Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Are you serious?” Justine asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Dead serious. They want to recreate the acoustic intimacy of last night’s show, but for thirty million viewers.” Elle’s grin is infectious. “This is what we’ve been working toward. Both bands, top of the industry.”
Dana leans back in her chair, shaking her head in amazement. “A year ago we were playing small venues.”
“Six months ago, we were tagging along,” Wynonna adds, looking at her bandmates. “Now we’re being courted by major labels because of one night?”
“One perfect night,” Keane corrects. “That performance . . . you could feel the magic even through a phone screen. It was authentic in a way that’s rare in this business.”
“Which brings us to the important part,” Elle says, her tone shifting to business. “How do we handle the media attention around your relationship? Because like it or not, you two are now a package deal in the public eye.”
I look at Justine, and she meets my gaze with steady confidence. Gone is any uncertainty from earlier in the tour. We know what we want, and we’re not apologizing for it.
“Well, we don’t hide it,” I say simply. “We’re professionals first, but we’re also together. Anyone who has a problem with that can deal with it.”
“Agreed,” Justine adds. “We’re not going to pretend we’re just friends or make up some story about keeping things professional. This is who we are now.”
Elle nods approvingly. “Good. Authenticity sells, and you two have it in spades. The acoustic show proved that. Now we just need to be strategic about how much access we give.”
“But . . .” I look at my sister. “Someone out front asked about Nola. I don’t know whether I should make a statement or what.”
“What for?” Dana asks. “She hasn’t been seen on tour so it’s not like people are missing her. It was probably some QuinLa Stan.”
“QuinLa?” I raise my eyebrow at Dana.
She shrugs. “I figured since you wanted your niece named QuinnElla, you were into the couple names.”
“Like us,” Hendrix says from across the table. He blows a kiss at Dana. “Henda.”
Everyone at the table busts out laughing. Except for Dana. She glares at Hendrix. “No one, and I do mean no one ever called us Henda.”
“I did,” he says with a shrug and picks up his glass of water, taking a sip.
“Anyway,” Elle says, bringing the conversation back to her. “I think unless media outlets start posting about Nola, we’ll just keep the status quo. If things change, I’ll make a public post that you amicably ended your relationship before the tour, blah, blah, blah.”
“I particularly like the blah, blah, blah, part,” I tell her.
The conversation flows from there—tour logistics, interview schedules, the SNL appearance, which won’t happen until the tour is over. But underneath it all, I’m acutely aware of Justine’s presence beside me. The way she participates in the business discussions with sharp insight and the way she handles the attention with grace.
“There’s one more thing,” Elle says as dinner winds down. “The acoustic show has inspired something else. I’ve been getting calls from venues wanting to book ‘intimate acoustic experiences.’ Smaller arenas, stripped-down shows, the whole aesthetic from last night.”
“You mean more shows like that?” Hendrix asks.
“I mean a whole tour concept. Acoustic tours are usually for legacy artists looking to prove their songwriting chops, but you’ve created something new. Rock bands in their prime choosing intimacy over spectacle.”
The idea sends a thrill through me. Last night’s performance was magic partly because it was spontaneous, but the thought of recreating that connection with audiences across the country is intoxicating.
“I love it,” Justine says immediately. “Some of our best songs would be incredible stripped down.”
“We’d need to rearrange everything,” Dana points out, but she sounds excited rather than concerned.
“New arrangements, new staging, completely different approach,” Keane adds. “It would be a risk.”
“The best things usually are,” I say, and I’m looking at Justine when I say it.
“I’m going to put out feelers and see what I can book. I’m looking at weekends only, give you more down time in between shows. The way sales are now, you’ll be able to charter all the flights.”
A thunderous cheer erupts from all of us, which causes Elle to beam. She should be proud of what she’s created.
“Thanks for taking a chance on me,” Elle says. She disconnects before we can even thank her for believing in us.
As we leave the restaurant, the paparazzi are still there but somehow less intrusive. Maybe it’s because we’re walking out hand in hand, completely comfortable with who we are together. Maybe it’s because the acoustic show has shifted the narrative from scandal to romance to serious artistry.
“How does it feel?” Justine asks as we slide into the car.
“What?”
“All of it. The attention, the opportunities.”
I consider the question as the city lights blur past the windows. Six months ago, I was heartbroken and lost. Now I’m sitting next to the woman I’m in love with, discussing SNL appearances and major label deals, planning acoustic tours that could redefine both our careers.