Page 43 of Shapes of Love
I look for Asher amid the masked crowd, but he’s nowhere to be found. As I navigate the dance floor, I spot Rosa on the other side of the room in a scarlet gown, goddess braids cascading all the way down her back. She’s talking to a guy in his forties with a flamboyant peacock mask. I stride over, hoping she might know where Asher is. I need answers about Cuddles, and I need them now.
“So, do the private acting lessons you’re auctioning include scripts from anything I want?” the guy is asking her. Behindthe mask, his eyes rove down her red dress. She offers a polite smile, but her hands clench into fists behind her back. “You know, I loveGame of Thrones,” he says. “We could try some scenes from there.”
Rosa recoils. “Yeah, no. Unfortunately, I’m not comfortable with that. It looks like you’d be better off bidding on another item. Good night.”
“Don’t worry, love, I can definitely make you comfortable. Anything you want.” The guy trails a finger down the edge of Rosa’s golden eye mask.
“I want you to step away.” Rosa moves back, but the fucker inches forward.
I brush the guy’s hand off Rosa’s mask with a flick of my wrist and loop my arm around hers. “Hey, I was looking for you. You owe me a dance.”
Rosa whips around, shocked, but her body relaxes against mine. “Right… Let’s go.”
The guy stares at me, wide-eyed. “Excuse me, we were having a conversation.”
“Were you? It looks like you were done.” I eye him up and down, failing to conceal my disgust. His peacock mask does a poor job of redirecting attention from his balding head. He’s wearing an expensive tuxedo, and the watch on his wrist looks like it costs more than my house. But he doesn’t look like an actor, or a singer, or anyone I know, which probably means he just comes from money and has some sort of mind-numbing podcast.
“Do you know who I am?” he barks.
“Do I look like I care?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. A voice in the back of my mind warns me I should tread carefully, but my frown doesn’t dissolve.
The guy scoffs, straightening his jacket. He turns to me. His eyes are drawn to the neckline of my dress in a way that makes me want to run away. “You’re that singer, right? The one offering the private concert experience? Suddenly I’m feeling generous. Maybe I’ll bid on it. I look forward to continuing this conversation. Maybe you’resassyin other areas, too.”
With that, he leaves, smiling darkly at us. I freeze, failing to think of a quick comeback. I hate that I don’t get the last word. I hate how badly my hands are shaking around Rosa’s arm.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, lifting my mask. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure… It looked like he wasn’t leaving you alone.”
“Thank you.” Rosa hugs me until warmth returns to my body. “You’re crazy. Do you know who that is?”
“An ugly white man?”
That earns me a sad chuckle.
“Don’t worry. If he wins the bid for my private concert or your acting lessons, we’ll figure something out.” Still, I shiver at the prospect. But I can tell Marissa and my team. They’ll make sure we’re safe. It’s not the first time I’ve been approached by a creepy guy at a party.
The orchestra starts playing a melody with a quick tempo. People gravitate to the dance floor, a swirl of sparkling dresses and colorful masks. Without warning, Rosa pulls me into the crowd for a dance, as if she needs to shake the unease away. I reach for her hand, and she places hers around mywaist, spinning me around as the song picks up. Strands of hair fall over my forehead as I look down, willing my feet to move in time with the music.
“I wanted to punch that guy in front of everyone, you know?” Rosa clutches my hand, frustration rippling through her body. “He’s an important studio executive. I was worried he could get me fired from the show, or ruin my career before it even starts. So I just… froze.”
“I understand. I’ve been frozen, too.”
We dance in silence for a few seconds, pretending to get lost in the music, hanging tightly on to each other. I know what she means. Unlike Asher, Rosa doesn’t come from money or connections. She got the lead inFridaythrough an open audition. It’s her first role. She hasn’t told me the reasons that led to her wanting to hide her relationship with her girlfriend and pretend to date Asher, but I don’t judge her. This business is hard enough to navigate as a woman, or as someone who’s not a cisgender white man. I can’t imagine what it must be like to do it as a queer, Black, Latine person.
“Asher is right,” Rosa says. She fidgets with the diamond ring on her finger. It’s the same one from yesterday, but she wears it on a different finger today. “He told me that this industry is fucked up.”
“He said that?” I frown as we spin. Her eyes flicker to me, questioning. “I don’t know. Asher strikes me as the kind of person who really enjoys fame.”
“Nah. He’s just used to it. Desensitized. He was born into it, after all.”
Born into fame. Born into the centrifuge.What a curse.
Rosa searches for someone in the crowd, and I finally see him. Asher is wearing a blue suit with a black turtleneck, a sparkling mask with a single feather concealing his eyes. He sweeps a hand through his hair as he laughs, and it reminds me of Kai for some reason.
He sips from his flute of champagne as he chats with two other men. My nose crinkles. For someone who hates fame, he seems well in his element.
“About yesterday…” Rosa starts, her body tensing beside me. “It caught me by surprise that you two were at his flat. Asher never brings anyone around. He’s so private usually. And—” Rosa’s phone rings in her pocket, distracting her mid-thought. She lets go, reaching into her gown. “Sorry, give me a minute?”
She excuses herself to answer the call, but her words linger in my mind. How can Asher be a private person when he’s auctioning his most personal mementos? When he offered me a PR relationship the very same day that he met me?
