reason to think he’s dying to go back to his bachelor life?”

I think hard, trying to be fair and objective. When he wraps himself around me at night or smiles in the morning…or when he teases me or when I look at the purple unicorn he won me at the fair, I think… Maybe… Just maybe he cares about me. But I’m not the kind of glamorous model or sexy groupie he’s used to being around. Once the novelty wears off, he might get bored and move on to greener pastures, where there are mansions and servants. I don’t think I can fit into that kind of world. Nor can I change myself and do the glamorous, sexy groupie thing.

I exhale. “I don’t know.”

“Well. At least you have a few months to figure it out,” Tasha says. “But sometimes you should do what feels right in the gut, rather than what feels right in the head.”

She finishes her beer, but doesn’t talk about Devlin or my marriage deadline situation again. She knows I need some time to turn it over in my head a few times before I can make up my mind about talking to Devlin. Then she leaves, saying she needs to get going because she’s driving to Dallas for a visit with her parents and aunt to celebrate the first anniversary of her aunt’s cancer-free status. And I feel doubly bad because it reminds me that Tasha postponed the drive so we could have lunch together.

I wish her a safe trip, then quickly check my emails and texts so I can feel productive. Catherine has responded to my request and forwarded me what Barron Sterling feels when he thinks about his lady friend.

Beautiful. Bright. Graceful. Compassionate. Has the most gorgeous smile, and a magical touch with flowers. (Her garden is quite amazing.) She makes my heart beat harder and faster—but not in a way that would alarm my doctor.

I laugh at the note. The man has a sense of humor, so I bet the woman he loves enough to commission a portrait of probably does, too.

She makes me smile; she makes me laugh. I need not hide anything from her, and whatever she requires, I’m willing to provide. But she rarely asks for anything, other than my time and attention.

She is simply divine. God’s gift to me.

I smile at the affection and love in the description, and the possessive way he declared she’s God’s gift to him. I know exactly the kind of mood I need to create to make the portrait special.

And I wish I could have the same kind of connection with Devlin that Barron and Stella have.

How would you describe Devlin? What kind of portrait would you create for him?

I pause. Sexy. Hot. Brilliant. Surprisingly funny. Unexpectedly sweet. Being with him reminds me of having hot chocolate while wrapped in a blanket in front of a fireplace on a frigid, stormy night. He makes me feel secure and happy, in ways I’ve never experienced before. And that gives me the courage to reach for things I’ve chalked up as being impossible, like doing a portrait.

So why not be brave and see if we can have more than a year? If he wants to live in a bigger city, we can figure something out. Once I get my childhood home back and the studio that comes with it, we can move the entire studio to the place he wants to be. I’ve seen it done—Mrs. Thackeray brought the house she built with her husband in Cincinnati all the way down to Drover.

Suddenly I can’t wait to talk to Devlin. I put my phone down and go over to the house. I can see him through the window in the den where his drum set is. He sits down and picks up the drumsticks, then makes a few experimental taps, like he’s warming up.

It was ridiculous for me to pretend that what we have could be forever by not talking. Instead of hoping and praying, I should find a way to make it work. Devlin’s not going to know what I want if I never tell him.

I burst through the door and rush over to him, hugging him from behind. He smells faintly like the lavender-scented laundry soap we use and the minty body wash I put in the bathroom for him. He ran out of his fancy one, and he’s been making do with the off-the-shelf variety.

I put my nose against his neck and inhale a little. “You know what?”

He doesn’t say anything. And he doesn’t turn around either, like he can sense I’m about to say something really important.

“I think we should change the way things are between us.”