CHAPTER 72 (1)

Four days until the wedding

"How many people did Jacob invite?" Timothy asks as I shift out of the car.

"Knowing Jacob, probably everyone." The music emanating from our friend's house has blood pumping through our veins as Timothy shuts the car door behind me, his smile mysterious as he threads his fingers through mine.

My heels match my silver cocktail dress, a vintage number with mesh lace detailing along the curved neck and hem that hits halfway down my thighs. Timothy looks breathtakingly handsome in a button-down open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves over dark pants.

There's no point knocking. It's clearly a party from the buzz and the music. But before I can head inside, Timothy holds me back.

His gaze skims over my outfit, lingering on my legs in a way that makes my entire body tingle before coming back to my face. "What I wouldn't give to have you to myself right now."

"A house full of tour merch?"

He grins. "You're funny."

"I try."

When I glance down at our linked hands, my skin is pale against the dark swirls of ink that cover his forearm and every inch of his hand. A little rush runs through me, the same one I feel every time.

"Hey. Where's your rose necklace?" he asks.

I press a hand to my throat. "It didn't really go with this dress."

It's a lie by omission as I think about the broken pieces. But I don't want to say it's broken, as if admitting means there's something broken with us.

I'm trying not to think about agreeing to invite three Wicked artists to our wedding weekend, two of whom I realized I'd met before and one whom Timothy could vouch for. They probably won't even come, but if they do, my fiancé promised it won't take more than a few hours of meetings and will be concluded long before the rehearsal.

All I want to think about is the wedding, but even when Timothy and I fall into bed at night, every second he's not worshipping me, it feels as if part of him is somewhere else.

It's probably in my head, nerves about the wedding, and I'm trying to find justifications for them. I resolve to focus on tonight.

On the other side of the door is a wonderland. It's a beautiful house filled with beautiful people. Jacob's friends with everyone, and the man of the hour is holding a captive audience in the cavernous kitchen.

He looks over their heads, flashing the easy grin that's brought men and women to their knees. "You guys are here!"

Jacob cuts through the crowd, and every head turns to follow him. He gives us each a one-armed hug, steering us toward the kitchen, where a bartender is hard at work.

"Don't tell me what you want to drink. I had this made for you." Jacob gestures to a bottle of champagne, and Timothy and I exchange a look. "It was a joke! Fuck, you guys. I know you hate bubbles." He nods to the bartender. "But top me up."

Timothy gets a soda while I ask for white wine.

I recognize Andie in a black dress, her blond hair in waves that end right below her jawline. Her face is split into a wry grin at something another partier said as I rush to embrace her.

Dad and Haley are on the other side of the doors open to the patio walled in by high trees for privacy.

Jacob takes us outside to low lounge couches surrounding a coffee table with a fire in the middle. My arms prickle from the contrast between the cool evening air and the heat.

"You know everyone, right?" Jacob asks casually, pointing out person after person he works with.

"Oh, one more introduction. Incoming."

I look up from my phone in time to see a furry shape bounding toward me. At the last minute, it heads for Timothy instead, humping his pant leg.

My jaw drops. "You got a dog?!"

"Fostering," Jacob corrects. "And my new roommate here has issues with my former roommate." Jacob cackles. "Down, Ernie," he says, mock sternly.

I stroke the furry creature, a black mop that comes to my knees. "Ernie?"

"Named for Ernest Hemingway," Jacob confirms. "A man's man."

I laugh as the dog amps up its attempts at my fiancé.

"At least he has good taste," I comment, and Timothy shoots me a pained look.

Out of nowhere, the bartender cuts through the crowd with a tray of shots glowing dully emerald in the light.

"It's a little late for juicing," Andie chides, but Beck ignores her and goes to stand on the back of the couch like some emerging A-list god.

"Hollywood has a rule. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

There's no glass-clinking or throat-clearing required for his smooth, warm voice to carry over the chatter. Every head turns toward him, every conversation dying under the force of his magnetism.

"I say who needs friends when you have rivals? People who keep you sharp and have your back at once."

I look around, the faces familiar in the dark, and my chest tightens in gratitude.

"Each person here wants something and wants it bad enough to put everything on the line." Jacob gestures to the valley below. "Every light you see is a dream. We all have them, and we come here until they go out or they come true."

Timothy stands tall next to me in the dark, his presence warm and sure.

"It's easy to feel alone, but if you find people to dream with and still make it on your own?" He shakes his head. "That's something fucking special. So, congrats to my favorite friends and eternal rivals." Jacob lifts his shot. "May the light of your dreams always shine together."

The scene surrounding me blurs, and I swallow, lifting my drink. Next to me, Timothy does the same. We all toss back the shot together, and the green drink tastes tart on my tongue before the alcohol seeps in, warmth spreading through my stomach and chest, leaving my arms tingling.

Jacob drops off the couch and we hug him.

"Thank you," I murmur.

Motion by the front door catches my eye, and I wave Rica over.

Andie approaches too, and Beck wraps an arm around her neck and takes in the five of us.

"You ever think we'd be here?" she asks.

Timothy's a massive success. Andie and Rica are both hustling it out and doing well enough to land jobs across the country. I've produced and starred in a show running on Broadway. Jacob has a hit TV show.

"Fuck yeah," Jacob says. "How was I supposed to pay for this house?"

Andie snorts. "How are you paying for this house? You got enough for season two of your show?"

"And I'm pitching a reality show. Being Jacob."

Rica shakes her head. "You couldn't pay me enough to have people follow me around with cameras."

"That's because you don't like the spotlight." Jacob says it fondly, and Rae lifts her glass, her bracelets shifting up her wrists.

Underneath are dark marks that have me frowning.

I pull Rica aside. "Did something happen to you?"

Her dark-lined eyes don't flicker. "I'm taking care of it. The one place I'm untouchable is in the booth. Someone thinks they can touch me there? They're gonna have a problem."

Protectiveness rises up, and I vow to follow up with her later, away from prying eyes.

People come over and congratulate us, wave after wave. Some of them want to talk about the wedding, but most want to know about Timothy's tour.

I wind my way into the kitchen, fielding congratulations with every step, and order water from the bartender.

A man already at the bar turns to take me in. "Congratulations, Emily."

"Zeke," I say in surprise. "I didn't realize you were here."

The exec responsible for Tyler's big break leans in to air kiss both my cheeks.

"How could I miss celebrating my favorite talent?" he says when he pulls back. "I've barely seen Timothy at the label the past two weeks. I was starting to wonder if getting married meant we'd never see him again."

Zeke's always been out to control Timothy. Now that he's a star in his own right, Timothy's bought himself some breathing room, allowing him to record with my dad and in New York. Returning to LA this past month was a compromise.

"If you don't see him again, it'll be your fault, not mine. He's drowning in enough merch to sink a warship."

"There's more coming."

"There better not be. He's been working nonstop. It's going to be busy with the tour, and that was before he and Dad started on..." I trail off as I realize my mistake, but Zeke's hand tightens on his drink.

"Working on what?"

"Nothing."

He tosses back the last of his drink, eyes narrowing on me. "There are rumors swirling about a shake-up in the industry. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Dammit.

I force a bland smile. "I do eight shows a week on Broadway. I can barely keep up with my own job."

I can't find Timothy.