I lean in the kitchen doorway awaiting her response, but the look on her face has me reconsidering my stance. Just a little.
She looks murderous. “Yes,” she spits. “That’s exactly how we’re going to play this. Because you and I both know that the standards for women are way different than the standards for men. I have to be hot and skinny and perfect twenty-four seven or I become a thing of the past. Since I’m already on my way there, I have to work extra hard to take myself seriously. And once I get signed and start working on a new album, I’ll have to completely reinvent myself. Because haven’t you noticed? Female artists reinvent themselves every few years if they want to stay on top. But even with that, I have to fit the standard. I can’t just eat whatever I want and wear whatever I want and look however I want. Not when I’m climbing out of a hole I didn’t even create.”
I let out a slow breath, taking my time to process everything she’s said. Finally, I nod. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Our situations aren’t the same.” And once again I bite my tongue on the rest of what I want to say. I want to tell her that Charlotte James faces the same pressures, but she still maintains a healthy weight and a healthy diet. I want to tell her that building muscle mass will allow her to eat more calories while still looking fit and thin. I want to tell her that I care about her and I don’t like watching her look longingly at my salad dressing or cheese or fucking bread because she’s cut out processed carbs and most fats.
But I can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.
Her face relaxes and the tension drains out of her shoulders. “Thank you,” she says quietly, her attention back on her notebook.
“What are you working on?” I ask, looking for a neutral subject change.
She shrugs one shoulder. “Another song. Just the lyrics and some chord ideas. I didn’t feel like getting out my guitar. Obviously it won’t be ready for tomorrow. But the words were there, so I wanted to capture them before they left.”
“That’s great.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it again and shakes her head, her brows drawn together and a little of her tension back in the way her shoulders creep closer to her ears.
“What is it?” I prompt. “You were about to say something. What?”
She glances at me and looks away again, offering another shrug. “I don’t … I mean, I’m not trying to criticize. I’m just wondering … are you worried? About tomorrow, I mean? Is that why you’re running so much?”
Letting out another sigh, I drop into one of the dining chairs. “Is it that obvious?” I give her a lopsided smile to show I’m not upset about the question. I work out regularly, but running like this isn’t part of my usual routine, and it’s not surprising that Alexis noticed. And I’m sure there are other tells that I’m really just a big ball of nerves.
She returns my smile with one of her own and holds up her hand, her thumb and first finger pinched together with a few millimeters of space between them. “Little bit.”
My laughter provokes a round of giggles from her, dispelling any lingering tension from our ongoing conflict about her diet. I really just need to let it go. She’s an adult. She didn’t ask my opinion. And even though, yeah, we are actually married, it’s just supposed to be a business deal. The fact that I care about her—and based on this conversation, she also cares about me—isn’t supposed to factor into anything.
Alexis adjusts her position on the couch, setting her notebooks aside, her face wrinkled in a mix of confusion and concern. “I don’t get it. Do you always get this nervous before a show?”
My smile slides off my face as my nerves resettle in my body, setting my stomach roiling and my legs jiggling. “No.” I shake my head. “This one is different, though. As a kid, I was clueless enough to not care what people thought. We’d been getting told how amazing we were for a long time, so I just thought it was an unequivocal truth. And even performing with Jonathan for his shows, those were our hits and a good chunk of his audience is former fans who’ve grown up. So that was pretty much a guaranteed good reception. But this?” I spread my hands. “This is unknown territory. And I’ve had nothing but rejection apart from Brash.”
Sympathy flits across her face. “Trust me. You’ll be great. And you know I’d tell you if I thought you’d suck.”
I flash her a grin. “Yeah. I know. And I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“But …”
“But as much as I believe you, it doesn’t settle my nerves. The only thing that’ll make me feel better is getting tomorrow over with.”
She purses her lips and moves them back and forth, and I know she wants to say something, but she’s clearly hesitant.
I roll my hand in the air. “Spit it out. Why hold back now?”
A laugh bursts out of her, quick and sharp, but she still won’t meet my eyes as she picks at fuzz balls on the back of the loveseat. “I know I don’t have a right to say anything, but …” After hesitating a moment, she raises her eyes to mine again. “Don’t run tomorrow, okay? You need to save your energy for the show. Not exhaust yourself the day of.”
Standing, I offer her a small smile and brush my fingers across the back of her hand. “I won’t. And I appreciate the concern.” Even if you don’t
