CHAPTER TWENTY

WILLIAMS

( — hayley williams; american singer, songwriter, musician, and businesswoman who is the lead vocalist, primary songwriter, and keyboardist of the band paramore. )

          THE PARTY STARTS, ALRIGHT.

          The reception has Winona and Beverly written all over it, a perfect mix of the two of them and what makes them who they are. There's glitter, pink, and flowers—all Beverly—but there's also a touch of Winona—straight lines, sharp highlights and shadows, silver and gold—which, once again, proves just how good Maia is at her job.

          It's horrible, but Selina's priority once they get to the reception venue is the bar. She weaves through the crowd, muttering angrily about those who stop, stare at the decorations, and block the path for everyone else, and takes great advantage of her height. Maia follows her close behind, twisting her hands in each other.

          "Maia, no," Selina warns.

          Maia frowns. "I need a glass of wine."

          "You can't hold your alcohol, remember?"

          "Yeah, screw that. I worked my ass off planning this wedding and making sure everything was absolutely perfect, so I think I've earned an entire bottle."

          She does just that. She yanks a bottle of white wine from Selina's hands, pours herself a glass, and disappears into the crowd as quickly as she appeared. Now emptyhanded and slightly less sober than Maia, courtesy of the champagne from earlier this morning, Selina needs a new distraction.

          Drew Ricci will work. She's standing next to Jersey, looking impossibly tall next to her (which isn't hard, really), and Selina begins to see the similarities between her and Charles Ricci. They both have the same ash brown hair, although his is straight and Drew sports a long mane of curls, and the same icy eyes and sun-kissed skin.

          Jersey looks at her like she's the goddamn sun, so radiant she doesn't even need to wear blush, and Selina hates that she has to interrupt such an adorable moment, yet she does it anyway. She's not shocked to see Jersey is drinking as well, which Jane would highly disapprove of if she was here.

          "Sel," she greets, chipper as always. "Have you met Drew?"

          "Can't say that I have," Selina replies, reaching out a hand towards Drew, and being caught off-guard when the latter pulls her into a tight hug—which couldn't be any different from what she expected from Charles Ricci's daughter. "Guess she's a hugger, then?"

          "She is," Jersey confirms. "Drew, this is my sister, Selina—"

          "—Locke," Drew completes, stepping back. "I'm aware. I love your show."

          "Thank you," Selina says, and she means it. Whenever Lock'd gets complimented, by whoever it is, she feels like a proud mother. After all, that's her baby. "It's been on a well-deserved break while I work on new content and try to book new guests."

          "I heard you booked Summersteen."

          Selina nervously laughs, choking on her wine. "You did?"

          "Yeah, Jersey told me." Jersey shrinks, trying to hide behind Drew's tall, slender, model-like figure. "It's not like my dad gets into much detail about the people he manages, so I appreciate the gossip. How's it going, though? Is that show still happening or did it get canceled due to a certain conflict of interests?"

          "Let me guess; Jersey told you about that as well?"

          "I'm sorry!" Jersey blurts out. "It just . . . came out. But I haven't told anyone else, and Drew hasn't either. She won't." She throws Drew a pointed look. "She won't, right? Not even to her dad?"

          Drew raises her hands next to her shoulders in a defensive stance. "Hey, it's none of my business. I'm just a fan of both your show and the band, so this crossover is everything my fangirl heart could have ever hoped for. Besides, I'm assuming my dad has no idea about it, and I'm not in the mood to deal with his anger, so you can trust me to keep my mouth shut."

          Selina sighs. "It's not like it's anything serious, anyway."

          "Yet," Jersey corrects. "Speak of the devil! There's your guy."

          Jersey points to something behind Selina and she has enough time to turnaround and see Remus make his way towards the three of them, even though he hasto stop often to greet everyone.

          Her breath gets hitched in her throat once he's close enough, leaving her feeling like a schoolgirl with a stupid crush on an older boy, and she wonders if he'll ever stop having this effect on her. He's wearing a perfectly fitted black suit, a pristine white shirt tucked into his pants, and the pocket square in his breast pocket is turquoise, much like Ethan's.

          It's almost like they styled him like that on purpose.

          "Hi," he greets, lips stretching into a wide grin, and he looks her up and down. Selina's used to that sort of gesture, but this one isn't sleazy and doesn't disgust her. Jersey snickers, but Selina barely pays her any attention—why would she, when Remus Goddamn Rossi is standing in front of her, dressed to the nines? "You look incredible."

          Selina feels heat rise up to her cheeks. "Likewise."

          He steps to stand next to her, keeping a hand on the small of her back, and thunder shocks shoot up her spine. With him, she feels so many things at once—now, it's both fire and electricity. "Hi, Jersey. Drew."

          Drew playfully smacks him on his free arm. "We were just talking about you!"

          "Were you?"

          "I want a drink," Selina chimes in, before Drew can embarrass her any further, and downs the rest of her wine so no one can use the 'but your glass isn't empty' excuse. She then takes Remus' hand, which goes completely against her previous thought, and even he seems slightly amused by the entire situation. "Let's get a drink."

          She doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, she drags him away from the two of them and away from prying eyes, even though Beverly and Winona adopted a strict no-press policy. They've also forbidden people from hooking up at the reception, which Selina totally understands; it's not like she's so desperate to sleep with someone that she can't even wait until the end of the party.

          She doesn't even want to risk doing something bold. His hand on the small of her back was indecent enough, even if it's not his fault, but she can't afford a scandal at the moment.

          "You're in a rush," he comments, once they stop by the bar, and fills a champagne flute. "Is everything alright?"

          "I really don't want to ruin this," she confesses, gesturing towards the space between the two of them. "If Charles Ricci finds out . . ."

          "Yeah." Remus massages his cheek. "I know. I'm kind of worried about that too. You don't think someone here will leak it, do you?"

          "I sincerely hope not, but maybe it's best if we keep things low key for a while, at least while we're here." Selina risks a glance around them. Since no one is paying them any attention in the slightest, she dares slide a hand under his jacket and presses it against the left side of his rib cage. His heartbeat flutters under her palm. "In my apartment, however, we don't have to worry about a soul."

          "You still owe me a dance, though. I think we can manage that."

          "As long as we dance with other people."

          Remus' smile falters. "I suppose."

          Selina steps forward to press a light, quick kiss against his lips and he relaxes ever so slightly. "It'll be okay. I promise."

          She's not sure which of them she's trying to convince with those words. Her brain goes into instant overdrive as soon as the kiss is over, worrying about whether anyone saw that short interaction between the two of them and, if someone did, she needs to know who they are and what their intentions are.

          Remus points towards the stage with his thumb. "I actually have to perform right now, but, as soon as A Fortiori take the stage, I'll come and find you."

          Selina dances with Ethan first, who claims she seems distracted. He's her date and best friend, so she was obviously going to dance with him at some point, but she worries he might feel like she's using him as a last resort. Summersteen begin with some of their more upbeat songs and a few covers just to get the party started, but she knows there are some love songs and ballads in their repertoire.

          After all, it might be a party, but it's still a wedding party.

          Selina dances with people, then, if that's what it takes to maintain their cover. She and Remus catch each other's eyes quite frequently and she has to try really hard to not blow it up, but that's hard to do.

          Once there's a break, Selina escapes from the dancing crowd and tries to find a bathroom to retouch her makeup. Everything she's wearing today is waterproof and she used a fixing spray to ensure nothing will start running down her cheeks or whatever, but it can't hurt to check.

          Inside, she finds Michaela Tate, leaning her back against a tiled wall, and pinching her nose bridge. Even though she gave birth to a child a mere month ago, she seems to have already lost most of the little weight she gained during the pregnancy; then again, Selina isn't a big fan of commenting on women's bodies.

          "Hey," she timidly greets. Michaela doesn't look at her or even lift her head to acknowledge her presence. "Are you okay?"

          "It's nothing you need to worry about," Michaela mutters, through gritted teeth. The only reason why Selina even manages to understand what she's saying is the echo in the bathroom. "You can go back to the party."

          "It doesn't look like nothing."

          Exasperated, Michaela drops her hand, huffs, and straightens. "Look, Selina, we owe absolutely nothing to each other. I thank you for what you did for me, but our relationship is strictly professional." She throws her hair over her shoulder. "We're not friends."

          Selina tries to ignore just how badly that one stung. "I'm not offering a friendship. I'm just asking if there's anything I can help you with."

          Michaela fulminates her with her stare, then turns to face her reflection on the mirror. "I miss my daughter. You can't help me with that." She tucks strands of chestnut hair behind her ears. "I miss my daughter and it took me way too long to realize that attending this wedding was a mistake. I'm happy for them, but there are some things I just can't forget—all the cyberbullying, the stalking, the insults."

          "They were insulted too, you know."

          "I know." She pulls a tube of lip gloss out of her purse. "You might find it quite surprising that I'm often able to think about other people besides myself. My point is that coming here just made me relive what happened months ago and I'm not ready to face that period of my life right now. My daughter needs me. Lincoln wanted to come and bury the hatchet."

          "And why don't you? No one here holds any grudges against you."

          "That's a lie and we both know it, Selina." Michaela finishes retouching her lip gloss. "Thanks for the chat. I don't feel better in the slightest, but I appreciate the attempt."

          She walks out of the bathroom without saying another word, her light-pink dress swaying as she moves, and Selina is alone.

          To make matters even worse, she remembers she's been drinking on an empty stomach all day and her steps are becoming wobblier by the minute. The last thing she wants to do is talk to Cory, yet she finds herself sitting at a table with him as he twirls a glass of red wine.

          "So," he says. "Fancy seeing you here."

          Selina flashes him a humorless smile. "I bet you're just thrilled about our seating arrangements."

          "Well." He leans back on his chair and a rebel strand of dark hair falls in front of his eyes. "I suppose it could be worse. You're kind of growing on me, like one gets used to a stray cat that stops by the house for a daily meal."

          "Your point?"

          "My point, Selina"—he downs his wine, quite impressively so—"is that I don't actually hate you. I just failed to see exactly what you wanted from us and, especially, from my brother. I thought you were in it for the money, for your show, for your five seconds of fame by latching on to him. I guess I was wrong. If you're keeping it a secret, maybe you're capable of rational thought, after all. Cheers." He clinks his empty glass against hers. "No need to wonder how I know. Remus doesn't have to tell me anything when I have eyes and a brain. Though, if you hurt him . . ."

          "Duly noted." Selina sighs. "I'm not planning on it."

          When Remus meets up with them, Valerie Bowie is looking like a picture-perfect blonde princess behind the microphone, while Journey O'Hara tries his hardest not to stare. It reminds Selina other bands have their own problems and refuse to take care of them, unlike Summersteen, who seem infinitely better than they did back in Barcelona.

          "I think you owe me a dance," he smugly announces. Cory rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut up. Wait until the DJ's turn and then you'll get your chance with McKenna."

          "Piss off," Cory grumbles, while Selina accepts the hand Remus reaches out towards her, letting him lead her towards the dance floor.

          SELINA AND REMUS ARE TWO GIGGLING MESSES BY THE TIME THEY MAKE IT BACK TO HER APARTMENT. The alcohol she's consumed during the entire day bubbles up in her system, and she swears she can float, even though she's stumbling over her own feet with each step she takes, but, like, whatever.

          "Careful," she warns, right after Remus walks right into a cabinet and breaks into laughter. "Careful. If we break anything, Ethan's gonna kill me."

          "I'm being careful. That was me being careful."

          "Oh, dear. Jesus. Okay." She takes a deep breath, fumbling in the dark to try to find the light switch in the living room, but her hand slips over an intricate picture frame and she nearly falls forward. Remus has the tact to react quickly and prevent her from hitting the floor. "Okay, let's not do that again."

          "Bedroom, then?"

          "Bedroom. If we can find it."

          It turns out to be a harder task than she anticipated. She wasn't planning on things ending this way—she certainly didn't expect to drink as much as she did, which goes against the reason why she stopped things from going any further on the night of the bachelorette party.

          Well, screw that, right?

          Remus' hands are surprisingly steady as he gently pulls out the bobby pins holding Selina's up-do into place, as opposed to the sloppy movements Selina tries to do to unbutton his shirt. He peppers kisses down her cheek, along the sharp line of her jaw, down her neck, across her throat, and leaves her lips for last.

          "Beautiful," he whispers. "Beautiful."

          "The dress?" Selina stupidly asks.

          "The dress is gorgeous. You're absolutely breathtaking."

          She raises her hands to cup his face between them, silent, and is mystified by how his eyes seem to glow, even in the dark. With a small sigh, she threads her fingers through his hair, pressing her body against his, and he returns the kiss as intensely.

          She inhales all of him—his cologne, his aftershave, the faint mint scent from a piece of gum, wine, and champagne. His hands slowly trail down her torso, finding a resting place on her waist, and he dips his head into the curve of her neck, leaving a delicate bite behind.

          That will leave a mark tomorrow morning. Selina can't bring herself to care—especially since she has already left a fair share of them on his neck as well.

          "If you want me to stop," he mutters, "tell me. I'll stop."

          "Don't stop."

          Remus throws her a mischievous grin before heading lower.

          Selina closes her eyes, allowing herself to be swallowed by a tidal wave of pure bliss.