Leo's simple post of a snippet blew up. By the end of the day, it had millions of views, about the same amount of likes, countless shares, gazillions of comments. Petra called him and steamrolled his entire process, promising lifelong success if he recorded and released the song immediately.

So he did. His music team was on hand whenever he required them, and they showed up within two days to start recording the song. And while they were at it, they recorded one more, then another, then another. Next I knew, Leo came to me telling me he had a brand new album.

"Five days," he said, guzzling down an entire bottle of water as we stood in the kitchen, while Nicky worked on dinner. "That's some kind of record for us."

I'd seen him during those five days, of course, but he was a zombie. Barely eating or sleeping, restless as he typed up ideas in his notes app on his phone. We didn't make love, though he still held me and kissed me, and asked me how my day was. Compared to his, my life was boring—sending out resumes, coffee with Daphne, researching celebrities to reach out to or to ask Sapphire to reach out to for me.

"That's impressive," I said, taking his empty bottle and tossing it in the recycling bin. Nicky's dinner smelled like heaven—something with red meat and potatoes and a gravy-like sauce. I had trouble focusing on Leo while we were in the kitchen. But he didn't seem poised to move our conversation anywhere else.

"We're going to do an exclusive download release. Only available to select fans. Kind of a giveaway," he smirked, "where those who win the download also win access to that secret show I was telling you about."

"It's confirmed?" I pulled out two glasses from the cabinet, to set the table. Leo had told me many times not to do that, because he had assigned people to take care of laying out dishes. But I enjoyed the monotony of it. The normalcy of setting the dinner table; it was the least I could do to feel somewhat human, and not like the girlfriend of a billionaire rockstar.

Leo nodded. "I Face-timed Petra during one of the song recordings, and she was so fucking happy, she said yes. She's hunting down the perfect location and speaking with our IT guys to see how to make it possible. We can't have any leaks; not until after the show. I want these winners to be the first ones to listen to this new album, and based on their feedback...well, we'll go from there."

Leo was secretive, but never this secretive. Nor had he ever released or recorded an album this fast. Maybe he wasn't inspired or motivated before, but something about this group of songs pumped him up, excited him. Not that I'd known him long enough to be sure, but I'd never seen him like that. I almost wanted to text Cameron to ask him—

No. I wouldn't text Cameron. He hadn't said a word since his confession, and I'd decided to do the same. Silence was best, between us. If I reached out first, I worried he'd get the wrong idea.

The following week, Petra stopped by in person to deliver the news. She'd secured a small, low-key venue in TriBeCa, one Leo had never performed in and wouldn't be expected to. It was intimate, able to hold one hundred, maybe one hundred and fifty guests, and she'd managed to rent it for one evening only—a week from then.

"You can rehearse here, because they won't allow you to see the location until a few hours before," she said, between bites of a croissant. She'd brought us a bag of pastries to celebrate. "It's a super hush-hush place, where they usually do cabaret-style shows, but...I figured it'd work for this new groove you've got." She patted Leo's arm, beaming up at him. "I love it, Leo. I listened to the whole thing on repeat. Look, you know I dig your music, but this? It's so much deeper. So raw. So," she glanced at me, flinched, then returned to Leo, "insightful."

I had no time to ask her what that meant, before we were swept up in a busy week of rehearsals, preparations, security briefings, and social media interviews. Everyone knew about this exclusive early drop of Leo's upcoming album, and everyone wanted a part of it. But if they hadn't received an invitation yet, then they wouldn't. The giveaway was held in secret a few days ago, and the winners were already notified and signed all kinds of contracts and NDA's to protect Leo's work.

Reporters were all over him, begging for more information, for an official release date. Some rumors about a private show flew about the web, but he neither confirmed nor denied them. His social media manager promised him it'd be best to leave it a mystery, and to later reveal that there had been a show. The feedback from its attendees would decide when or if the album ever came out.

One-hundred and thirty people won the giveaway. One-hundred and thirty people got an early preview of Leo's new album, and weren't allowed to say a single word about it. It was nerve-wracking for me, as the girlfriend supporting him; so I couldn't begin to imagine how he felt about all this.

The night of the event, our driver took more shortcuts and detours than usual, just in case. The venue was, as Petra described, small and cozy, with a stage better suited for a strip-tease than for a man and his background band to perform at. The people Leo played with when going solo weren't too different from those from SMASH—a pianist, a bassist, a drummer, and a young woman who worked with all sorts of other percussion and accessory instruments.

He inspected the stage, approved of it, checked on the set-up for guests. They'd all be seated, instead of moshing below, like his usual shows. He then spoke with the sound crew, and led me backstage to his dressing room.

"This is huge," he said, as his makeup artist got busy puffing him up with powder. I'd met the artist once; they were quiet, discreet, and did their work fast to get out of the way. A few times I'd offered for Leo to hire Daphne, but later realized she wouldn't have been a good fit. She was too big of a fan. She'd squirm and come close to fainting every time she touched his face. "I mean," he scoffed, "the location is small, of course, but the event...it's huge."

I sat on a folding chair beside him, fiddling with the folds of my skirt. I'd worn a shorter one than what I was normally comfortable with, but Belle had picked it out and left it for me with a note, since she was still avoiding us. She insisted it was the best option for tonight.

Meanwhile, I struggled to sit without exposing my underwear. And we didn't need Leo losing concentration by fucking me before his big show.

"Are you nervous?" I wasn't sure why I asked; I was nervous for him, and I wouldn't be doing anything but cheering him on from the sidelines.

"More than ever." He smiled at me in the mirror's reflection, his eyes underlined with black, but less so than they would have been were he in his punk phase. He donned his customary tight jeans, but a button-up instead of a trashy t-shirt, and his hair was combed back. If he was indeed going for the crooner look, he'd achieved it.

I found him handsome no matter what he wore. "I'm so proud of you," I said, squeezing his hand, once the makeup artist got out of the way. "You're stepping way out of your comfort zone, and it suits you. I can't wait to see the show from back here."

I paused, getting a weird flash. The night I was initially supposed to meet him; the VIP tickets I'd won. But that he'd been running too late for me to shake his hand or give him a hug before his show. It was fate, wasn't it? Us not meeting that night but later, then me being locked into a fake-dating scheme with him, all to lose Cameron and end up in Leo's arms for real?

It was so eerie, and I peered around the room almost expecting Cameron to pop up, as he had that night. In his suit, with his ear-piece on, his clipboard, looking hurried and harried and frustrated and then melting at the sight of me, crumbled on a couch while waiting to meet the rockstar of my dreams.

"Oh," he said, switching to me with a wince, "about that."

I gawked at him. "You don't want me to watch?" I folded my arms and braced to give him a piece of my mind. He couldn't be shy about this, not with me.

"Of course I do," he smiled as he caressed my cheek, my chin, "but not from the back. You get a front-row seat, young lady. I want to see you as I sing."

"Flatterer," I said, fake-scowling at him as I pressed a light kiss on his lips, not wanting to mess up his makeup or lead him on to getting aroused. We didn't have time for that. "Fine, I'll sit up front, then."

"My precious VIP," he said, standing up, taking my hand to get me up, too. "Now run along and get settled before everyone else comes in."

I abided, and to my surprise a venue attendant guided me to my seat. A VIP sign was affixed to the back cushion, and the chair was directly in front of Leo's microphone, the overhead lights blasting right on me.

Way to single me out.

The room slowly filled with people. They didn't notice me, too amazed at the set-up, at the privacy of this narrow space where they'd get to see their favorite singer perform for them exclusively. Even the farthest chairs were close enough to the platform that the guests wouldn't need to zoom in to see Leo. They'd be able to capture almost every expression on his face without difficulty.

These were fans of all ages, completely randomized. I'd expected there to be mostly women, but it was a good fifty-fifty mix, with some agender and enbys, too. Gushing young adult women, older men wearing leather jackets and backwards baseball caps, ladies in their finest dresses, and a few children with their authorized parents. I didn't think children should be listening to Leo's music at all—even the sweet stuff could be a little suggestive—but who was I to parent kids that weren't mine? I didn't even know if I ever wanted kids.

Once everyone had taken their spot, the lights dimmed. Leo was wasting no time being late, for once. He was too eager to get this show on the road.

He appeared in the spotlight to roaring applause, and introduced his band-mates before clearing his throat.

"As you all know, I'm going solo for a while." He sat on a stool that a stage-hand brought over to him. "Thanks. And also, this might be news to you, as we haven't announced it officially—I'm working on a duet with Sapphire."

The audience cheered heartily at that; Sapphire was respected by almost every music-lover on the planet. There was no way to hate her, and if anyone did, I doubted their sanity.

"Tonight is...meaningful," he said, leaning the microphone closer to his mouth as he scanned the spectators. He looked so at ease, his nerves nowhere near apparent as he spoke to his fans.

How handsome and confident he was, sitting there all crooner-like, ready to enchant these people the same way he'd enchanted me. But I had no notion what he'd be singing, unlike them. I wasn't permitted to listen to the album.

"This is super special content that you were granted access to, and not allowed to talk about. But after tonight...I want to know your thoughts. Your reviews. Depending on what you think, I'll let this baby out into the world...or not."

He picked up his acoustic guitar—his electric one was on stage, too, for later melodies—and the drummer counted them in. The song he started with was the one I'd heard the snippet from; the one that had gotten him to this point.

And as I suspected, it was a love song. And it was for me. He didn't name names, but some of the words he used were signs, key turns of phrase that he knew I'd recognize and assimilate with our relationship. The wink he gave me at the end confirmed it all, too.

And the wink after the second tune. And the third.

Ten out of the fifteen songs he performed were apparently...about me. One about our trip to Vermont, a fire blazing as we made love (I blushed at that one, unsure if anyone knew I was in the audience). One about us looking into each other's eyes and realizing we loved each other. A melody that talked about how he stole me from someone, and probably shouldn't have, but it was worth it. Another that detailed the curves of my body with flowery terms, as if I were a work of art.

After the crowd finally died down, applauding so much I had no doubt their hands were in agony, he cleared his throat and got up from his stool. He'd remained sitting for acoustic songs, and stood and strummed his electric guitar for a few of the riskier ones.

"As you may have suspected," he said, raising his voice while the applause ceased, "a lot of those songs were a tad more lovey-dovey than my usual. I hope you liked them."

Someone in the audience screamed "yes, fuck yes!" and he laughed.

"Well, good, because they were all inspired by one person, and I'm sure you know who." His gaze connected with mine, and I sensed all eyes on me. My cheeks grew overwhelmingly hot. "Emma, you got me out of a rut. Out of several, in fact," he chuckled, as did a few of the guests, "and I can't thank you enough. These songs are a testament to you coming into my life at the right moment and showing me what love was." He blew me a kiss, and the crowd awwwed. "Thank you, my darling girlfriend."

I couldn't tell if the heat flooding my face was from flattery, embarrassment, fear, or all of the above. Obviously everyone knew we were dating, but this was the first time he'd been so open about it. The first time he'd made it clear he loved me.

This news would get out, along with the review of the show as a whole. It might actually be the dominant take-back for most of the attendees. It would be all over the papers, the media, and either everyone would be happy for us, or the paparazzi attacks would resume.

The audience filed out, guided by security. There was a process to ensure no one on the outside could figure out Leo was here. I watched, glued to my seat, my gaze stuck on Leo as he helped his team pack up.

This was deep. Personal. A bit weird, I had to admit, though it did please me that he'd be so candid with his fans about his love for me. Wasn't it every girl's dream to be the subject of a rockstar's songs? Shouldn't I have been kissing the ground he walked on for such a dedication?

He saw me, and waved at me to join him backstage. Once I figured out how to move my legs again, I hurried up the stage steps and past the curtain, down the narrow hallway to his dressing room.

He met me at the door, and instead of pulling me in like I'd expected him to, he snagged my wrist and dragged me down the opposite way, to the exit. His bag was slung over his shoulder, and his pace was quick, difficult for me to keep up with.

"Where are we going?" He typically needed to unwind and wait for attendees to leave before he snuck out.

"They're waiting in the back," he whispered, a pinch of excitement in his tone. "The fans. The show-goers, they...Petra organized for them to be out there while I exit, so I can sign a few autographs."

The way he lit up saying it...I couldn't resist. He was so pleased with this album, so happy about the lyrics—private and revealing—he wrote about me. And while I wouldn't fault him, I wouldn't have minded a fair warning about how private and revealing he'd get.

I wouldn't ruin his happiness tonight, so I let him hurry onward to the exit, where one of his security guys opened the door. A blast of bright light blared into my eyes, and I cupped a hand over my forehead as I joined Leo.

The enclosed alleyway was packed. We were surrounded by people, all those who'd attended the show. Security dudes loitered at every corner, and I noticed Petra by the door, waving us onward.

By the time I gathered my bearings, Leo was already saluting folks who jumped up and down behind a metallic barrier. Shaking hands, kissing cheeks, posing for pictures. This was his element—fan-greeting, hyping them up.

Flashes of amateur photographers blinded me, and squeals of delight from little girls made me smile.

I'd been so fixed on watching Leo that when someone tapped my shoulder, I nearly let out a scream. I jolted around and froze upon beholding who'd touched me.

"C-Cameron?" Behind him, I sighted a few familiar paparazzi who'd made their way over somehow. Someone must have tipped them off, showed them how to access the alley. I growled, and gestured at one of the security guards. "Get them out of here."

"Wow, that unhappy to see me, huh?" Cameron's dark eyes narrowed, and the smile he'd had across his lips when I turned around faded.

A security guard hopped over the fence and started rushing the paparazzi, but my focus was now on Cameron again.

"No, uh," I nudged him sideways to avoid the flash of a camera, "we're not alone, is all." The metal fence separated us, but we stood abnormally close, his warm breath washing over my cheeks. I stepped back and inclined my head. "Hi, Cameron. I didn't realize you were invited."

He shrugged, the hem of his t-shirt lifting to reveal the lower half of his muscled stomach. His brown jacket was tight around his arms, and as he adjusted it, I saw Leo's face was printed on his shirt. Cameron looked in his element, too. A fan, blending in with the crowd.

"He must not have known...but I got an email from him with the download link and a ticket. He has a set email chain with some of his closest people, and I guess...well, he didn't delete me from it."

"Fuck," I mouthed. "Has he seen you?" I added, louder, so he could hear me over the screams and the onrush of other security guards now coming to throw the paparazzi out of the area.

Cameron frowned. "Probably not. He's too busy." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked at the ground. "Great show. Quite the...declaration." His eyes were so sad, his mouth so droopy I thought it might melt off his face. Everything about his demeanor showed disappointment; his shoulders sagging, his pinched gaze struggling to meet mine.

I couldn't help it—I took pity, touching his hand as he wrapped it over the fence. "Cameron—"

"—no, it's okay," he said, sniffling. He wasn't crying, but might have been ready to. "I'm thrilled for you two." He bent down and picked up something from the ground; a plastic bag that I hadn't seen.

A bag filled with flowers.

"For me?" I studied him as he hefted the bag over the barricade and gave it to me.

"No," he shook his head, "for Leo. It was an old ritual of ours; I'd bring him flowers after his first show."

I brought the flowers to my nose—a mix of all kinds, and all colors, very tasteful. "Wow, Cameron. This is...uh..."

He took advantage of my distraction to lean over the fence and plant a peck on my cheek. "Bye, Emma."

Startled, frozen in place, I watched as he shoved through the growing crowd and disappeared.

I flipped to the left, searching for Leo, who had no idea uninvited fans and shady reporters had found us. He was engulfed in a hug from a little girl who was sobbing onto his shirt.

Everything was going wrong, terribly wrong. Cameron was there, the show had been discovered, and any moment now numerous sordid stories would be blasted all over the media. Because there was no doubt in my mind that someone had caught Cameron and I on camera.

They always did.

♪♪♪