Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. There was no nipping into a café, and not one sightseeing stop to soak in the fact that we’re in Paris. Paris! The only taste we’ve had of the city on foot was when we were unloaded into an admittedly pretty one-way street full of neutral, balcony-covered buildings. There, we were ushered into one—distinguishable from the others only by the sleek black revolving doors at its entrance—where we participated in an interview, followed by a front-page photo shoot.
It’s already past lunchtime, and we haven’t had a thing to eat since this morning’s toast. We’re in the minibus—separate from the tour buses and more conducive to inner-city travel—with Erin, Penny (who has to fix our hair every time a camera is in the same room as us), and our guards for the day. The company Chorus contracts, Tungsten Security, has multiple international branches. Keegan and Pauline, our primary bodyguards, traveled with us from the US, so one could be with us at all times, directing whichever guards Tungsten assigns to us in any given country. It gives us the consistency of continually working with guards who know us, while also letting us reap the benefits of security personnel who know the city, its dangers, and its escape routes, inside and out. Today, we’re riding with Keegan and three French Tungsten guards, as Pauline is taking the night shift all week.
We’re heading to the Eiffel Tower. Not for our personal enjoyment, but so we can pose for a promotional photo to post on the band’s Instagram. I’m pressed against the window at the back of the bus, staring out at what will be our few snatches of Parisian sightseeing on this stop.
Angel unbuckles and peeks back at us over the head of his seat. “So,” he whispers, “I’m gonna have a few people around my room later tonight.”
“A few people?” Zach and I echo in unison.
“Mm-hmm. Kellin’s in town, and he wants to bring Ella and Ted to hang.”
He means Kellin White, Ella Plummet, and Ted Mason, three of the biggest singers in the UK. Ella and Ted are also notoriously messy, and both have been the center of more than one scandal in the last year. The British tabloids love them, because they’re such good fodder. Ella in royal-wedding brawl with Nadia Ayoub. Ted Mason arrested for cocaine possession. Ella and Ted: are the dating rumors true?
“The tabloids would love that,” I say dryly.
“I can be friends with whoever I want,” Angel says. “That’s not proof I’m doing anything wrong.”
“Then why are you whispering?” I ask, and Zach smirks, his knee bumping against mine as we go over a pothole.
“Ruben, just…” Angel circles a hand in midair. “Just be cool, okay?”
Suddenly, Zach climbs onto his knees with his phone brandished. “Hold on, let me get a picture of this,” he says. He places a firm hand on my thigh to steady himself as he takes a picture of the scenery, because he wants me to spontaneously combust, apparently. I do my best to think about anything except for the pressure and weight of him. In the end, all I can do is stare out the window and try to distract myself.
We’re driving through a residential area that consists of dozens and dozens of creamy apartment buildings. It’s the windows that grab my attention first, stretching tall with ancient panes and wrought-iron balconies, all adorned with rows and rows of flowers. There are flowerbeds in every window, and even more flowers hanging under every streetlamp in sight. I focus on counting the flowerbeds because Zach’s still on me, and the warmth of his skin is seeping through my jeans, and—five, six, seven, eight, nine—
“Boys, I have a piece of good news!” Erin stands and shakily makes her way down the aisle to us.
Zach climbs off of me to sit back down in his own seat, and I don’t know whether to feel relief or despair. “First, though, here. The wonderful ladies at the magazine gave us a welcome to Paris treat,” she says, grabbing handfuls of plastic-wrapped candies from a black cardboard box. “These are salted butter caramels from Maison Le Roux. Hopefully these’ll tide you over till lunch.”
Thank god, food. We each shove a caramel square into our mouths, and I have to force myself to slow down and savor it instead of swallowing it whole. It’s not like any caramel I’ve had in my life, a perfect balance of sweet with a hint of salt and a thick, gooey texture that coats my mouth in a melted layer that feels almost like cream.
“Okay, yep,” Jon says thickly, unwrapping another one. “I like Paris.”
Zach tips his head against his seat and closes his eyes, a tiny, funny smile on his face. Seeing him look like that makes my chest tighten.
I have just enough time to wonder if Erin’s buttering us up with sweets when she makes her announcement. “The results from Opulent Condition’s Top Fifty Sexiest Men are in, and Ruben and Jon, you’re both on the list!”
My first reaction is, honestly, to be sort of pleased. I can’t help it. Positive feedback is my bread and butter, and you can’t beat being told you’re crowd-voted beautiful for positive feedback. It takes me longer than I’d like to admit to realize that if only Jon and I are on it, Zach and Angel aren’t.
“How did he get on it and I didn’t?” Angel asks in a huff, gesturing to Jon.
“That’s not nice,” Zach says. “Jon’s sexy.”
“Jon’s repressed,” Angel snaps. “Pretty isn’t the same as sexy. Jon blushes anytime a girl looks at him.”
Jon blinks rapidly, eyebrows sky-high. “Tell me how you really feel next time.”
“You can’t tell me this shit isn’t rigged,” Angel scowls.
“Of course it’s rigged,” Jon snaps, before turning to Erin. “They don’t come up with this on their own. Dad submitted us, right?”
Erin doesn’t deny it, and I suddenly realize I was stupid to think I’d been voted in by adoring fans. Of course Chorus picked who went on the list. I’ve understood the importance of maintaining our roles as romantic fantasies at all costs since the very beginning; Geoff made it very clear when I first told him that my hope was to come out publicly at sixteen. Think of this like one of your musicals, Ruben. You’re playing a part in a show. Those who want the part need to prove they’re the best person for the role. His point was that there would always be understudies. He didn’t spell it out, but he didn’t have to.