"Why nicer than you need?" I ask. "There's nothing wrong with some comfort when you're working so hard."
"I just can't get over the amount of money that something like this costs a night. That would have kept my family housed for a few months back home."
"Things are different for you now, though," I say, hoping I can make her feel better. "And you need space to house us too." The wink I give her aims to lighten the conversation, but Luna lowers her gaze to the floor.
"Things are different from the outside, but not that different on the inside." She blows a breath through her pursed lips, glancing back at the view. "How many people out there are sleeping on the streets, and I'm up here bathing in a huge marble bathroom like a modern-day Cleopatra. It just feels wrong."
"It's the change," I say. "I think, with time, you'll get used to it."
"You think I'll forget my roots?"
"I think you'll feel less like you don't deserve your success."
As the words leave my mouth, I fear that I've said too much. She could easily take it personally. Instead, she frowns a little.
"Maybe it’s better that I keep feeling like I don't deserve it. That way, if this all disappears, I'll just go back home as though I was an imposter all along."
"You're not an imposter, Luna. You're made to do this! It's your purpose."
"You think?"
"Of course. Your voice is…like an angel…and you can dance and entertain."
"And I look the part. Isn't that the main thing?" Her tone is sharp, believing maybe that her looks are the reason she's popular, and maybe she's right. How many ordinary-looking people end up becoming famous because they have a talent? Most of the celebrities you see on television are good-looking.
"You're the whole package, Luna. That's why you've sold out stadiums across the world."
"The whole package?" She puts her hand on her waist, cocking her hip. "You've seen me in my pajamas. Without all the warpaint, I'm nothing special."
"Without all the warpaint, you're even more special," I say. When she blushes, her eyelashes flutter with the surprise of my compliment. My cheeks heat too, and then someone clears their throat across the room. Connor and Mo are there, Mo eyeing me with a strange half-smile on his face and Connor's expression like thunder on a gray wintery day.
"Luna wants to go sightseeing today," I say, hoping that I can distract Connor enough for him to forget my overfamiliarity.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Connor says, shooting me another look that tells me I shouldn't be encouraging this kind of thing.
"Why not?" Luna pivots gracefully on one foot to face the man blocking her plans.
"Because it's not safe. It'll be harder to protect you out in the open. A clip of your show was on an entertainment program here last night. If people didn't know you yesterday, they know you today. And we have no idea who left that shit last night. There are just too many variables."
"You're saying I have to stay trapped in a hotel room for the whole tour? Seriously?"
"Maybe not the whole tour. I just think, after yesterday, that we need to be more cautious about today. We're out of here tomorrow. In the next city, we can have a little more freedom."
"This is bullshit." Luna makes a growling voice in her throat, and she stomps back to her room, slamming the door behind her.
Mo clears his throat again, raising his dark eyebrows. "That could have gone better."
"She was never going to like hearing no. She's that kind of girl," Connor says. "But if Hudson hadn't gone and got her hopes raised, then maybe she wouldn't have reacted so badly."
"Protecting her is our job," I say. "Obviously, it would be safer for all of us if we just stayed in this room. But protecting her isn't just about her physical wellbeing. It's about her emotional wellbeing too. If she's angry and stressed or feeling claustrophobic being trapped up here, she's not going to do well in her performance later. We have to find a way to balance both."
Connor's shoulders rise and then fall as he draws in and expels a deep breath. He takes his bottom lips between his teeth, eyes focused on the middle distance. "Maybe we can bring some of Berlin to Luna."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know yet but let me think on it."
We sit down for breakfast, but Luna doesn't come back out of her room. When we're done, I gather some pastries and fresh fruit and a large glass of orange juice on a tray and knock gently on her door.
"What?" she shouts, sounding more like a petulant thirteen-year-old than a fully grown woman.
"I've got you some breakfast. You need to eat."
When Luna doesn't answer, I twist the doorknob slowly, allowing her time to object, but she doesn't.