Chapter Text
“Piccola merda! Stop hogging the hot wings.”
“Carina DeLuca, you might be a billionaire, but I ain’t scared of you. I’ve seen you cry over a squashed orange in a parking lot,” Gabriella Aurora scoffed, arching an eyebrow, half-eaten chicken wing pinched between two fingers. Barbeque sauce coated her pointer and thumb to the knuckle.
“I– Okay, yeah, that happened, but in my defense, I was really high.” I shook my head at the memory, or well, the memory of the video evidence. If it hadn’t been for that video, I could have blissfully existed without knowing it had happened in the first place. I had gone to the orthodontist to get my wisdom teeth removed and all I knew was that anesthesia made me emotional. “I can’t believe you let someone have access to that video.”
“Worth it,” she snorted and took another bite despite the ever-present smile on her full lips. “Hell, Teddy was practically salivating when I showed it to her. You know how Momma is.”
I did indeed know how Teddy Altman was. She had been my publicist for the last ten years. I owed her so much more than was possible to provide. The number of times she had bailed me out of hot water was astonishing. Let’s just say that a 17 year music career where people eat up the idea of me being an airhead model has not been completely kind. Amazing, yes, but not necessarily the best for my mental health.
With a clean hand, Gabriella flipped her phone over and pulled up TikTok. “Want some in-flight entertainment?”
“As long as I don’t have to watch videos of myself,” I mused, leaning in closer so I could see the screen. Her shoulder was warm where it pressed up against my own.
“What about that one part–”
I slapped her arm before she could continue any further. “Especially not that.”
Gabriella rolled her eyes, flicking her hair back out of the way. It whipped me in the face, payback for having the gall to slap her in the first place. We might not have been as in touch with our Italian roots as one would assume, there was no denying the tempers.
“Look, I’m just not in the mood to see myself look like a whore right now.”
“You kinda need to have sex to be a whore bella.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me.”
“So, see? Whore free zone! No one’s having sex in this house.”
“Should we reach out to see if they can have the house listed as a monastery, and get a tax break?” I laughed, waving my arm out in front of me. The floor-to-ceiling windows making up the wall mirrored the kitchen and our images back at us. “Just a couple of nuns in the big city.”
“Only if I can be Mary.”
“Isn’t everyone a Mary?”
“Hell if I know. I’m not Catholic. It’s all just acrobatics and grape shots to me.” She leaned her head on my shoulder as she started scrolling through her For You page.
“Do we need to talk about how you’re on KinkTok?”
“Whores don’t judge each other.”
“I thought we were nuns?”
“Well, a queen’s gotta get her tickles from somewhere.”
A video of myself at the most recent concert in Chicago popped up and it was, in fact, of that part of the Devious dance. I couldn’t deny that I at least looked good despite questioning how I managed to basically fuck my mic stand in front of millions of people over the course of a year and walk away unscathed.
“If you got it, flaunt it!” Gabriella sang along before imitating the dance herself, eyes fluttering closed as she pretended to hold a mic stand between her thighs, hips grinding forward.
“Oh, shut it, Gabri.” I snatched her phone off the counter and scrolled away from the video of myself as it began to replay. Thankfully, the next two were cat compilations that made us both laugh.
“You should get a cat. Maybe 12. I’m open to crunching numbers.”
“Um, no. If I ever get a pet, it’s going to be a dog. Also, I’m never home. That’s not fair.” It was the truth. I had four houses, and it felt like the longer my music career went on, the less time I spent in them or even one more than the others. There was always something I needed to be doing, somewhere I needed to be.
“One day.”
The next video gave me pause. The woman was stunning. Stunning in a way that made my stomach twist uncomfortably low. She was doing pull-ups off the back of a firetruck in a t-shirt and those ridiculously large pants. Every lift resulted in a glimpse of her toned stomach and the chords of muscles bunching in her arms. Her pale skin was glistening with sweat, blonde hair pulled back in a long ponytail.
Gabriella’s snickering brought me back to the present tense with a snap, and I nearly dropped her phone as if it were on fire. I planted my free hand on the counter, relishing in the cool, white marble under my fingertips. When had my palms gotten sweaty? When had I gotten sweaty?
“So, she’s hot as hell. I see you’ve noticed.”
“I – No shit! I have eyes.” I snapped, flustered. I turned towards the sink behind us to wash my hands, anything to avoid Gabriella. Who was she kidding? I would set fire to the whole house if I thought for just a moment that woman would show up to put it out, but of course, my self-imposed celibacy was going to be my downfall. I wasn’t a horny teenager anymore; not having sex shouldn’t be that big of a deal by this point, but it took a bigger toll on me than I would ever admit.
“Firefighter Barbie. Interesting name…” Gabriella continued, clearly amused. I could practically feel the thin hairs on my neck standing on end under her scrutiny. “I bet she could come put out that fire you got goin’ on in your pussy palace about now.”
The ridiculousness of the name we’d given our vagina’s at 16 now sounded even more idiotic than it ever had.
“Gabriella!” I rounded on her, dead set on glaring her into submission, but I was met by my best friend leaning back against the island, one ankle crossed over the other in a pose of well-practiced ease. She would not be one to back down from the DeLuca glare.
“God, she’s hot… You’re type for sure.”
I wanted to melt through the floor. Every inch of my skin was threatening to combust at any moment. Being a lesbian wasn’t new news. I’d known for sure since I was 15 years old, but exploring that had never been an option. Life happened too fast. Back then, being a musician was still too new, too delicate, and throwing the curveball of my sexuality into the mix would have shattered the glass house I lived in. Now, it wasn’t just my life it would affect. It was that of my friends, my family; only so many castles were allowed to crumble.
“Are you done teasing me?”
“God, no– Oh! Look at this one!”
She flipped the phone around to show me what appeared to be a photoshoot where she was stomping on fire in water, face stern and almost cold. Her jacket was on this time, though thrown open and of course, there was only a black sports bra. Carina felt her eye twitch involuntarily. ‘Just had to have abs didn’t you…’
“Ha! The caption says, ‘ We even got Captain to join us on this year’s fireman’s calendar’. Fire Captain–” She hummed hungrily. “I’d let her captain this house.”
“Over my dead body!” Wild jealousy roared up my throat, and I made another wild snatch towards the phone only to have Gabriella dance out of the way at the last moment. She wasn’t wrong though. The woman was absolutely a walking sex icon, but I wasn’t about to tell Gabriella that, or better yet, let her be the one to drool all over her either.
She continued scrolling, and against my better judgment, I took up residence beside her, giving in to curiosity. The TikTok account belonged to ‘SFD Station 19’. It appeared that Station 19 only hired attractive firefighters. A great number of them were of a woman named Hughes and a man named Montgomery, who seemed to have made it their mission to antagonize the entire department. The blonde, Firefighter Barbie apparently, showed up occasionally, though thankfully, and also shamefully, in much more clothing than previous. Granted, the navy blue uniform did little to stop my urge to drool over her. The only information I gained was from the badge on her chest that read Capt Bishop. So, her name wasn’t really Barbie. ‘Thank God.’
“Earth to Carina. Anyone home or have you floated away to the pussy palace?”
I huffed through my nose, crossing my arms. “I’m not at the pussy palace.”
“You could have fooled me.” She cracked a broad smile, flashing me her bright teeth. She handed her phone out to me. “Should I give you and Barbie a moment?”
I rolled my eyes so hard I was sure I could see the front side of my brain. As much as I would like to rip the phone from her hands and find out more about the source of my sexual frustration, I set about wiping up the mess I had made while washing my hands.
“You’re a horrible friend.”
Thankfully, my torment was ended by the sound of footsteps. I knew who it was before I bothered to look away from the paper towel in my hand. My head of security; Harvey Abara, swept into the informal dining room, black t-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest and neon yellow shorts hanging low on his hips. His dark brown skin was still slick with sweat from his workout.
“Hello, ladies.” He flashed a smile that made his eyes crinkle. “Chicken wings!”
Gabriella snapped at his hand, suddenly uninterested in teasing me further in favor of the hulk of a man who had attempted to steal off her plate. “Get your own!”
He made play slaps at Gabriella’s hands, obviously unphased by her antics. They were sickeningly adorable together, though it seemed that I was the only person who ever seemed to notice.
“Carina, you good? You’re so red right now.”
Gabriella let out a bark of laughter, curling in on herself. Harvey glanced between the two of us, confused but amused.
“Oh, she just found some eye candy. Girl’s all kinds of twisted up.”
“I did not!” but the finality of my statement didn’t reach its peak as my voice cracked, which only fueled the laughter filling my kitchen. “Ti odio così tanto…” [ I hate you so much]
“Fork it over.” Harvey held out his massive hand, and without thinking, Gabriella swiped back through the videos until I heard the music associated with the original video of the fire Captain doing pull-ups. “Oh, shit, alright. Hot! I didn’t think you’d be into women with muscles. I get it though. I’d tap that.”
“She’s hot! Yes! There! I admit it!” Carina threw her hands up in the air, beyond irritated. “Sei utile come un buco di culo sul gomito…” [You're as useful as a butthole on the elbow]
Gabriella scoffed. “Maleducata.” [rude]
“I thought we made a rule about angry Italian after 5 pm?” Harvey stated, but two sets of dark-set eyes brought his hands up in surrender. “Yep, loud and clear. I’m gonna take my English-speaking ass to bed. The house is locked up and the alarm is set. If you need anything, let me know.”
Gabriella watched him go, her head tipping slightly to the side, eyes very clearly trained on his ass. I cleared my throat, and she snapped up straight and started clearing away her dinner.
“That’s what I thought.” I smirked, dusting off my hands in my mind. Gabriella was more than stubborn about even breathing the subject of her obsession with Harvey. It had started the moment she set eyes on him and had yet to dissipate. At first, I had teased, then I had encouraged. Now, it was a taboo topic that felt more like conversing about Voldemort.
“I’m gonna go to bed bella.” She snapped the fridge shut on her long abandoned wings and cast her long arms across my shoulders in a hug. “See you in the morning.”
“Buona notte.” [goodnight]
“Banana nut tea.” She smiled mischievously, any previous disagreements long forgotten at our inside joke, and left me alone.
I gave the kitchen one final once over to ensure it was clean and switched off the lights. At once, the world beyond the wall of windows sprang to life. New York City stretched out as far as the eye could see. Cars trailed down the streets; every twinkling light gave the city a different form of life at night from this far up.
Endless.
The trek back through the house was slow in the dim. I ran my finger across the walls, more out of habit than the need for guidance. New York City followed me every step up the stairs. At some point, I must have stopped seeing it. Sure, I had been a spoiled kid when I was younger, but I had never not been humble. I had gotten dirty; I had played in the mud, and yet, here I was, tucked away in a castle in the sky overlooking Central Park and the Hudson.
With a sigh, I pushed open the double doors to my suite and blindly reached along the wall for the slider switches. All of the baseboard night lights lit up along the short hallway toward my bedroom, bathing the dark hardwood in warm puddles.
I flopped face-first into the white cloud of blankets and pillows that covered my unmade king-sized bed, grunting in relief. Oh, how I had missed this bed. Too many nights were spent curled in airplane seats and hotel beds. Rolling over, I kicked back the blankets enough to curl in, the cold sheets biting into my skin and making my legs prickle. With one last burst of energy, I fumbled around on the nightstand for the remote that controlled the blinds on the corner windows, listening to them hum softly as they shut, closing off the world outside.
Silence. Just the sound of the air in the vents and my breathing.
I hated it.
There had been years of falling into bed alone. I had stopped trying to think about what it would be like to slide into bed with someone I actually wanted to be there. The last person was Owen. He was sweet, at least mostly. He had made an effort, but in the end, it had been me. My sexuality had been the problem. The public loved him though; they saw him as a protector– like I needed someone to protect me– but he had been the constant reminder that I would never be able to wrap myself around a woman in the same way.
Except once. Just one time.
I had tried to be brave back in my early 20s with one of my dancers. It had been a huge mistake. Guilt, fear, anxiety… It had eaten me alive, and all that came of it was a stack of NDA paperwork and a healthy check to keep her from ever saying another word. Truthfully, she probably never would have. She had been eager, melting under my explorative touches with enthusiasm. Some part of her must have realized just how important that moment had been for me, and how had I paid her back? Thrown it all in her face.
Groaning, I rolled over to face away from the windows, the phone in my hoodie pocket burning a hole into my stomach. Captain Bishop. I flushed all over again and rolled my head into my pillow to hide my face. No one could see me. No one in the house was uncomfortable or judgmental about my secret; it was all in my head.
I was my own worst enemy.
Mostly
But there, in the depths of my own crystal prison, I could at least look. I could fantasize for a little while. And so, I pulled up my phone, went on the hunt for SFD Station 19, and started there. The videos turned out to lack the source of my obsession, either because she was simply that busy or she completely avoided the situation in general. Thankfully, they had a linktree and a Facebook page. From there, the search became much easier to track her down.
“Cazzo…” [fuck] What was it with this woman and her uniforms? The picture posted there of one Captain Maya Bishop was of her in a black suit with her hair tucked away in a tight bun under a hat that covered much of her brow. Her eyes were so unbearably blue. I could barely look away.
What possessed me to turn to Instagram to dig further, I would never admit to any living soul. It didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would to find her personal page. Her page wasn’t a ghost town so it wasn’t that she was camera shy, though most of them were gym-centric. The woman very clearly liked to work out, but it was also clear that she had a sense of humor and a sweet tooth. More than once, I found myself smiling like a complete fool, thumb tucked between my teeth as I chewed away at my cuticle.
I called it quits rather quickly after a carefree picture of her came up. She was along the ocean somewhere, the setting sun defused by her wind-swept blonde hair. The smile on her face was captivating-- easy. It made it to her eyes. It was the realization that I wanted to be the person she was looking at when she smiled like that, that drove me to drop my phone on the nightstand with a heavy heart. ‘Nope, not going there. Get it together.’
I rolled away from temptation. Coveting that hard for someone I didn’t even know was taking it too far. Some loose stalking and admiring was one thing, yearning was something else entirely. That was when it had to stop before I hurt myself. Yearning left a hole. Yearning felt like a loss, and there was nothing like yearning for something one couldn’t have.
My mood hadn’t improved much by morning. If anything, it seemed to have soured even further. Every part of my skin was itchy as I applied my makeup and wrapped myself in a white blouse and light jeans cuffed at the ankles. Ever put together. That’s what was expected of me. America's sweetheart. America’s slut. America’s pop superstar. I always found that ironic. I wasn’t even American and hadn’t been since I was 9 years old, but they never seemed to remember those 9 years.
It was quiet when we got into the SUV. Gabriella was busy sipping on her coffee and going through emails. Harvey spoke in quiet tones with my driver Patrick Iverson, going over the details of the day’s itinerary. Being empty-handed, with nothing to do but drink coffee, left me restless, so I pulled out my phone that I had purposefully ignored since last night.
The lock screen was loaded with notifications as usual. I cleared the bio lock only to be met by the image of Maya from the night before. “Fuck…”
I did my best to clear my screen before Gabriella could notice but of course, she noticed. She always does.
“You found her Insta?” She practically shrieked. “Damn, I didn’t know you had it in you!”
“I– No– Fuck, okay, yes. I got curious. It’s nothing.” I waved my arm and opened my email inbox. My heart was pounding in my ears.
“I’m not teasing. Shit, if anything, I’m proud of you!”
“Well, it’s not something to be proud of.”
“If that’s what you think.” She grasped my hand, lowering my phone so I had no choice but to pay attention.
“What Gabri? It’s not like I’m going to talk to her or anything. It’s just– she’s nice to look at.”
“Sure. Yep, and how often do you do such a deep dive that you found her real name so you could look at her? I mean, her fuckin’ first name wasn’t even on that TikTok video! How did you even do that?”
“It was easy.” I shrugged. “I searched the fire station and then I found their Facebook page, which had her name listed as the Captain and then I just looked her up– what?”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Her voice was filled with laughter. “You stalked her down, Carina.”
“I didn’t stalk!”
“I’m pretty sure that’s stalking,” Harvey offered up.
Gabriella waved towards the front seat. “And he would know.”
One deep breath in. One hard breath out. “Okay, si. Yes. I stalked her. I wanted to know…”
“Know what?”
“I don’t know… Anything?” I didn’t know the answer either. I had been drawn to her magnetism, her warmth. She was bottled sunshine.
After a long moment of silence that went on for a lifetime, Gabriella spoke, “You should talk to her.”
I shook my head more out of shock than anything else. “Excuse me?”
“Talk to her. I haven’t seen you this interested in a long time, or like, ever.” She shrugged as if we were talking about the weather. “You’re torturing yourself.”
“And talking to her will solve what? It’s not like I can do anything.”
“I don’t know, but it’s less painful than watching you pine.”
“I’m not pining.”
“You’re pining,” a chorus of voices state in flat tones. I glanced between Gabriella, Harvey and Patrick. Patrick met my gaze in the rearview mirror, eyes soft.
“Well, I had no idea I was suddenly going to judgment court for finding someone attractive.”
“Look, no one is judging you. Just, talk to her. You’re not on trial and you’re not expected to do anything about it. For all you know, she might be a complete asshole. It just might be good for you to get some of the… jitters out, if you get what I mean.”
“Jitters? I really hope you’re not talking about sex.”
“Oh, good god, Carina!” Gabriella dropped back against the headrest. “You have not had sex in so long, I’m surprised I don’t need to have Natalie clear out the cobwebs growing between your legs when she comes to clean. But no, I'm not talking about sex.”
Patrick coughed from the front seat, his large ears tinted pink. He was older than all of us by a bit, and this was always a topic that made him uncomfortable. In his defense, he was the age of my grandpa at this point.
“Sorry, Patrick,” I mumbled, looking away. “Gabri, there are so many things wrong with that idea.”
“And what is that?”
I sputtered, grasping for reasons like a lifeline. “Oh! First, there’s no way she’s single. Like, come the fuck on. She’s gorgeous.”
“So? You’re single. I don’t think that your appearance has any standing on relationship status.”
“That’s because… You know what, that’s not fair.”
“You’re right, but you can’t use that as an excuse. That’s all I’m sayin’. Just talk to her.”
“What am I supposed to even say? Ciao?”
“That wouldn’t hurt.”
“Then what?”
Gabriella closed her eyes in frustration. “For someone who gets paid millions to write lyrics, you’d think you’d have some sort of grasp on how to speak at this point. Use that big brain of yours. It doesn’t have to be poetic.”
“What if she doesn’t like women?”
“That girl screams bisexual from 100 feet away. I think you’re okay.”
“When did you get so good at clocking gay people?”
“When did you get so bad at it?”
I turned away to look out the window at the crawling traffic. “I hate you.”
“You love me. Now, talk to her. You have a fake IG account. Use it. It doesn’t have to be some crazy thing. Get it out of your system before you hurt yourself.” She tapped my phone. “Live a little, Carina. Life’s short.”