I laugh, partly because of her expression and partly from the fierce joy burning in my chest. She’s right, millions of people will hear the song at once, and they’ll see it, too. She’s not freaking out. She’s excited.
“You won’t. We won’t.”
Dree rolls onto her back and pushes her hands into her hair. “We haven’t even filmed it yet. Everything’s down to the wire with you. How do you work like this?”
“Deadlines are the only way to get motivated, baby.”
She laughs. “I hate deadlines. I get scared if everything’s not done a week before a deadline. And the album?”
“The album’s nearly ready. We’ll finish that off after Glastonbury, but the single’s done.” I prop my head on my hand and gaze down at her. “I thought you would freak out when I told you about the video premiering. I’m glad you’re not.”
Dree smiles. “I guess it doesn’t feel real yet, seeing as we haven’t filmed it.”
True. Though it feels as real to me right now as having her in my arms. “You’re going to be amazing in it. I don’t think I’ve said it enough how fucking lucky I am to have you working on the video and dancing in it, too.”
Her mouth twitches, like she’s proud to hear me say that but also doesn’t want to seem conceited. “I wonder what fifteen-year-old Dree with her shiny new YouTube dance channel would think if she could see me right now.”
I look down at our naked bodies. “She probably shouldn’t.”
“True. All right, Mr. Sexy Rockstar. We need our sleep so I’ll say goodnight.”
“You could sleep here,” I offer.
“I don’t want to sleep when I’m with you. I get all rock-n-roll, sleep-when-you’re dead.” Dree sits up and kisses me, and then slips through my fingers. Her perfect body disappears into my robe and she gathers up her wet clothes. Then she’s out the door, her soft footfalls disappearing down the corridor.
I gaze at the empty half of my bed. I have a little piece of Dree, but I won’t be satisfied until I have all of her.
“One more, Rush. Give the girls what they want.”
Marlena nods at my chest, indicating for me to undo another button on my black shirt, because I’m supposed to look disheveled. Over Marlena’s shoulder, Dree’s grinning at me. I undo a button, spread my hands and cock an eyebrow at her. Well?
She smiles wider and curves her forefinger and thumb into a circle. Perfect.
Around me and behind me, the boys in the band jeer and wolf whistle while Marlena and the set workers make last-minute adjustments to the room.
“Yeah, yeah. Shut your faces,” I mutter, and strum my pick down my unplugged guitar, the chord tinny and barely audible. It’s the first day of filming. The Sacrifice scene that we’re going to film in the garden from tomorrow is going to be interspersed with us performing the track as a band. We’re all dressed in black and the set designer has decked out this side room with a gothic, inverted version of the summer festival that’s being created outside. Everything’s black. Black drapes. Black wicker furniture and animals. Black instruments. Black clothes. Dree painted the nails on one of my hands black.
Marlena goes and stands behind the cameras. “Ready, boys?”
We call back a chorus of yeses, and as “Not Only” begins to play, we play along on our instruments and I sing, though none of the sound is being recorded. The track will be dubbed over later.
We play it again. And again. The heat in the room seems to climb exponentially as the stage lights beat down.
I sweat like crazy and my shirt sticks to my chest. It seems to go with the hellish atmosphere as Marlena calls out things like, “Rush, drag your nails through your hair like that again and look super pissed off. I want to get a moving shot.”
After the fourth take, Anders chugs a whole bottle of water and calls, “I’m fucking roasting. Can’t we open a window?”
Marlena shakes her head. “No windows in the Underworld. You can have a ten-minute break.”
We can’t leave the set because we’ll track dirt back in on the matte black floor, but Thomas hands out sweat towels, folding fans and more bottles of icy water.
I stand on the edge of the set and talk to Dree, both of us waving fans in the hope that they’ll cool us down. Wes has produced his handicam and walks up to us and we pose dramatically with our fans before he moves on.
Two more takes of the song, and we’re done for the day. I find Dree making a cup of coffee in the living room, which is crowded with a dozen people. She passes me one and makes another, and we head for the open door.
“That black room scene you just filmed could be the music video in itself,” Dree observes, sipping her coffee.