The days that have passed have barely helped me get over the dressing room fiasco. From what the guys said, the show was really well recieved. In a way, I'm happy for Dimitri. But I'm also happy for that to be from a distance.
Every now and then I catch my head playing through the conversation again, trying to fix where I went wrong by presenting me with moments I could have stopped talking, or things I could have said instead.
But overall I've just tried to stay away from any mention of Dimitri Belikov.
My phone rings.
"Hey Mase," I answer. "Don't tell me it's another last minute job."
His laugh is low and warm. It makes me smile for the first time in days.
"No such luck," he replies. "I'm actually calling to see if you want to collect on that dinner I owe you."
Hmm. Dinner with Mason. It sounded good when he first asked, but now...
I'm not in the best headspace after moping around my apartment. Maybe I need a night out to take my mind off things.
"Sure," I say. "Sounds good. When were you thinking?"
"Tonight? I'll pick you up at six?"
I have to laugh at his eagerness. "Okay, I'll see you then."
"See you later Rose."
I haven't been on a date in a while. Finding the time is sometimes a struggle; prime date time of an evening is when I'm usually working. And because events happen when most people are free on weekends, I tend to have my free time during the week. It's tough to meet new people when I'm always behind the scenes. Sure, there's the guys I work with. But most of them are married, and they tend to either treat me like I'm one of the guys, or keep me at arms length and only speak about the job.
In the three hours that follow, I lose myself in the ritual of getting ready. It's the process of taking care of myself that starts to make me feel better, and by the time my hair is washed and blow dried, I start really looking forward to the evening.
Since Mason seems to like me in black, I pull on my favourite dress. The circles under my eyes are gnarly, but if I do a full face of glam makeup I'll be overdressed. I settle for a dramatic silver eye with nude lipstick. Five minutes before six, I've done everything in my power, and I know I look good.
I'm feeling optimistic. I genuinely enjoy spending time with Mason, and we have an easy friendship to build on. He's smart, funny, easy on the eyes. He's taller than me when I wear heels. What more could a girl want?
The doorbell goes and I grab my coat and clutch before locking up and heading down to meet him.
His eyes widen when he sees me in the foyer, then his face settles into a pout.
"Did I forget something?" I ask. I pat my hair to double check for forgotten curlers.
"No," he replies, breaking into a smile. "It's just that I can never say how good you look in backstage blacks now. Not after I've seen you in this. You're breathtaking."
I give him a shy smile, nudging his shoulder with my own.
"You're not so bad yourself, Ashford."
In fact he looks really good in a blue button down and black jeans. His strawberry blonde curls are too perfectly messy for it to be a coincidence. I smile to myself, appreciating him putting in effort. We chat idly as I follow him to his car.
"So where are we going?" I ask.
"I remember promising you lobster," he says with a grin, firing up the Jeep.
I laugh. "Surely you know I was kidding."
"We came off really well in that last job, thanks to you. I want to show you how much I appreciate it."
I reach across the console and rest my hand on his knee.
"Thanks, Mase."
The restaurant turns out to be at the top of a high rise, with a spectacular view of the lights down below. Mason pulls out my chair for me, which is a nice touch if a little outdated. I have to twist my torso to sling my clutch over the back of the chair.
The waiter brings us a bottle of white wine, and I look up from taking my first sip to find myself being appraised.
"Do I make the cut?" I grin.
He smiles in response. "Sorry, I'm just trying to take in the fact that this is finally happening. You know how long I've been wanting to take you out?"
"No actually. Why don't you tell me?"
He laughs and sips his wine. "Long enough. Let's just leave it at that."
The conversation flows freely and naturally. He's funny, full of compliments, and a really great story teller. I almost snort my seafood Alfredo up my nose while he tells me about his family dog who had a habit of eating matchboxes.
"We figured he thought Rocky was short for Rocket, so that's what we ended up calling him."
Laughing so much is making my throat dry, so I finish off my wine. He reaches for the bottle to refill my glass.
"Mason!" I tease. "I must have had half the bottle already. Are you trying to get me drunk?"
His blue eyes shine with mirth. "Maybe? Or maybe I'm just driving home and someone needs to bite the bullet."
I laugh again as he pours. And when he sets the bottle down, I reach for his hand. His fingers enfold mine, lovely and warm. I can feel the calluses on his palm, and I'm aware I have a matching set.
I lean forward a little, and speak softer. "I'm having a really good time. Thank you."
He takes my hand in both of his and touches it to his lips. I melt.
"You're amazing, Rose," he says. "The way you hold your own and never take no for an answer. And your many talents. Honestly I'd rather have listened to you sing than that Dimitri guy. Even if your memory is a little hazy."
There's only a slight twinge of embarassment when Mason mentions his name, which I'm pleased about.
"Wait, what about my memory?" I laugh, waiting for the punchline.
He gives me a wicked grin. "The song you sang during sound check, I recognised it when he played it later. But you got the words wrong."
He's ribbing me for some reason, but I play along.
"I definitely did not," I reply with a smile. "Don't tell the guys, but I was really into his music in high school. I still know all his old songs by heart."
"Okay, that's adorable," he laughs. "But...here."
He takes his phone out of his pocket and types something, then hands it to me.
Dimitri's holding his guitar in the thumbnail, and I recognise his outfit from the gig we worked on. Curious, I hit play.
He smiles out at the crowd, looking relaxed and happy. A far cry from what I saw of him before the show.
"This may sound cliche," he says, "but I just want to thank the people who've been with me since the beginning. To my true fans. Here's an old favourite with a new twist."
The audience goes wild as he starts to play a very familiar tune. Then he starts singing.
"Flowers fall, a vibrant red
Just beyond my reach
I'll remember what you said
And dream of you and me"
I hit pause and hand the phone back, stunned.
"See?" Mason says triumphantly. "That's not what you sang."
My mind is churning. Vibrant red flowers? They fade to black in the original lyrics. Why would he suddenly change the song? But maybe I'm reading too much into it.
"What was he like after the show?" I ask Mason.
"Uh. He was fine," he frowns. "Kind of nice actually. He seemed a bit distracted, but he joined our meeting after and thanked us for stepping up. Said he'd be using us again for his next show."
"Wow."
"I know. Not what I was expecting, especially with his reputation for being a difficult client. I guess the team just made an impression."
I nod, trying to snap myself out of it. I take a quick gulp of wine, then laugh.
"Sorry. That was a random tangent. What were we talking about before?"
The evening definitely became a little more subdued after that, and I could see Mason's confusion peeking through every so often. We may have laughed a little less, but it's still a good night.
He walks me back up to my apartment afterwards.
"Thank you," I say at the door. " I had a great time."
"Me too," he replies. His hand is resting on the door frame above my head. And he leans in.
I kiss him short and sweet and through a smile, feeling the good kind of butterflies. But as I'm about to pull back he hooks his arm around my waist and holds me to him, deepening the kiss.
"Woah, Mason."
I plant my palms against his chest and push him back.
He pulls away, confusion plain on his face.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah I just. I don't really want to make out in the hallway."
I try to surreptitiously take a step away from him, but he steps closer.
"Well we can make out on your couch if you'd prefer."
"Don't get me wrong, tonight was fun. But it's only our first date."
He smiles. "And? We've made out plenty of times before. Remember the storage closet in the opera house?"
I feel like he's trying to distract me, and it's making me feel weird. How do I explain without offending him?
"Mase, i know we've had some good times in the heat of the moment. But there's a difference between a release of stress after a show and you taking me on a date. It's just a different context."
He steps away from me.
"Okay, sure," he says. He's trying to smile, but I can tell he's pissed. "I'll just head home then. Goodnight Rose."
I watch him stalk down the hall with a pit in my stomach, then head inside. I feel restless. That could definitely have gone better.
In need of a distraction, I decide to watch the clip of Dimitri's song again. I'm able to focus more on the words this time, and how beautifully he sings.
"I'll remember what you said..."
Does he mean in his dressing room before the show? And is he talking about the part about the fans or the part where I called him an asshole?
There's nothing else for it. My mind won't rest until I get answers. It's 11 PM, but I know she'll be awake.
I hit speedial and wait while it rings. Just when I'm starting to think I was wrong, I hear the sound of voices in the background.
"Liss?" I say. "Hi, it's me. I'm sorry, but I really need a favour."
"Sure," my best friend says, a smile in her voice. Even from halfway across the world, she makes me feel calm again. "How can I help?"
Author's Note
Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this chapter, or if you didn't and would like to tell me why, please leave a review. Hearing your thoughts always makes me smile, and I think I've gotten better about replying. If you'd like to keep in the loop when I post, please feel free to favourite and follow.
The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.
