19. Laws of Attraction

19

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

MAZEN

Fear glitters in a dusting of apprehension that spreads across Sophia's polished face when we pull up to the curb outside of the venue. The faint sound of "Dancing with the Devil" by EMO travels through the speakers in the vehicle when it comes to a stop.

There's a thick unease emanating from Sophia, displayed by the heavy beat of her pulse at the nape of her neck. It might have brought me satisfaction a couple of weeks ago. Back when I wanted to hate her. When I still wanted to punish the beautiful woman in front of me for forgetting the night we'd shared, the moment of suspended time that had plagued my memory like a reel being played on repeat for years.

That first night, when I thought my depraved mind had conjured a ghost, was a rush like no drug had ever made me experience. Seeing her sitting there in her tattoo studio felt like life was being blown back into my charred soul by an industrial-sized fan. My heart had been dormant for so long. Beating solely just to keep my catatonic mind alive.

Though at times, I wish its movement had ceased. The first time I felt that way was when I left Sophia sleeping in that hotel room, closing a door on a chapter of my life I didn't realize I was going to miss, and then once more when my sister, Bethany, took her last breath.

Our band had accomplished everything we had ever dared to dream of having. The world was ours, ready for the taking. Night after night, we performed our hearts out, and the world ate it up. The fans begged for more, demanding not only our time, but our sanity too. I gave and gave and gave until there was nothing left of me. I bled for my art. We all have, through illnesses, stress, and fatigue. If I'm being honest, being a musician is not for the weak or weary. Living in the limelight often means that nothing's private. Secrets always have a way of being brought to the surface.

As a punk rock musician, I wore the whole tortured-soul demeanor like a second skin. I was in a dark place after my sister died. As long as I kept writing hits and touring, our label kept backing us. My brothers—the band we built from friendship, shared dreams—kept me sane, or at least that was what I let them believe. A sane man wouldn't have thoughts flash in his mind about ending it all, making the pain stop—I'll spare you the details. A sane man wouldn't drink and smoke anything he could get his hands on just to numb the voices and images in his head. A sane man wouldn't use sex as an escape so often that even that lost its appeal.

I was anything but sane. Insane is more accurate.

As soon as my soulless eyes met her delicate, petite body, and I saw the small rose tattoo on her exposed shoulder blade, things snapped back into place. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, admiring the woman I'd walked away from years prior, I felt as if I was finally able to catch my breath. My lungs expanded fully for the first time in ages just from the sight of her, my Rosella. Her presence alone was as invigorating as free-falling from a plane. I dived after that feeling headfirst, knowing I wasn't wearing a parachute to catch me.

I'd happily collide with the earth if only it meant earning one of her lighthearted smiles. I remembered her fondly, kept her image and memory alive for years before the dark erased anything good that had once offered me reprieve.

I'm standing here with another chance, scared to take it. It's an opportunity I'm afraid is too good to be true.

If only she'd just confide in us … in me … about her past, about Roman. The son she birthed, based on the birth certificate that was anonymously mailed to me—although the sender isn't so anonymous anymore. Julian Caddell sent that paper as a … what? A warning?

It's the one thing that's holding me back from truly partaking, giving in, filling the missing gap that all three of them are waiting for me to fill. The only difference between Oliver, Cannon, and me is that they've seemed to accept the fact that Sophia's past is not our business. They're okay acting blissfully ignorant, living in delusion that she's not still hiding something as huge as birthing a child from us. They're both content that when she's ready to trust us with that information, she will.

It's a bunch of noble bullshit if you ask me.

I can't just move on. Where is Roman now? Why is she here on tour without him? Lacey, her sister, obviously isn't raising him because she's here with us too. Her mom is deceased, and her father is in prison .

The question I asked her before she boarded our plane haunts me. "Where is your son?"

There's a nagging part of me that won't let it rest. A curiosity that has festered, only getting worse with each exchange we have. I can feel myself falling hard for Sophia. How could I not? She's smart, talented beyond belief, breathtaking. The artists that have taken residence in our souls call out to one another. Maybe wanting to know about her past makes me old school, neurotic even. Call it what you will. The truth is the only thing that's going to bind us, allow me to one hundred percent commit to this strange-as-shit situationship or whatever the term Murphy deemed us as.

I'll continue this ruse a little while longer before I demand answers. Before my mind and need for them override the thundering beat of my heart.

"This is important to us, Rosella."

My stomach churns at the thought of her refusing to take my hand when we exit the vehicle. We've made headway with one another, but she can tell I'm holding back. I can't even blame her for sensing my trepidation. It's like a neon sign dangling above my head.

For someone who has been through the wringer like she has, she's mastered the art of being observant. From her begging for a compliment to slip through my lips to all but rubbing it in my face that my friends aren't afraid to show they adore her. We're both walking red flags.

Stupid. We're both willfully ignoring the warnings we cast like stones at one another.

Straightening her back, she glances toward me, cutting me with a look of annoyance. "You don't have to tell me. My life is riding on the line. If we fool the media, we fool Caddell, and I get paid. I know the risks and importance of our relationship ruse, Mazen."

And we're back to grating on one another's nerves.

Oliver clicks his tongue before planting a kiss on Sophia's head. "Way to ruin a good night." The glare he gives me burns into me like a laser before he slides out of the limo's parted door first.

I hear a wave of chants, fans all clamoring for his attention as he turns on his charm and waves to the steady surge of flashing cameras.

Vanna squeezes Sophia's arm. "If all else fails, you can fake a stomachache, like Can Man here did."

Murphy climbs out before his wife, then bends, extending his hand to help Vanna out of the vehicle, like a gentleman. Probably the only one of us in the band.

"You know what I like most about you?" Cannon's eyes meet Sophia's. After she shakes her head, he continues, "You don't cower to anyone. Not Knox when he kidnapped you, or Caddell when your life was threatened, or this bastard over here, who continues to prove that he's the asshole everyone thinks he is."

Leave it Cannon to speak more words at this very moment than he has the entire time Sophia's been on tour with us.

I see what she sees in him though. He's as loyal as Jupiter, it seems, and when he chooses to speak, you listen because it's always from his heart. Words aren't his specialty, but they're a weapon he's mastered since being introduced to Sophia.

"You're the strongest person I've ever met, the most beautiful woman to ever walk this carpet," my drummer finishes, and damn it, he's right.

I need to pull myself together .

The shuffling of material draws our collective attention to the open door.

"I heard that," Oliver shout-whispers, leaning into the vehicle. His gaze lands on Cannon. "Nice save, throwing in the gender specification. I'm a fucking catch if you're into hard abs and a dusting of chest hair. Which. You. Are." He bites out every word, looking pissed, but I catch the hint of a smile on his mouth.

"Your hands feel like sandpaper," Cannon retorts.

"I play guitar for a living, asswipe."

Sophia's cheeks redden. "I happen to like your hands, your mouth … and both of your co—"

I feel like an outsider once again, and my jealousy boils over like a pot of water without a wooden spoon draped over the rim. "I get it. You're all obsessed with each other." An aggravated huff leaves my mouth. "Let's get this show on the road. We have an award to collect. Then, I'm getting higher than a balloon."

One by one, we pile out of the vehicle. Sophia's the last to exit. I extend my tattooed hand toward her, a peace treaty of sorts, and she grabs it without blinking. Her flesh against mine causes a smoldering zing. A fire ignites between us that we can't seem to extinguish. There's no denying our pull. It goes far past surface level. I only passed high school chemistry because I cheated off Murphy, and even I know this is some next-level law-of-attraction shit. It's molecular.

"For what it's worth, he's right." That earns me a raised brow. "You're the most beautiful woman to ever walk this carpet, especially holding my hand. I want the world to know you're mine. Not just tonight either." I add the last thought for good measure.

"Flattery won't get you back in my good graces," she whispers, her smile doing its job to camouflage her distaste with me. "News flash: I'm not yours, Mazen. Not in all the aspects that count anyway."

It's hard to stand my ground where she's concerned. She's so stunning that my eyes physically ache. Especially as she glides beside me, looking every bit the seasoned veteran Lindsey coached her to be. If I wasn't standing right next to her to see the sparkles shimmering in the flashing lights of the cameras as we walk, I'd swear the dress was painted on her skin.

I'm instantly jealous of Vanna and Lacey. Not only did they spend the day at the spa with her, but I'm also sure their eyes were privy to the joy of watching her pull this dress on. I wonder which one zipped it up for her.

"I didn't realize I ever left your good graces. If memory serves, we called a ceasefire by way of my dick tickling your tonsils." I refuse to give light to the jab about what we share not being real. It's real . As fucking tangible as the crowd that's gawking at us, cameras flashing at lightning speed in front of them.

We continue our stroll down the red carpet, stopping every couple of feet to pose and smile. Sophia fits perfectly in the crook of my arm. I feel for my brothers, who are lagging a few steps behind us. Smiling into the cameras like a pair of bachelors who haven't found their Sophia yet. I find perverse pleasure in knowing, as I'm sure they both do as well, that the facade they're weaving for the media is a crock of shit. Not in the sense that my relationship with Sophia isn't real, more in the fact that we're not the only ones in it. Ollie and Cannon are the other two sides of our jaded square.

People are eating up the show we're putting on for them .

Exchanging a side-eye, we stop in front of another camera crew nearing the end of the carpet.

Sophia finds her voice when she bites out, "Indeed, we did. Yet you still won't fuck me."

I choke. Right there, standing in front of a sea of lenses.

It's not just a small cough. One that passes as you swallow a little spit that helps moisten your throat. Nope. I barrel into a full-fledged choking fit that has a worker scurrying to hand me a bottle of chilled ice water.

"Mr. Wilde, are you okay, sir?" the young man clad in all black asks, worry etched onto his face, his head adorned by a black headset.

"I'm all good. Thanks." I turn to Sophia, nuzzling my face into her neck. To the onlookers, my movement looks like nothing more than a lover's embrace. "I want to fuck you just as bad as you want to be fucked by me. Don't get my willpower confused or twisted. You forget that I've tasted that sweet little cunt of yours. I was there first. I coated your walls in my cum, and I will again." Another promise is made as the words leave my mouth.

Sophia's reply is breathy, "What's stopping you then?"

The incessant nagging in my gut is a reminder that there's more to the story she's woven about her past. It's like the time Jupiter ate a condom and had a bowel obstruction. Everyone said he was fine; he must've gotten on the counter and eaten something that upset his stomach. I knew it was more than that. I felt it. An irksome feeling that something was seriously wrong, and I was right. It cost a small fortune for his surgery. Another reason why I hate condoms to this day.

I bite back my real answer. The desire to say the truth is heavy on my tongue. It's not the time or place for that conversation. Rationally, I know this .

Her nearness and the tension that only continues to intensify every time our bodies meet have me amped up without an outlet in sight. Surprising even myself, I use her momentary distraction to pull her flush to my body; the heat of her skin in my arms will have to suffice. I urge the feeling of her wrapped in my arms to settle my nervous system.

If the media wants a show, a show they'll get. Without warning, I kiss her, chasing that outlet. It's not a chaste kiss either. It's meaningful, heated, and sure as hell not suited to be done in front of a throng of strangers.

Fuck them.

Our lips align like they've been partners in this dance for years. The world fades. The tension in my back ebbs before it disappears, until all that's left is me and her. My desire for the woman in my arms is made crystal clear. Surely, she's smart enough to catch on to my unsaid answer as I devour her mouth like I just scored a golden ticket to Wonka's factory.

She's the chocolate, the forbidden treat that my soul can't afford but desperately wants.

A hard slap on my shoulder breaks our trance, grabbing my attention.

"Save some saliva for your mouth, bro. Don't you know that's what gives people bad breath?" Ollie rolls his eyes, dismay clearly etched into them.

I take Sophia's hand once again, ushering her forward and tailing the rest of my band off the red carpet, through a narrow hallway that leads us into a large room. I feel a little lightheaded and a whole lot hard. We're guided toward a circular table that has our names written on fancy note cards. Cannon leans in, and on autopilot, he pulls out Sophia's chair.

"My bad," he says, noticing what he did before taking a step back, remembering that hundreds of eyes are on us.

I hear a faint whisper of, "Thanks," that she directs toward my drummer.

I slide my hand around Sophia's slim waist, reminding her who her date is tonight. It's a childish move. Knowing that doesn't stop me from moving her body directly in front of mine before I cup her cheek.

"Mazen, the cameras are gone. No need for a show."

Her words are like a knife to my heart. They flay me open, affecting every single nerve ending in my entire being. Even my fingers go rigid. Time isn't my friend. It never has been. At this moment, I don't know how much longer I can keep my cool. If she doesn't willingly tell me … us … about her son, I'm going to have to ask. Or worse, have the private investigator we hired to dig up dirt on Caddell dig up her past too.

She'd never forgive me. None of them would.

"I'm not an actor," I say offensively.

"Sure fooled me." Her sexual frustration with me has now morphed into anger. "I know this isn't real. I've known it since our first date at the boardwalk. I know it in my bones every time you turn me down. A girl can take a hint. Even if she doesn't want to accept defeat."

The hot and cold that has become our relationship has somehow misled her understanding of how I feel about her. Sure, I haven't screwed her, as she so eloquently put it, but that doesn't mean I don't want to. I thought I proved that at the pool and the morning after with my awful attempt to woo her with a homemade breakfast. Hell, I just declared in front of thousands of people how much she means to me. Just because my body hasn't shown her how maddening she makes me feel doesn't mean my heart isn't pounding in my chest, beating only for her. Even with her secret hanging between us, there's no denying how I feel about Sophia.

Why the fuck can't she realize that she's it for me?

I've done a shit job of showing her, apparently. This is why I've never dated before. I can't keep myself happy, let alone having the responsibility of keeping someone else happy too. Goddamn it though, I want it with her. I want the titles, the dates, and the where are you text messages.

I want it all with Sophia. She's the only future I've ever wanted. If I could just accept her act of omission like the rest of my band, we'd have smooth sailing. Paradise upon the horizon. She'd be fucked seven ways to Sunday already.

Reality can choke on a dick.

Glancing around, I watch Murphy pull out a chair for Vanna, and then Oliver and Cannon sit down. A couple of spectators at neighboring tables are still eyeing us with morbid curiosity. If Sophia feels like this is all still a gimmick, they undoubtedly could too.

We get it. I've never shown up to any awards show with a plus-one. This is different. I'm different since she walked back into my life like a damn hurricane, wreaking havoc and taking names.

Running my knuckle down her jaw, under her neckline, my hand stops at her chest, where I open my palm and lay it over her heart. I can feel her breath catching, her lungs holding the air hostage. I don't give a flying fuck that people are watching or that we're on a time crunch, and we need to take our seats and get situated before the host takes the stage.

None of that matters right now. Nothing matters, except making Sophia understand that this fake-dating ploy she continues to hint at ended for me a long time ago.

Secrets or not, I can't feign indifference, and I sure as hell can't let the most beautiful woman in this entire venue think that she's not good enough for a second longer.

Using my other hand to grab the one dangling at her side, I slowly glide it toward the center of my dress pants where the thin fabric is rising.

"What part of this feels fake?" I ask a little breathier than I expected to sound. "My cock is getting hard in a room full of people clamoring for my attention. My eyes haven't wavered from you once. The only person I see is you, and the only thing that is fake between us is the image that you're only mine. You're not. You're theirs too." I nod toward where Oliver and Cannon are sitting. Like the rest of the room, they're honed in on the spectacle I'm causing. "I'll share every bit of you with them. Please just wait until I'm ready and understand that you aren't the issue. It's my insecurities."

It's a half-truth, which is more than what she's offering.