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Authors: Marni Bates

BOOK: Decked with Holly

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Chapter 20

Dominic

I
had nearly given up on ever getting a real vacation, and yet there I was on the balcony . . .
relaxing
.

With Holly.

I was almost afraid to classify it as unwinding in case that would somehow tempt fate to smack me upside the head again. But the source of most of my latest aggravation looked utterly absorbed. She wrinkled her brow in concentration as she erased something before starting again. Holly's single-minded focus on her art, the amount of satisfaction she took in getting it the way she wanted, it made me try to remember the last time I had played music without some specific end goal in mind.

I kept drawing a blank.

Even when I was toying with a work in progress with the guys, the pressure of a deadline was always looming right outside the tour bus. The very air felt electrifiedâas if even the oxygen particles knew we were fighting for a career that couldn't last.

And that scared all three of us shitless.

I had no backup plan and I wasn't qualified for anything else.... Even worse: I didn't
want
to do anything else.

So it felt good to fool around on the guitar. Especially since if it sounded crappy there was no one besides Holly, who apparently thought yowling and singing were the same thing, around to judge.

No deadlines. No pressure to nail it the first time around. Just music.

So I kept plucking and strumming until the pads of my fingers couldn't take it anymore. Then I swapped out the guitar for my drumsticks and began tapping on the railing, the small outdoor table, and the glass sliding door. Anything I wanted to use was fair game. Best of all, Holly never complained that I was messing with her concentration or passive-aggressively glared to shut me up.

Instead, Holly's gaze kept flickering between me and her sketch pad. Anyone else I would've suspected of flirting . . . but this was Holly Disaster. No game of sneaking sidelong glances from her.

She was drawing me. Normally, I would ask her to stop. I'm just not a big fan of being artistically rendered. Photo shoots are hard enough to get throughâmainly because I'm powdered to “reduce shine” and then yelled at to look “more relaxed.” It's not easy trying to appear laid-back under lights that literally scorch.

Still, I doubted anyone was going to see whatever Holly created so I just enjoyed my music. I didn't even notice how late it was becoming until Holly stood up, stretched, and disappeared inside the room. Moments later I heard her talking on the phone.

“Yeah, I'm just not feeling up to a big family dinner.” Long pause. “No, Grandpa, this has nothing to do with last night. Of course, Aunt Jessica didn't mean anything by it. I just haven't found my sea legs yet.”

That was the understatement of the century.

“I'm going to call it a night. Have fun at bingo and I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be fine! Allison and Claire are taking great care of me. Go enjoy yourself!”

Apparently, her grandpa wasn't thrilled with her little disappearing act. Then again, I didn't relish the idea of going out in public and slipping into the rock star faÃ§ade tonight any more than she did.

“It's
your
birthday trip, Grandpa.” She winced. “You see me enough as it is. We dock in Cabo tomorrow; I'm sure I'll be up for dinner then. Yeah, I love you too.”

A quick good-bye later and she was calling up room service to order two cheeseburgers, fries, and sodas. So much for not having an appetite while seasick. Either that or she had noticed the veritable pharmacy of anti-seasickness pills I had purchased for her.

Holly handed me one of the plates, settled back into her chair, and the two of us enjoyed the meal in companionable silence. Neither one of us wanted to mess up the good thing we had going so we kept things casual as we ate our food and began preparing for bed.

Maybe it was lame for me to be exhausted at nine at night. Elementary school kids stay up later than that on a regular basis. Then again, they don't have to launch fake relationships with total strangers either.

For once, I had no interest in pushing myself just a little bit harder for a little bit longer. I crashed hard . . . waking up early again to the sound of running water in the shower the next morning. Sharing my space with a girl was going to take some getting used to, but at least she had curbed her desire to sing under the spray.

For now.

She hardly made any noise at all, which was a vast improvement on the day before.

Maybe having a temporary female roommate wouldn't be so bad after all.

Since Holly clearly thought I was asleep, I saw no reason to disabuse her of the notion. Which is why I heard her rustling through yesterday's purchases before she murmured, “Hello, drugs! Good to see you again!” Then she started popping seasickness pills.

As far as a dependence on medications go, it could have been significantly worse.

“I am
not
going to vomit,” Holly promised herself. “Not again. Not for me.”

I fervently hoped she was right.

More shuffling followed and then silence except for the quiet scratching of a pencil on paper. Considering the amount of time she spent drawing, either it was her passion or I was so irritating she had turned to her one stress release outlet for constant emotional support. It had me wondering whether she was any good at it. Plenty of people want to be rock stars or artists but the lifestyle demands more than talent: It takes persistence, dedication, and a small amount of luck. Since most people
talk
about how they are in the process of creating their grand something-or-other without producing a thing, I tend to doubt ability until it's been substantiated.

Holly definitely committed a lot of time to it and I found myself wondering if I could check out the final product. That only seemed fair since she was drawing
me
. And if she had talent then I might be able to hook her up as an intern with some people in Hollywood.

It would be a nice way to show the public that our brief romance had ended on amiable terms.

Sitting up in bed, I squinted at her. “You're not drawing my good side.”

“That's because you don't have one.”

I grinned. “According to
People
I have a âcharming boyishness' that girls can't resist.”

“So do five-year-olds,” Holly pointed out. “Then again, they also enjoy banging on things and have an aversion to sharing.” She cocked her head to the side and pretended to study me. “Hm . . . I see the makings of a made-for-TV-movie here: Rock star swaps bodies with a kindergartener. Think Timothy Goff would be willing to play the lead?”

It was the reminder of a potential movie deal that brought the seriousness of our situation crashing back. I hadn't heard anything about the blowback of our fake relationship hitting the press. Hopefully, our excessive PDA session on the Lido deck the day before had put to rest the rumors that I was an abusive scumbag. Then again, the gossip sites aren't exactly known for being overly concerned with the rumors that they spread.

Especially during a slow news week.

Maybe, if I was lucky, a starlet would be photographed crawling into her car without underwear. That might distract people from discussing my nonstory. Although, given my luck, it would probably take the split of one of Hollywood's most stable couples or maybe another major political sex scandal.

“We're going to be in Cabo today,” I reminded her as I headed straight for the shower. Not that Holly seemed to care. When I emerged, she was sitting out on the balcony, nodding along to the music piping through her headphones and adding some extra shading to her sketch.

Her art was good.
Really
good, actually. I could definitely see a band using it for their album cover. It had a neat mix of realism and hyperrealism that fused into a sea of curlicues and swirls that exploded on the edges. I would've shown it to Tim and Chris if it hadn't been for one very important detail:

I looked awful.

Okay, maybe
awful
was an exaggeration. She hadn't made me bald or added a beer-gut or a handlebar mustache. But Holly had me fingering the guitar with a fierce scowl on my face, as if I expected it to mutiny at any moment.

Not exactly the laid-back image I presented to the public.

“I wasn't glaring yesterday.”

Holly jumped in her seat, knocking the headphones off her ears. “What theâoh, you scared me.” She whacked me in the chest with her sketch pad. “Stop creeping up on me!”

“What is this?” I was determined to stay on subject. “Why'd you draw me like . . .
that?
”

She laughed. “Aw, does the rock star feel self-conscious without his âcharming boyish' smile. Poor baby.”

Damn, she was annoying.

I gritted my teeth. “I didn't look like that yesterday.”

Holly shrugged. “Not most of the time. Every now and then . . . let's just say, I nailed it.”

“Well, find someone else to draw.”

She made a big show of looking around her. “You know, I would except . . . oh, wait. We're all alone. In hiding.”

I couldn't wait to get off the damn ship . . . in LA.

Chapter 21

Holly

I
probably should have gone easier on the guy.

But it was difficult being nice when you felt like a prisoner. Sure, my cell was awfully plush, but I couldn't move freely outside of the suite . . . and I didn't have too much freedom inside the room either.

There was nothing for me to do.

At least, for the next few hours until we could disembark.

I wondered what all the die-hard ReadySet fans would think if I leaked the truth that spending time with one of America's most sought-after musicians made homework look interesting. Considering that I'm a straight-B student with a tendency to copy down my math answers from the back of the textbook, that said a lot.

Still, it wasn't fair for me to take out my frustrations on my fellow captive. My parents would probably find that rude. Sometimes it seemed like my life would be a lot easier if I didn't imagine them floating around, commenting on my every move. It's sort of hard to tell your imaginary dead parents to shut up.

But I was really wishing I had kept things polite when Nick pulled up Jen's Skype contact information on his laptop.

I hadn't realized that by inputting it earlier Nick could contact
my
best friend whenever he wanted. Mainly because I didn't think he would catch me talking to her in the first place.

No such luck.

Nick's finger lingered over the phone icon. “I wonder what Jen will think of your drawing. She seemed to find my smile boyishly irresistible yesterday.”

Oh, yeah, I had noticed that too. Jen might be a total sweetheart who sees the good in everyone, but subtlety is not her specialty. I personally enjoy her frankness since she never keeps me guessing. If she wants to finish a romance novel at our sleepover, I know it. And if Jen has even the slightest interest in a guy,
everyone within a fifty-mile radius finds out about it too
.

Most of the time I consider her inability to keep her own secrets just one of her many quirks.

Then again, Jen had never swooned over the rock star I was pretending to date either.

Not that I thought she would ever betray me by making a play for Nick. Well, not intentionally. But she
could
make a fool of herself by gazing longingly at him. And accidentally flirting with him.

Jen could also be convinced to share my embarrassing secrets with Nick.

Probably.

I wasn't willing to take that chance.

“Jen's busy!” I blurted.

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “How would you know?”

“She, uh, told me. Yesterday. She has . . . jujitsu.”

Nick didn't look fazed by this information in the slightest. “That's all right. I can call her later.”

“It's a meet, actually. She's competing,” I invented wildly. “Jen wants to become a . . . pink belt.”

Nick's smug look made it clear he didn't believe a word of it. Either I was a really bad liar or he was excellent at discerning the truth.

I had a feeling that my lying skills were sorely lacking.

“Then we have to wish her luck.”

“Oh, no! That might throw her off her game. Best to let her focus.”

A knock at the door and the standard call of “Room service” provided a well-timed distraction.

“I'll get it!”

Not even giving Nick a chance to offer, I sprinted to the door. Except the room service tray wasn't the only thing waiting outside the door. There were also notes littering the doorway. Some of them were cut out in the shape of heartsâand they all had the name
Dominic Wyatt
scrawled across the front in looping handwriting. The notes addressed to me weren't quite as pretty.

Most of them included thoughtful phrases like
Back off slut, he's mine.

That wasn't creepy or anything.

In fact, the notes more than anything else made it real to me that people were paying attention to my love life. And that while our fake relationship might help Nick's reputation . . . it might also put me in danger.

Among all the fans who would do almost anything to date a member of ReadySet, there were probably a couple who wouldn't mind physically removing me from the picture if necessary.

That was one terrifying mental image.

I dropped the lot of cards into Nick's lap and he picked up a red heart-shaped one.

“You didn't have to go to all this trouble, Holly. I know you find me irresistible.”

Joking around was all fine and good . . . usually. But since I had seen those cards I had some questions for Nick and I needed straight answers.

“How did you get used to all of this?” I demanded bluntly. “The fawning, the ass-kissing, the
stalking,
how did you adjust when it first happened to you?”

He shrugged. “I haven't. I just don't let my discomfort show.”

“Okay.” I nodded, trying to wrap my head around all of it. “That might work for you, but what happens to me after the cruise? Do we pretend to stay together in LA? Do we âbreak up' before New Year's? After New Year's? Holy crap, you don't need me to go to any big parties with you, right?”

Great, I was babbling.

“What am I thinking? Of course it's not going to last that long. Right, Nick?”

He rubbed his forehead and fingered another heart-shaped note in the pile. “It shouldn't take that long. Then again, there's only one way to find out.”

He clicked on to Google and typed
ReadySet drummer, Dominic Wyatt
into the search engine. Then he selected one of the first news articles to appear.

Drummer Denies Domestic Violence: ReadySet Tries to Repair Their Image

ReadySet drummer Dominic Wyatt stunned fans by revealing that he was in a secret relationship hours after reports leaked that he was dating fourteen-year-old Cynthia Ridgley. However, it was the picture of proclaimed “girlfriend” Holly Dayton being yanked away from the door by an aggressive Mr. Wyatt that has really shaken up his fans. While Mr. Wyatt claims never to have hurt Ms. Dayton, the photographs paint a very different picture. According to relationship expert Dr. Harris Van Bueller, “It's highly unlikely that Ms. Dayton hasn't recently been in extreme distress. Her red-rimmed eyes indicate prolonged weeping and her ashen discoloration suggests panic and potential trauma. Mr. Wyatt's furious facial expression combined with his forceful removal of Ms. Dayton makes a persuasive case that she isn't with him willingly.”

How have the other members of ReadySet reacted to their drummer's recent scandal? Charity work. At a last-minute benefit to raise money for orphanages, lead singer Timothy Goff stated, “Dom is a great guy. He and his girlfriend, Holly, should be able to go on vacation in peace.” Bass player Christopher Forester added, “They are very much in love. These rumors of abuse are just that: rumors.”

According to other travelers on board the high-profile couple's cruise, the pair have been ordering in for every meal since their first (and only) major moment of PDA.

The real question is: What are they doing inside the suite?

My mouth had fallen open somewhere in the first paragraph and I stared at Nick in horror.

“Let me guess,” I said at last, struggling to pass it off as no big deal, “this isn't the news you were hoping for.”

“No. It's not.”

That was all he appeared willing to say. I didn't know if I should be relieved that he wasn't glaring at the screen . . . or concerned by how calmly he was handling it.

Truthfully, I was freaking out. The press was making me out to be a victim of domestic abuse, which twisted my stomach into tiny ringlets. The worst part was that if I denied the claim, I would look like I was in denial.

And my supposed willingness to stay in an unhealthy relationship made me feel like an absolutely terrible role model for other girls. I didn't want anyone to think sticking around with an overly possessive jerk was okay because, hey, the girl dating rock star Dominic Wyatt did it.

But while the media was practically sending me directions to the nearest rape crisis center, the notes outside the door had been utterly vicious.

Some of the comments beneath the article were even worse:

I LOVE READYSET! Dominic rules! I bet the slut deserved it.

I read somewhere that she made him really mad and kept bitching and complaining until he snapped.

Dominic Wyatt can lock me in a room with him anytime.

It hurt.

Not just the slut part, although that didn't exactly make me feel good. But the idea that I was somehow responsible for any cruel treatment Nick had dished out . . . it hit me harder than Dominic Wyatt's alleged blow.

Because nobody deserves abuse.

I didn't want to leave the room anymore. Going out in public and having people scrutinize me for any signs of assault scared me. What if Nick rested his hand on my shoulder, but because I didn't expect it he startled me a little? Would I see:
Rock star's girlfriend avoids all physical contact
the next day online?

I sure hoped not.

“Here's the good news,” Nick said slowly. “A few photos on the beach and we should still be able to break up on schedule.”

“And the bad news?” Something had to be coming.

“Lots of PDA. Hand-holding. Dancing. Kissing.”

Well, when he put it that way . . . maybe that part of the situation wasn't
terrible
.

I just wouldn't share that opinion with Nick.