Rush smiles again and kisses me. “You really did miss me, baby.”
I did. I missed everything about him.
He gives me a final kiss and jumps out of the car. I join him, and he manages to get a hold of my hand as we walk across the grass to a marquee in a row of other marquees. I recognize some of the people inside from Rush’s house. Some people are new, though, like the woman Rush calls out to.
“Carrie, can you please take care of Dree and lend her some clothes? She came without anything.”
A statuesque blonde turns to me with a huge smile. She’s wearing a pair of denim shorts and an off-the-shoulder blouse. “Hey, nice to meet you. How do you two know each other?”
“I’m his choreogr—”
“We’re dating,” Rush interrupts and squeezes my hand before letting go and heading over to Wes. “I’ll catch up with you later, baby.”
Baby. Dating. Well, that’s that secret out.
I turn to Carrie to say hi when I hear Rush say, “One sec,” to Wes.
He appears back at my side and scoops me into his arms. Before I know what’s happening, he’s pressed his lips against mine. I’m aware of everyone watching us for about a quarter of a second, and then everything melts away. There’s just Rush. His mouth on mine.
“Have a good time, babygirl,” he whispers, and releases me. I watch him go, my heart performing joyful gymnastics.
Carrie laughs behind me. “I didn’t know Rush had a girlfriend. He’s been keeping you secret.”
“I, um, started as his choreographer. He listened to me then,” I say, loud enough for my voice to carry.
Rush laughs as he disappears in a group of band members, roadies and other hangers-on. Despite myself, I smile as he goes.
“How did you end up here without any luggage?”
I turn back to Carrie. “Rush picked me up without warning. Literally. He threw me over his shoulder and carried me out to his car.”
Carrie laughs and takes me over to a tent and starts rummaging through a bag. She holds a short white bodycon dress in front of me. “Put that on. Try this fringy kimono thing over the top. And here are your wellies.”
The outfit doesn’t benefit from the addition of black rubber Wellington boots, but that’s what you have to wear at Glastonbury as the fields will be mud by now. Carrie braids a scarf into my hair and gives me some makeup to do my eyes and lips, and then I’m done.
“Perfect. Festival ready.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll try not to get these clothes too muddy.”
Carrie waves a hand. “Don’t even think about that. They’re just clothes. Come on, let’s go and see Billy Eilish. Her set’s just starting.”
A couple more of the entourage join us as we head out. Rush must have talked to them because someone mutters, “Shit, there’s Striker,” and suddenly I’m flanked on all sides and we’re all walking in another direction. From within the tight circle of Rush’s people, I don’t see one hair on Striker Jones’ head.
We manage to get a good spot for Billy Eilish, right before she comes on stage. The sunshine is warm and gentle, and my arms lift up into the air to applaud her, a smile spreading over my face.
Halfway through the first track of the set, I hear someone squeal and wrap their arms around my waist. It’s Jasminta, and we both dance around with the sheer joy of seeing each other.
“I hoped I’d run into you here. Rush said you were coming. Where is he?”
I gesture over my shoulder. “Doing band stuff. Jas, I…”
“What’s up?”
I take a deep breath. “The video is being shown for the first time during Saint Cyprian’s set. It’s dropping online as well. I’m freaking out.”
Jasminta takes both my hands and suddenly looks serious. “Babe, you have absolutely nothing to be afraid of.”
“What if people recognize me?”
“I hope they do. No, I’m serious,” she adds, when she sees my horrified face. “You did nothing wrong. People are going to see you for who you are at last, not those lies that asshole told about you.”
I don’t know about that. The lies came first. The lies are who I am to just about everyone who’s ever heard of me.
Thanks to our passes, we’re able to get food and drinks in the performers’ area where the queues are almost non-existent. Jasminta’s a back-up singer for another band this year, but she tells me that her label is getting Itch Scratch into festivals next year.
“We’ll want dancers for our set. Will you choreograph the show?”
I can’t see past Rush’s set and what the fallout will be. “If you’ll still want me, after today.”
Jasminta slings an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “I’ll never not want you. By the way Rush was talking about you the other day, he’ll never not want you, either.”