2. Kiana

2

KIANA

"Baby, will you hold up a sec and let me explain?!" Shawn calls, running after me.

"What is there to explain, Shawn? I saw it with my own two eyes."

"You didn't see what you think you saw!"

"Oh really? Because it looked pretty damn clear to me."

I smash my finger against the elevator button, looking anywhere but at him as he jogs down the hall to keep up with me. When the doors slide open, I rush inside. He follows, trying to reach for me.

"Get out of the elevator, Shawn."

"I'm not letting you go 'til I get to explain."

"There's nothing to explain this time," I snap. "I saw you with your arms around her. Your lips on her."

"Alexis?" he laughs. "Baby, she's just a friend. You know that!"

"Get out of the elevator."

I reach for the button to the ground floor. He grabs hold of my hands in an attempt to lace his fingers with mine. Several of his friends have trailed into the hall after us, nosily craning their necks and listening to our fight.

The elevator doors glide closed and we're finally alone as it sinks down the many hotel floors.

Shawn uses the time to try to pull me into his arms. Attempts I dodge until he has me cornered, blocking me with his long arms that come in handy both on and off the court.

"Kiki, will you just listen? Alexis is my friend. You know you're the one I really love."

"Your friend you hug and kiss on? You expect me to believe that?"

"What does it matter when you're my girl?"

"You're unbelievable!"

His brows have joined together to form a line of confusion. "C'mon, baby, are you really going to let some stupid shit like this get between us?"

"Yes!" I answer as the elevator dings.

We've reached the ground floor. I'm ducking out from under him the moment the doors open.

Amari calls my name from the other end of the lobby. She and my security have apparently spent the last ten minutes trying to get the clerk at the front desk to cooperate and tell them where I went.

As Amari and my security start toward me, so does Shawn—he's on my heels still doing his best to explain away what I witnessed.

But I'm done listening.

This isn't the first time I've been confronted by the possibility Shawn's cheating on me.

In the past, it was only rumors. Rumblings in gossip blogs like Messy Mandy, where she detailed how Shawn and his teammates flew groupies out at away games and put them up in hotels. Thirsty girls filling up Shawn's comment section on his social media. Questions from Amari and close friends of mine about Shawn's whereabouts or a paparazzi photo of him snapped a little too close to a girl in the VIP section of a club.

But never anything definitive. Never anything irrefutable.

…until now.

I know what I saw. I know what it looks like when a man is cozied up to a woman he's interested in, and that's what Shawn was doing. There was nothing platonic about it. And he essentially admitted it in the elevator even after first denying it.

"K, what's up? What's wrong?" Amari calls.

"We need to go. I'll be late for the fitting and for rehearsals."

"Baby, don't do this. Don't turn your back?—"

"Nobody's turning their back except for you, Shawn. I saw what I saw."

"You walk away, you'll regret it!" he says, dropping the apologetic tone.

"I highly doubt that." I round on Amari and the rest of my security team. "Let's go."

"Somebody find somewhere to put this!" I call out as I'm rushed along backstage. I'm clutching the Grammy I won less than five minutes ago.

My entourage is so large, I might as well be surrounded by a cloud of locusts. I'm not sure who even grabs the golden trophy from me. All I see is a hand slip out of the crowd of moving people. I'm shepherded along like I always am. The center of attention. The nexus of the universe.

When you're a worldwide superstar, people practically do your walking for you.

I'm guided into my dressing room where Amari and the rest of my style team attack. They begin stripping off my sparkling ruby-red ensemble and stuffing me into my next outfit. I'll be performing in twenty.

The wig I'm wearing is slid off and replaced by the one I'll be wearing for my performance—long, wavy tresses the color of sapphire jewels.

My face is painted by my head makeup artist, Tai. He works his magic like no other. By the time he's finished with me, I'm glancing in the mirror with a perfectly beat face. Whereas I usually go for more natural looks day to day, for the stage, we go all out.

Amari steps in front of me for the final appraisal.

"Monica! Pax!" she yells. "These boots are wrong! I wanted the metallic stretch leather over-the-knee thigh highs! Not the slouchy patent leathers! How the hell would she dance in those?"

Two panicked assistants bum-rush me clutching armfuls of boots. Amari supervises with hands on her hips, barking orders at them 'til they get it right.

Amari smiles wide in approval, kissing me on the cheek. "Body that shit, K."

I can't help laughing at the sisterly parting words. I'm whisked off again, immersed in another swarm of people guiding and escorting me along. All around me, chaos ensues.

Assistant producers speaking frantically into their earpieces. Stage directors yelling orders at their minions. Cameramen rushing off to make it to their stations in time. Backup dancers gathering in wait for me at the stairs leading up to the stage.

The last few seconds before a performance are always the most nerve-racking of your life.

It doesn't matter how many times I've done it.

How many arenas and stadiums I've sold out across the world.

As my name's announced and the crowd goes wild and the first music note plays, my stomach drops like I'm on a rollercoaster.

But on the outside, I couldn't look more confident.

I strut onto the stage backed by my cadre of dancers, ready to put on a show in my glittery leotard and silvery thigh high boots. I do what I always do the second the stage lights flood me and my music plays, I lose myself to the routine.

Despite the mess that's become of my personal life and my break up with Shawn, I'm able to tune it out. Every aspect of the performance rules me.

My lyrics that I sing live into my headset microphone. Dance steps that I hit in sync with my backup dancers. Energy that I put on to the excited screams and cheers from the audience.

The first song is a fast-paced banger about hitting the club with my girlfriends and meeting a guy on the dance floor.

If you're gonna step to me, you've gotta keep up with me.

Rock with me, move with me, dance with me

Rock with me, move with me, dance with me

Rock with me, move with me, dance with me

The dancers and I slip into a dance break as we reach the chorus and the addictive beat picks up. Exhilaration rushes me, pushing me to dance harder, shaking my hips as I work up the crowd.

They erupt in deafening screams as I smile and sing through the next verse. You'd never know, hours ago, I suffered the worst heartbreak of my life.

Minutes ago, before I took the stage to accept another Grammy, I was on the verge of tears .

But I'm a performer first.

The mess that's my relationship with Shawn will come later.

The performance ends with thunderous applause and the camera panned in on me and the backup dancers striking our final pose. I'm breathless as my heart pounds in my chest and I come out of my trance.

Amari practically tackles me with a hug the second I'm backstage. "My sissy's a fucking beast! You killed it!"

"The only thing being killed are my feet… by these metallic boots you made me wear," I laugh.

"We'll get you changed ASAP. You know we have to go celebrate, right? Afterparty at the Ice Lounge!"

I shake my head. "No way. Shawn and I?—"

"Broke up," she interjects. "Fuck that guy. He expects you to cry your eyes out in your hotel suite. Live up to your lyrics, sissy." She sings a line from the song I just performed, "If you're gonna step to me, you've gotta keep up with me."

"I really did get the voice in the family, didn't I?"

I laugh as she shoves at my shoulder. "Good thing I can dress for the both of us!"

"If there's one thing I love to hear, it's the laughter of Kiana Baduza and her twin sister," comes a voice from our left. My manager, Tommy Tocha, steps toward us in one of his infamous velvet suits, his combover game up top stronger than ever. The wispy hairs have been slicked down across his head that's always reminded me of a bruised melon. He beams toothily as he opens his arms and gives us quick hugs. "Was that the Ice Lounge I heard you girls talking about?"

Amari nods. "Kiana's coming out to the after party."

"What an excellent coincidence," he says, his eyes shining. "You have a very important meeting at the Ice Lounge tonight. We are hiring on more security for you, Kiana."

"More security?" I ask. "I'm surrounded by an entourage everywhere I go."

He reaches out to tap my cheek. "Dollface, you must know there's a difference between security and entourage. We've had some near breaches, and the execs are concerned. Meet me in the VIP section. Wear something nice."

He strolls off like the music big shot he is, aware I'm beholden to his asks.

…unless I want to make trouble at my record label, which isn't in my plans.

Particularly after the day I've had discovering my personal life is a mess and my relationship with Shawn is over.

"It's cool," Amari says, throwing her arm around my shoulders. "We'll still have our fun. The meeting'll be like, what, five minutes? Then we're turning up!"

I break into a laugh, unable to resist my twin's infectious energy. "Okay, fine. You might have a point. Maybe I do need a night to celebrate. Shawn's not worth my time."

"That's the energy I need you to have! Now, let's go get you changed into something sexy."