As she stood outside arrivals with Seth, Billy, Frankie and all their gear, waiting for a minivan to pick them up, Rosalie inhaled the southern air. There was something so homey and provincial about the south.
‘You all right there, Rosalie?’ Frankie asked. ‘Kinda look like you’re smellin’ a burger truck.’
She pursed her lips, brought her Dior shades to the tip of her nose and looking over the rim, told Frankie, ‘Do you really think I would relish the thought of a fatty burger?’
‘Now that you mention it…’
Replacing her glasses, she smiled. ‘You boys only ever think about your stomachs, don’t you?’
‘No, sometimes I think of my mouth, and how it would like to taste a burger and a beer before they hit my stomach,’ Billy said. ‘Is anyone else starving?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Seth said. ‘If there’s one thing we know how to do in the south, it’s feed people. My old man will have had the grill stoked all afternoon, smoking meat for us. Wait until you taste his ribs.’
‘Oh, are we going to visit your dad before we go to the hotel? Or are we dropping our things to the hotel first?’
Seth seemed to scowl from behind his thick black shades. ‘We’re staying with my old man. He offered, Sofia was grateful, and down here, somebody offers you hospitality and you turn it down, we have a word for that. It’s rude.’
Before Rosalie could retort or protest, a black minivan pulled up in front of them and the guys loaded their gear inside. The van smelled of cheap air-freshener and the leather on the seats was coming away at the edges. Rosalie considered her pink wrap dress and the damage those seats would do to the crepe material. She looked at the dirty step up to the van and feared for the cream leather of her Aquazzura bow-embellished sandals, bought new for the trip. Oh, she couldn’t do it to them. Her beautiful shoes.
‘Are you going to get in the van?’ Seth asked, appearing at her side in his staple stonewash jeans and scruffy boots. How could he possibly understand the dilemma she faced?
Was it too late to arrange herself a luxury transfer? Why hadn’t she checked the schedule Sofia had given her in more detail?
‘All right, let’s go,’ Seth said.
Rosalie squealed as she was hoisted into the strong arms of Seth’s tall, extremely masculine frame. ‘Put me down,’ she yelled, kicking her legs as Seth held her as if he was about to cross the marital threshold.
Ignoring her entirely, Seth stepped into the back of the van with Rosalie in his arms and set her down on the front seat.
With his body leaning over hers, Rosalie breathed him in, surprisingly affected by his scent – soap and natural musk, that was manly and disturbingly delicious. She found herself wetting her lower lip as she released her grip on his neck and the tips of her fingers traced the line of his ever-present dog tags, taking advantage of the closeness to his firm chest and enjoying the brief investigation into what was under his T-shirt.
To her surprise, when she glanced up to him, Seth’s eyes were firmly fixed on hers.
‘You can’t just manhandle me like that,’ she said.
Shaking his head, he moved to the back of the van, muttering something about time, his death and Rosalie getting in the van.
It was going to be a long three days. Made even longer by the fact she was likely to be spending it in a sleeping bag on some worn sofa in a tiny little wood hut with four men who all wore ripped stonewash jeans and smelly, styleless shirts without exception.
But as the van moved into motion, Rosalie had a thought. ‘Ooo, I almost forgot…’ Digging into her purse, she took out a small paper bag and clumsily got up from her seat, moving to each of Billy, Frankie and Seth, handing out the gifts she had bought them for the trip – mostly in an attempt to win them over.
‘They’re solid gold plecs. Not really for use but as a little memento of the occasion. See, on one side, they say Seth Young, CMA and the number one. You know, because its Seth’s first CMA. And on the other side you have your own name. So either Billy, Frankie or Seth. Do you like them?’
Billy bit down on the plec between his teeth. ‘Yep, solid gold.’
‘They’re pretty neat,’ said Frankie.
And Rosalie raised an eyebrow, eyeing Seth until eventually, his straight lips broke into a chuckle and he said, ‘It’s sweet. Thank you.’
Rosalie smiled. Mission accomplished. ‘I have one for Sofia too,’ she said, retaking her seat. ‘It’s such a shame she didn’t feel able to make it. She would have been so proud of you guys. But I totally get it. I mean, she just felt like she shouldn’t have fun and leave New York with her husband in rehab.’
‘Jay is a jackass,’ Frankie said. ‘You have to want to get clean to get clean. He’s no more likely to get off the drink and drugs this time than any other.’
‘Yeah, I’m with you, man,’ Billy said. ‘It kills me watching Soph run herself into the ground, scrimping and scraping to keep Sanfia afloat, when he spends every spare dollar they have on his habit.’
‘God, I want this… us… to work out more for her sake than my own,’ Seth said. ‘I know she’s breaking the bank to help me out and I can’t give her anything back right now.’
‘I overheard her telling Jimmy that the bank won’t lend her any more cash on her apartment. It’s mortgaged to the hilt,’ Frankie added.
‘Oh my goodness,’ Rosalie said, turning in her seat to face the guys. ‘I had no idea things were so bad. Why wouldn’t she ask me for help?’
‘Because, Ros, Sofia is a great producer, with or without her big-shot sister. She wants to make her own way,’ Seth snapped. ‘Not everyone wants to live on handouts.’
She wanted to retort. She wanted to argue that she made her own money. But something told her to save her breath.
Turning her back on the guys, Rosalie considered her designer outfit, her perfectly manicured nails and the large platinum diamond flower decorating her finger. She wouldn’t be able to convince Seth to take her seriously any more than she could convince anyone else. But her dad had faith in her. He was signing over a recording label to her. And when she made the label a continued success, maybe even more successful than Andrea’s Stellar label, everyone would take her seriously.
But right now, in a van full of people, she felt sad and lonely.
‘Crank the tunes, driver!’ Billy called out. Country music filled the vehicle as the highways and city lights of Nashville turned into fields and open country roads.
After forty minutes, they took a left onto a bumpy track that was lined with trees and horses in fields beyond. Rosalie’s jaw dropped as they approached the huge ranch that Seth’s dad called home.
‘Are you shitting me?’ Billy asked. ‘Man, you didn’t say you were loaded.’
Seth laughed. ‘I’m not. Randy bought the ranch for the old man a few years back. Before that, we had a much smaller place.’
Seth’s attire, coupled with the whole struggling musician, ex-military thing, had led Rosalie to assume he would have come from not much at all. But, of course, when you had a rock star brother, things changed. And Rosalie found herself smiling. Not because she wouldn’t have to stay on a grotty sofa for three nights but because she found herself thinking that one day, Seth would be a star, too. Something told her he would also be quick to spend his money on his loved ones.
‘Randy Jonson is a decent fucking guy,’ Frankie said of Seth’s brother. ‘Who knew?’
They pulled up by the porch that ran the length of the large house. White decking was surrounded by white railings that broke in the middle to allow for wood steps leading up to the front entrance. Two large swing chairs and two bench seats were positioned on the porch to look out across the ranch’s land. The driver came around to the side of the van and opened the door. Putting her shades in place over her eyes, Rosalie moved to the open door, looking left and right, taking in the beauty of the place. The silence of the fields. The vibrant green of the grass. The fresh air.
Well, almost fresh, she thought as she made to step out of the van.
‘Watch out for the—!’
But whoever shouted was too late. Rosalie screamed when her foot squelched into a freshly laid pile of horse poop.
‘It’s still warm. It’s on my skin!’ she yelled. ‘I’m going to vomit. Someone help me!’
But the only help she got was an old man coming running from the porch, a driver holding out a hand and three musicians doubled over with laughter behind her.
‘I am not a bad person!’ she snapped at them whilst holding her nose with one hand to cover the stench and reaching out to the driver of the van with her other, letting him lead her to cleaner ground.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered, darlin’,’ the older man said, before throwing a bucket of cold water over Rosalie’s soiled foot.
‘Is it any wonder I don’t come to the south?’ she cried, mostly for her own ears, as the older man, with a slightly smaller frame but strikingly similar features to Seth, was stepping out of an embrace with his son and greeting Billy and Frankie.
‘Good thing I brought ten pairs of shoes. I’m going to need them,’ she muttered.
‘And this must be the boss,’ Seth’s dad said, holding out a hand to Rosalie.
‘Ah, no,’ Seth said. ‘Sofia couldn’t make it. This is Rosalie.’
‘She’s a groupie,’ Frankie said, draping an arm around Rosalie’s shoulder, laughing as he did so.
‘I am not a groupie. I’m actually helping out whilst I’m training to take over my own recording label. It’s nice to meet you, Mr—’
‘Tim. Just Tim.’
She nodded. ‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Tim.’
Tim looked from Rosalie to his son, whose hand was in his hair, his arm shielding his face and his reaction to the unspoken conversation the two men seemed to be having.
They watched the minivan drive away and eventually, Tim said, ‘How’s about we get this lot inside and I’ll give y’all the southern welcome?’
‘Grilled croc?’ Frankie asked.
Tim laughed. ‘Let’s start with wings, Tim’s famous hot sauce and a fine Tennessee whisky. It’ll put hairs on your chest.’
He patted Seth’s shoulder affectionately and the group lugged their gear indoors. Rosalie took off her soggy sandals at the door and put on the pair of spa slippers she had brought with her, in case hotels in the south didn’t provide them.
The house was big and bright, which surprised Rosalie. Where she would have expected old, dark furniture, maybe even a musty smell of a home lived in by only a man, she found high ceilings, beams in place of walls, slate tiled floors, a large modern log fire, cosy yet bright and clean cream sofas, a brand-spanking-new farmhouse-style kitchen. It was like a home from a magazine and one Rosalie would have been proud to have decorated.
One corner of the living space had floor-to-ceiling shelving, packed full of vinyl records, and in front of them was an upright piano and two six string guitars set in stands.
As she looked around the space, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, tears came to her eyes. Perhaps it was the beauty of the home. That it felt warm and welcoming. She had never lived in a place that felt this way and, oddly, she felt soothed by it. As if the home were wrapping its arms around her and saying, within these four walls, you’ll never walk alone. Or perhaps that was the words of Elvis singing in the background.
Rosalie cleared her throat and fiddled with the rose-gold chain around her neck until she had composed herself. ‘You have a lovely home, Tim,’ she said.
‘Not much to do with me, darlin’, but thank you. Now, there’re two bedrooms down here going spare and two upstairs.’
Frankie and Billy volunteered for the downstairs rooms and made their way through the kitchen with their gear. Tim took Rosalie’s luggage from her, ignoring her protests, and led Seth and her upstairs.
She held onto the stair rail to steady herself as she walked through Seth’s jet wash – that scent that had thrown her in the van. For some reason, Seth seemed to abhor Rosalie and, frankly, she wasn’t fond of his crabby attitude. Nevertheless, walking behind him, his triceps were taut, his muscles contracted as he lugged his guitar in its case in one hand and his holdall in the other. He had discarded his lumberjack shirt now and wore only his white T-shirt and stonewash denim pants. He had kicked off his boots and socks on coming into the house and now he walked barefoot up the stairs. She loved how he slipped into the home as if he had never been away, how his southern drawl had ramped up a notch in his dad’s presence and, most of all, how that fine ass of his flexed as they mounted the stairs. She gripped the stair rail just a little bit harder. Window shopping never hurt anyone’s credit card.
Tim nudged open the door to the first bedroom they came to at the top of the staircase and Rosalie followed him inside. The smell of outdoors blew in from the open window that looked out across the paddock. A large oak bedframe commandeered most of the space in the room and was covered by white cotton sheets.
‘There’s a wardrobe there and a chest of drawers,’ Tim said. ‘The sheets are fresh on; I pressed them myself.’
Rosalie turned from the view across the thriving green fields and smiled. ‘By all accounts you make a mean grill. If that vinyl collection downstairs is anything to go by, you have great taste in music. And you’re domesticated? Tim, where do I find one of you and how on earth are you single?’
Tim chuckled. ‘Well, now, I do have certain lady friends from time to time.’
Rosalie laughed, more at Seth shaking his head and saying, ‘All right, Casanova, let’s leave her to it.’
Tim nodded. ‘Bathroom’s down the hall and the vinyl collection is much bigger in the music library.’
‘You have a music library?’ Rosalie asked.
Tim shrugged. ‘For want of a better name for it. Help yourself to a look around, it’s the next room from yours.’
‘Thank you, Tim. For the room, the food, for having us.’ And thank the lord this home was so much better than she had expected.
‘Nonsense. Thank you for bringing my boy home. I thought he was going to re-enlist for a time there.’
Re-enlist? In the military? Rosalie looked at Seth leaning against the door frame, his guitar case still in hand, his hair rugged from where he had pulled his fingers through it out on the porch. The thought of him ever risking his life seemed as brave as it was terrifying.
‘I’m pleased he didn’t do that,’ she found herself saying, all the while looking at Seth.
‘Do you have everything you need?’ he asked.
Everything. She had air in her lungs, warmth in her heart, a beautiful home full of love and music.
She nodded and watched Seth walk away with Tim, listening to their father and son banter as they walked down the hall.
As Rosalie took in the enticing view from her bedroom window again, the breeze cooling her skin, she realised she had never been in a home quite like this before. Not her childhood home. Not her own home.
Here, she could imagine homecooked meals, children riding the two brown horses outside, helping her little girls with their homework, family nights eating smores by a fire in the yard. What a different life that would be to her own.
After unpacking a few bits and pieces to cover her for the three nights she would be staying at the ranch, Rosalie put on an untarnished pair of Louboutin sandals and took her toiletries in search of the bathroom to freshen up.
Walking to the end of the hall, as Tim had directed her to do, she reached out for what she suspected was the knob of the bathroom door, then jumped back in shock as it was pulled open from the inside.
As the bellow of steam cleared, she was faced with a sight that dried her lips and made her mouth open as she ogled shamelessly. Seth was naked but-for the white towel tied around his waist and the dog tags that always hung around his neck.
Her gaze went first to the spot where the towel was tied, then to the cut of his muscles just above his hips. She followed the light trail of hair up his navel and his chiselled abdomen, to where the hair spread across his toned chest. His hair was wet and his jaw flexed as he swallowed, then her hungry eyes met his and the yearning she felt was unmistakable.
‘Oh my goodness. I was… Me, I… You’re wet.’
‘I showered,’ he said, stating the obvious, his eyes still fixed to hers.
‘Right. Me, too. I mean, not yet. I’m going to. Freshen up, I mean.’
He nodded. ‘Bathroom’s all yours. Don’t take hours, grub’s up.’
And just like that, his attractiveness was gone. As if she would take hours, she thought, rolling her eyes as his very nice back walked away from her.
Rosalie could smell Tim’s smoking grill as it wafted in through the bedroom window. She could hear the guys outside – Frankie, Billy, Tim and Seth. Whilst she would have preferred a colourful salad ordinarily, she had to admit to herself that she was positively salivating.
Tottering in her heels to prevent any indentations in the hardwood floor of the hallway, Rosalie was making her way outside when she remembered the music room Tim had invited her to look around.
It was the size of the bedroom she was staying in. Tim hadn’t been exaggerating. Two walls were full of vinyl records. The kind of collection it would take years to amass, even for a true lover of music.
The flooring, like in her guest room, was wood but a large square rug lay in the middle and on it sat two high-back leather chairs. Between the chairs was an old record player in the style of the fifties, with its lid open, ready to accept music. Five guitars – acoustic, electric and bass – hung on a third wall and around them were black and white prints of Randy and his band Armstrung playing live. She moved closer, inspecting them, so intricately she could see the beads of sweat on Randy’s brow. Tim was clearly a very proud father, as he should be.
Then she noticed on the wall behind her more family photographs of Tim, Randy, presumably their mother, and a young Seth. He was cute as heck – all full cheeks, not like the streamline structured face he had now, a mop of dark hair and striking brown eyes, even then. He had most resemblance to Tim, where Randy had more of a look of their mom; softer eyes and a more pronounced nose.
Next to the family pictures was a large portrait of Seth in his full military uniform – formal breasted jacket and standard issue hat. He was clean-shaven and looked strapping and proud. In truth, she was in awe of Seth and men like him, who would knowingly go into danger to serve their country.
Beside his portrait was a picture of Seth with a group of other soldiers, sitting around on crates and folded out chairs, at what looked like an operating base. He had one knee bent up as he perched on a tower of crates with a guitar in his hands.
Moving to the shelves, she realised the music had been arranged in alphabetical order by artist. Someone had lovingly worked through the collection and sorted it this way. It must have taken hours and hours of time.
She slipped out a few records – Bob Dylan, Dean Martin, Dolly Parton, Frank Sinatra, Guns N’ Roses. It was quite a collection. Whilst she was hovering in the ‘G’s area of the shelves, she came across a record that stole her breath. Grace, a self-named title.
Taking the record from the shelf, she admired the close-up of the woman on the cover. Her roman nose and high cheekbones, her painfully exquisite smile that lit up her eyes which were a reflection of Andrea’s and her long dark hair, the same colour as Sofia’s.
Settling into a high-back chair, she admired the image of Andrea’s mother until she was looking at it through wet eyes. How sad it must have been to lose her mother at such a young age. A space in her life that could never be filled. Rosalie had never lost any close relatives in her life, yet, she could understand feeling like something, or someone was missing.
‘Rosalie?’ Frankie called from somewhere in the distance. ‘You ready for beer and wings? I feel like my throat’s been cut here and the others are telling me I’ve got to be all chivalrous and shit.’
Rosalie chuckled. ‘On my way.’
She breezed onto the lawn towards the guys and the long table that was laid with food from the grill. ‘Looks yu—’
Catching herself right as the last, Rosalie yelped when the heel of her shoe dug into the mud, making her stagger-stumble forwards.
‘Nice choice of footwear for the lawn there, pretty lady,’ Billy called out.
Tim appeared at her side. ‘Darlin’, I think I’ve got some spare boots from summer harvest that might fit you, if you like?’
‘Oh,’ Rosalie laughed off her tumble. ‘Not to worry. Us city girls can handle our shoes, Tim.’
Nevertheless, she was grateful for the arm her offered, linking him as he helped her to the picnic bench style table.
Staring at the spare spot next to Seth, she contemplated how she was going to get her legs over the seat gracefully in her dress.
‘Need a hand?’ Seth said with irritation in his voice.
Rosalie wanted to stick out her tongue in response but refrained. ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said, bending to sit on the seat and pressing her knees together as she swivelled over the bench seat. ‘There. I’m in.’
‘Now that the lady’s here, let’s dive in,’ Tim said, lifting a plate of sweet-smoky wings from the centre of the table, holding them up for Rosalie in his red apron that read My son is a rock star.
Rosalie stared at the plate, wondering how she was supposed to get the sticky meat to her plate, feeling all eyes on her.
Well, she could always wash her hands afterwards, she supposed, as she took two wings between her fingers and popped them onto her own plate. As she did, she told Tim, ‘You might need an apron that says my sons are rock stars soon, Tim.’
He beamed like the proud father he was. ‘That I will, darlin’.’
Rosalie glanced to Seth, offering a smile, but got nothing in return, except the usual stonefaced Seth, as he seemed to be only with her.
Rolling her eyes, she picked up a wing and gently nibbled the food between her teeth, being careful not to mess her lipstick. Then, the taste hit her tongue and, moaning, she wrapped her mouth around the chicken. Forgetting herself completely, she spoke through a mouthful of food. ‘Oh my goodness, Tim, these are soooooo good.’
As she bit hungrily into the wing again, all the men laughed. ‘Seriously, Billy you’re going to love these. Dig in.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Billy said, as eager as Rosalie with his food. ‘Oh yeah, that’s good grill, sir.’
‘Tim, where did you learn to – Oh, pants!’ The wing she was holding slipped between Rosalie’s fingers, as she fumbled to catch it, her elbow caught the edge of her plate and in a split second, two chicken wings covered in sauce had rolled down the front of her pink dress and landed in her lap.
Not knowing what to do, she stared down at her dress, open-mouthed. The stain would never, ever come out of the fabric.
‘Oh good Lord,’ Tim said, rushing to her and rubbing her dress with a cloth that spread the sauce further.
‘Oh hell,’ Tim said, pulling back in a fluster.
Right then, Billy laughed. Frankie laughed. Seth stifled and laugh and Rosalie… well, what else was there to do than laugh with them.
Once their giggles had subsided, Seth stood and offered her a hand up. ‘Come on, I’ll get you some clothes of mine that might be more appropriate. You can throw as much food down them as you like, promise.’
Accepting his moment of no doubt fleeting kindness towards her, Rosalie took Seth’s hand and let him lead her into the house, upstairs to his bedroom.
‘Here, try these,’ he said, handing her a pair of jogging bottoms and a hooded sweater. ‘Not quite your usual glamour but better for stains, I think.’
Rosalie took the clothes. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded, staring at her but not speaking.
Inhaling deeply, she took the opportunity to ask him, ‘Seth, why do you hate me?’
He folded his arms across his chest, biceps and pecs bulging. ‘I don’t hate you, Ros. I’ve just known girls like you and that hasn’t worked out well for me.’
She stepped back and sat down onto the edge of his bed. ‘Tell me?’
He shrugged. ‘I was engaged once. To a girl called Connie. And she was a heck of a lot like you. Shoes, clothes, spending all the time. Trying to buy her way out of problems.’ He stepped back, leaning against the bedroom wall, a sign Rosalie took to mean he was going to open up to her.
‘When I was younger. Before I enlisted, and then when I was on leave, I used to go to a lot of Armstrung’s gigs, with my brother and the guys. They always had groupies around, you know? Anyway, then there was Connie and she took an interest in me. I fell for it.
‘It’s kind of hard to believe now but I thought she was… the one. Right before I went away on my first tour of Afghanistan, I proposed and she said yes. That was it for me, you know, the house, the family, the rest of our lives.’
‘What happened?’
‘Whilst I was away, I got a letter telling me she’d found someone else. Turned out to be another musician. She sent it to me with an extortionately priced jacket, as some kind of conciliation prize.’ He shook his head again. ‘I think she only ever wanted to get closer to my brother and the band, looking back.’
‘And that’s why you don’t want to be associated with Randy?’
Seth shook his head, moving off the wall and letting her know he was about done talking. ‘Randy and I chose different paths and I want to make my own way, it’s not to do with Connie.’
‘But not liking me is?’
He didn’t reply.
‘I’m not like that, you know, Seth. I do have substance. I’m sorry that someone did that to you but you shouldn’t let it colour your view of people before you take the chance to get to know them.’
He stared at her, then nodded but didn’t seem convinced. ‘See you outside.’
‘Thanks again for the clothes.’
Rosalie stood to the side of the stage and watched Seth jog into position, picking up his acoustic guitar and pulling the strap over his head as he went. There was an incredible crowd, given the time of day – late afternoon – and that Seth was still relatively unknown, despite his first single having been an airplay chart hit.
Her heart swelled with inexplainable pride as she watched the crowd cheer, eagerly anticipating this hot new artist’s set at the CMAs. Like he had done at the Presley John concert, Seth took a moment to absorb the venue and the crowd. It was a wonder he could see with the combination of the late afternoon sun shining directly onto the stage and the overhead lights on full beam.
He took a seat on the stool positioned before his microphone, exactly where he had sat the day before for his sound check, and Rosalie watched as he took a deep breath. But he didn’t look nervous, he looked every bit a star. Black shades shielded his eyes. He wore the pair of jeans that he had worn the night of the Presley John concert – much fancier than his usual stonewashed pair and slightly fitted, just enough to hug his butt and thighs – and a plain khaki-coloured fitted T-shirt, with his signature dog tags hanging down his chest. What she had once thought were a teenage boy accessory, she now respected as his nod to his brothers in arms.
‘How’re y’all doin’ tonight?’ he asked the audience, his southern twang as thick as ever.
Rosalie smiled at the wolf-whistles and screams Seth received from the field in front of the stage.
Then Billy counted them in and Seth kicked off with a medium tempo track from his album, one Rosalie had loved the first time she heard it in the studio. It took a line, maybe two, but Seth settled quickly into the performance, singing and playing as well as he ever did, teasing the crowd as he built the track and found his stride.
When he kicked on after the second chorus, Rosalie closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the music rock her body. When the song ended and the screams and cheers had died down, Seth thanked the audience, then started talking to them. Rosalie missed what he said because a kerfuffle of noise started up behind her. Turning to look across her shoulder, she saw a tall, broad guy, in black jeans, black shades and a black leather jacket. With his messed-up rock star hair, she could have sworn it was…
‘Randy?’
Seth’s rock god brother finished signing the breasts of a woman and came to Rosalie’s side. ‘If it ain’t the designer lady.’
‘Hi, Randy. I didn’t realise you and the band were playing?’
Randy folded his arms across his chest and leaned casually against a large amplifier that wasn’t in use but was on standby at the side of the stage.
‘We’re not.’ He gestured with his head toward Seth, who was starting up his most upbeat track, strumming his guitar and smiling like fun knew no limits. ‘I came to see him.’
Rosalie knew that Randy was amidst a tour with his band, Armstrung. She had no idea how he had managed to make it to Nashville and she doubted he could be staying any longer than a night. She felt an overwhelming affection toward him on Seth’s behalf.
‘Randy Jonson, aren’t you just full of surprises? One minute you’re signing a girl’s boobs and the next you’re a doting brother.’
Randy shrugged. ‘He’s my brother. I’ll always have his back.’
‘It’s really nice that you came.’
‘Just nice to see he’s finally doing what he was born to do. Ain’t no one in this life deserves it more than my kid.’
Rosalie smiled. ‘He looks like he’s been doing this all his life.’
She watched Seth tease the crowd, singing to them, winking at them, playing tricks on his guitar.
‘How did you know he was playing? Your dad? He’s out in the crowd, by the way. He wanted to get the whole experience.’
‘He’s always preferred being in the crowd,’ Randy said. ‘No, Seth told me he was playing and I couldn’t pass up his first show without me.’
They turned back to the stage and watched Seth command the set. Rosalie dialled Sofia on video call and held up her phone to let her friend see the incredible product of all her hard work. When she got back to New York, Rosalie was convinced she was going to offer Sofia an investment in Sanfia to help promote Seth.
After a second upbeat number, Seth said, ‘How’s about we bring it down a notch or two? Would that be all right?’
A girl right in front of the stage called out, ‘You can do anything to me and it’ll be all right.’
Seth laughed into his microphone. ‘I’m gonna take that as a yes, then.’
Six minutes later, a sweaty Seth came jogging off the stage. Rosalie handed him a towel and a bottle of water, then Randy pulled him into a rough embrace and said something into his ear.
Before even Frankie and Billy had made their way off stage, a group of young girls wearing lanyards that said they were VIPs swarmed Seth, asking for his autograph and selfies.
Seth glanced to Rosalie, somewhere between humbled and embarrassed. Rosalie rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Get used to it,’ she said, though she wasn’t sure he heard her over the sound of the young girls.
She gave towels and water to Frankie and Billy, then went in search of Tim in the crowd and ushered him inside.
After Tim had congratulated his son on a great performance, Randy announced he’d had enough – by which he meant enough of every person backstage; groupies, stagehands, managers, artists, everyone accosting him for pictures and autographs. Randy had a car waiting for him and offered to take Tim and Rosalie home. Seth and the guys wanted to soak up some atmosphere first and have a beer. He told Randy and Tim they would meet them back at the ranch.
Randy and Tim had been sitting on the porch, eating burgers that Tim had thrown on the grill and drinking beers. Wearing Seth’s joggers and sweater from the night before, freshly showered and with still-wet hair, Rosalie made her way outside.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’ she asked.
‘Hell, no, darlin’. Grab a seat on the swing seat there and I’ll get you a burger,’ Tim said.
‘Why are you staring at me like that, Randy Jonson?’ Rosalie asked. But she knew why…
‘I’ve just never seen you in anything other than fancy dresses, with your hair all done up and your make-up on.’
‘It’s shocking what sits behind the mask, isn’t it?’ she laughed, as Tim handed her a plate with a burger on it and offered her a bottle of beer.
She pondered the beer. It wasn’t really her thing but then, none of this scene was, really. So, she took the beer with a shrug and sipped the cold drink straight out of the bottle, coughing as it went down the wrong hole.
‘Nope, the uptown girl is still in there,’ Randy said, making all three of them laugh.
‘I like it here,’ Rosalie said, after clearing her first bite of Tim’s delicious grilled meat from her mouth. ‘The air. The ranch. The music. Do you know, I haven’t heard a car horn or a siren since I’ve been here? And, it’s like, you can walk outside and not worry about who might see you, what they might say about you, whether you’ll be snapped by a magazine and have awful comments made about you like ‘Socialite, not eating after break-up’ or ‘Following her break-up from business tycoon, daughter of supermodel looks like hell’.’ She laughed sadly. ‘Who would have thought I’d feel happy in a pair of oversized jogging bottoms and a borrowed sweater, drinking beer from a bottle with no make-up on?’
‘Hell, not me,’ Randy said, making her laugh again.
‘It’s nice,’ she said, thoughtfully, chewing her food as she watched the silhouettes of Tim’s horses, grazing in the nearby paddock.
It wasn’t long before Seth, Billy and Frankie turned up to join in the food. The guys brought out their guitars and Rosalie was, remarkably, having one of the best nights of her life, listening to Randy and Seth play ridiculous songs they had made up as kids. Watching Billy and Frankie having a ‘play-off’ to decide who was best on the electric guitar, which didn’t work, since they were declared to both be incredible.
‘Not quite Jimi Hendrix, but good,’ Tim had said, offering a reigning endorsement that made Billy and Frankie huff and the others highly amused.
There were no bright lights, no shops. There was no fine dining or champagne. Yet, her life felt as full as it had ever done.
After a while, Tim and Billy declared their night (or rather morning) was over and took themselves to bed. Frankie and Randy, who had developed a fondness of each other, or perhaps it was a mutual appreciation of bottled beer, were standing inside, choosing LPs to play on the record player, the dulcet tones of Florida Georgia Line and Tim McGraw drifting out to the porch.
Seth sat up from where he had been lying back on the porch swing opposite the one on which Rosalie was sitting. He spread his long legs out in front of him and offered Rosalie that half-smile she was becoming quite fond of.
‘You look genuinely happy, Ros.’
‘I must look like a crazy lady, having let my hair dry naturally in this humidity.’
Seth smirked. ‘Admittedly, your hair appears to have a life of its own but you look pretty. Don’t quote me on this but, you’re kind of beautiful, Rosalie.’
Usually, Rosalie was great at taking compliments. She lived for compliments. But Seth, commenting on her au-naturel appearance, that made her blush.
‘Thank you.’ Clearing her throat, she said, ‘since we’re complimenting each other, which is no doubt more beer talking than anything, you were great today, Seth. Beer or no beer. Listening to you is… I don’t have a word to describe it but you give me goosebumps.’
‘I scare you?’
She laughed and enjoyed the sound of Seth laughing with her.
‘Another beer?’ he asked, leaning from his seat into a coolbox.
‘No, thank you. A crate’s my limit,’ she told him, offering a wink that was very unlike her. Enjoying the way his eyes seemed to sparkle when he was amused.
When he came back to rest, Rosalie pulled her legs up to the swing seat and asked a question she was very curious about.
‘How come your dad is on his own?’
Seth picked at the label on his bottle as he told her, ‘Mom walked out when I was five. Never seen her since. He’s had relationships here and there but I don’t think he ever got over her breaking his heart.’
‘So he’s never really tried again?’
Seth exhaled slowly. ‘Have you ever had your heart broken, Ros? Truly?’
She thought about her answer, then confessed, ‘Probably not, in honesty.’
Seth nodded. ‘Well, it’s hard to let your guard down after you have.’
‘Is that why you haven’t?’
He smirked as he drank from his bottle. ‘Maybe. Or maybe I just haven’t found the right kind of girl.’
‘Do you believe that people can have a type? Like, no one could, you know, break the mould?’
‘I’d be open to being proved wrong but, yeah, I think there’s a type.’
‘But you could overlook someone who is perfect for you because you have typecast them. Isn’t that a huge shame?’ As she thought that, Rosalie considered her baby daddies and the checklist she had prepared. Wasn’t that exactly what she had done? Hadn’t she requested a type – suits and shiny shoes, well-paid, likes theatre and over-priced schools?
‘Come on then,’ Seth said. ‘Prove me wrong. Tell me what makes you different to the it girl stereotype.’
‘Well, I’m not just material and dumb. I do want things from my life. I manage investments. That’s actually where my money is from, not from Daddy, like people assume. And when I have my own label, I’m going to prove to people that I am someone to be taken seriously. I’ll prove people wrong. I’m also looking for a baby daddy right now.’
‘A baby daddy?’
‘Yes. I’ve signed up to a programme to be matched with a suitable baby daddy. I figure, why keep putting my life on hold waiting for the right man to come along, when I can make the life I want myself.’
‘Wow, so, you’re going to start a new business and be pregnant at the same time?’
‘Yes. What’s wrong with that? I’m capable of it. See, you’re just like everyone else, you don’t think I can do it but I can.’
‘Hey, I never said you couldn’t do it. My point is, creating a new life or starting to run a new business are both all-consuming things in their own right. Why do you need to do both now?’
It was Rosalie’s turn to pick at the label of her bottle and sigh. ‘Promise you won’t think I’m pathetic?’
‘Pinky swear.’
She shrugged. ‘I want to prove I can be responsible. Both things do that. But I want a baby because… I want to come home to someone. I want someone to spend my time with. I want to love something, wholly, and for them to love me back, unconditionally. Like, no questions asked. If I’m having a bad day, they’ll love me anyway. They won’t judge me or think I’m ridiculous. I won’t have to buy things to keep up with them or to make them want to be around me.’ Without realising, tears had trickled from Rosalie’s eyes, wetting her cheeks.
Seth stood from his seat and moved to sit next to her, taking an arm around her shoulder. It was a move Rosalie was unfamiliar with. It was completely unexpected. Yet, it was so welcome that she leaned into it, dropping her head to Seth’s shoulder.
‘You think I’m pathetic, don’t you? I have so many things in my life. Anything I want, but I’m lonely and unhappy. It is pathetic.’
Seth held her chin between his forefinger and thumb and gently teased her head up until Rosalie was looking at him. ‘I do not think you’re pathetic, Ros. And actually, I think I’ve been unfair on you. I’m sorry for that. For comparing you to people I’ve known. Like you say, I don’t know you well enough to do that. But I do think that maybe you’re not sure what you want. Can I say that?’
She sniffed, looking down to her lap. ‘I’m not sure you can, actually,’ she protested weakly, without moving from Seth’s embrace.
‘Look, I think you’re kind. Your heart is always in the right place. But do you actually want to run a record label, or is it about your dad proving that he trusts you enough to give you a label? Do you really want to be a single mom, or do you want real loving relationships in your life? I think when you can answer those questions, you’ll know what to work at. But in my experience, things don’t make people happy, Ros. Knowing who you are and what you want is the only way to make yourself truly happy.’
‘That’s rich coming from someone who is striving for superstardom,’ she argued, sitting up and moving out of Seth’s hold.
Seth shook his head. ‘Honestly, I’d be happy having enough money to get by, my family around me, a guitar on my lap, a pencil and notebook in my hand, and the air in my lungs. You laugh at my jeans and checked shirts. I like wearing jeans and checked shirts. I don’t need expensive leather jackets and designer sunglasses. I’ve been approached by a giant music label already and I turned them down because Sofia was the first person to believe in me one night in a dive bar. She was the first person to take a chance on me and I want to be a success for her.’
Rosalie considered his words and surprised herself when she said, ‘I wish I could be more like you, Seth.’
He met her gaze then and told her, ‘Stop trying to be like anyone, Rosalie. Be who you want to be.’
Did she? Did she try to be like other people? Was being like Andrea the reason she wanted a recording label? Was being like Hannah the reason she wanted to have a baby? Was being like Clarissa, Kaitlin, Madeleine, even her own mother, the reason she surrounded herself with material things?
What did she want? Who did she want to be?
‘I think I’m going to go to bed,’ she said, suddenly overwhelmed and exhausted.
‘Are you okay?’ Seth asked.
She tried to smile but it didn’t come. ‘I will be.’
Seth nodded. ‘Let me walk you up.’
As she followed Seth upstairs again, she felt a strange mix of annoyance and affection for him. He had no right to tell her that she didn’t know who she was. Yet, he cared enough to say it.
He pushed open her bedroom door and flicked on the light, then turned to her on the threshold and stroked her wild hair back behind her ear. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re a good person, Rosalie. Maybe I should have stopped at that downstairs.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, smiling at him before reaching up on her tiptoes and pressing her lips gently to his cheek. ‘Or maybe you told me what I needed to hear.’
She watched his chest inflate as he inhaled deeply, his palm pressed to her cheek. Right now, she was grateful for his warm tender touch.
‘Thank you for letting me tag along this weekend,’ she said.
‘Sweet dreams, Ros.’
‘’Night, Seth.’