“No.” Poppy’s grin widened. “But he’s about to find out.”
She led me to the area behind stage left, where I could see Guillaume and his band onstage, getting ready for the show to come back from commercial break so they could launch into “Beautiful Girl.” Between me and Guillaume, only ten feet away, stood Gabe, with his back to us, watching Guillaume from the wings. I wished I knew what he was thinking. I studied his broad back for a moment, my heart pounding as I tried to think of what to say to him. I felt suddenly terrified. I stopped dead in my tracks, rooted to the spot.
Just then, Guillaume, who was adjusting his mic stand, glanced over. “Emma!” he exclaimed. He grinned and waved.
Gabe whipped his head around and stared. “You’re here,” he said softly after a moment, shock playing across his features.
Before I could respond, the lights came back up and I could see Katie Jones standing on the stage.
“Here he is again, ladies and gentlemen, Guillaume Riche!” she said enthusiastically. Guillaume’s band immediately launched into “Beautiful Girl,” and, still grinning, Guillaume turned his attention away from me and began singing. Gabe continued to stare at me for a moment, then shoved his hands in his pockets and took a few steps closer.
“Hi,” he said softly. Onstage, Guillaume glanced over and gave us the thumbs-up sign before he went back to the song.
“Hi,” I said nervously. We both stood there in silence for a moment. I was dimly aware that Guillaume was playing, but suddenly everything around me—the music, the bright lights, the people who were beginning to whisper and stare—faded into the background. I felt as if I were in one of those films where everything is fuzzy and blurred except for the characters in the middle of the scene.
Gabe and I stood looking at each other for what felt like an eternity. A lump had risen in my throat, and I could feel tears pricking the backs of my eyes. My cheeks were hot, and my heart was pounding. I felt like everything was suspended. Then Gabe reached out and touched my arm.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, the spell broken. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. I never meant to do anything to hurt you.”
Gabe studied my face for a moment while my heart pounded double-time. I didn’t know what he’d say. Was he trying to decide whether he could forgive me? Whether he could forget what had happened? After all, even though it seemed that Guillaume had conjured the whole situation to get under Gabe’s skin, the fact remained that I had kissed his brother.
“No,” Gabe said after a moment. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain.” He glanced toward the stage for a moment, where Guillaume was playing his heart out to a backdrop of screams from the audience. “I’m so used to Guillaume getting the girl—for the last ten years, at least—that I just assumed it had happened again.”
“But it didn’t,” I whispered.
Gabe gave me a small smile. “I know,” he said. “I mean I know that now. But he and I are pretty competitive, and, well, let’s just say that the rock star usually trumps the reporter in situations like this.”
I smiled. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that most girls would be more attracted to a flirtatious rock star than a quiet journalist.
But I wasn’t most girls.
“I’m sorry, too,” I said. “I never should have let Guillaume kiss me. I . . . it’s a lousy excuse, but it was the champagne, not me.”
Gabe nodded and touched my arm again softly. I knew he understood. We looked at each other for a moment and then we both turned our attention to Guillaume, who was still making his way through the verses of “Beautiful Girl” onstage. After a moment, he glanced over at us, smiling.
“So doesn’t this violate some sort of professional ethics?” I asked carefully. “You covering your brother for the UPP, I mean?”
Gabe shrugged. “Maybe. But my editor has known about it since day one. The thing is, I’ve been the chief music reporter for the UPP in Europe for the last five years, way before Guillaume signed a record deal. It wouldn’t make sense to take me off a big story like this one.”
“Even if you have an obvious bias?” I persisted.
Gabe smiled. “If you’ve noticed, I’ve been nothing but fair in my articles,” he said. “Even when I wanted to kill my brother, I stuck to the facts. As for the reviews about his album, my editor wrote all that. We did decide it wasn’t fair for me to pass judgment on him.”
I nodded slowly. “So what now?” I asked as Guillaume launched into the chorus.