Plain Return (The Plain Fame Series Book 4) (5 page)

Determined to make the best of things in her husband’s absence, she stood up and collected her belongings before walking across the patio toward the open doors. Even with Señora Perez and Rodriego in the condo, it still felt empty. Amanda and Alejandro had been together for so many weeks that knowing he was gone created an empty feeling inside her that she couldn’t ignore. But she knew that sitting around and feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t make her feel any better.

Since Alejandro had mentioned that Dali would be stopping by to review a schedule, Amanda hurried up the stairs toward their room. She wanted to be showered and dressed when her assistant arrived. Perhaps she could even persuade Dali to stay for lunch. Her company would be a welcome diversion in what Amanda envisioned would be a long day spent waiting for Alejandro’s return.

An hour later, Amanda sat at the kitchen table writing a letter to her sister. She preferred to sit in the kitchen so that she could hear Señora Perez as she went about her duties. No matter what task the older woman undertook, she always seemed to be passing through the kitchen. With Alejandro and Amanda back in Miami, there was certainly more work for her to do.

“Amanda!”

She started at the sound. Turning around, Amanda saw Dali standing in the doorway behind her, her dark hair pulled back and her youthful face staring at her. She always seemed so organized and calm, quietly managing everything in Amanda’s new life. Today, however, Dali did not look pleased. There was a tense look around her dark eyes.

Amanda gave a nervous laugh and put her hand over her heart. “Oh help, Dali! You gave me quite a fright!”

Even more frightening was the look of irritation on Dali’s face. “You aren’t ready to leave?”

Amanda set down her pen. “Ready to leave? For what?”

Dali pressed her lips together and reached into her attaché case for her black leather planner. “Your day is packed, my dear. We’re meeting with Jeremy to discuss your wardrobe for the tour, we have an appointment with an interview coach . . . and not a day too soon!” She looked up at Amanda. “You know you have two interviews next week, yes?”

“No.”

Another look of irritation crossed Dali’s face, and she shook her head. “And did he tell you about the dancing lessons?”

“That he did tell me,
ja
.” Amanda nodded and tried to swallow her feelings of annoyance about this news. Interview coach? Interviews? Alejandro knew that she had little to no desire to speak to the press or meet with reporters. “What type of interviews, Dali? And who set them up?”

Dali peered over the rim of her glasses at Amanda. “Why, I did,” she responded. “That’s what my job is . . . organizing your schedule. And with the tour starting in just a few weeks, we haven’t much time, Amanda. So let’s get going, my dear.” She shut her planner and glanced at the time display on her phone. “We only have until three o’clock to spend with Jeremy. And the interview coach was difficult to book on such short notice. We dare not be late.”

Amanda understood none of this. There was an unnecessary sense of urgency to Dali’s clipped words and anxious behavior. Whatever was going on, Amanda knew that it was something that she’d have to address with Alejandro. As his wife, she had agreed to travel with him on tour, but she had never agreed to be an integral part of the tour. Between the fashion designer, interview coach, and dance instructor, it was clear that Alejandro had different expectations than she did regarding her role in his professional life.

Chapter Five

“Come on, Amanda,” Stedman said, clapping his hands. He took a deep breath as he walked around her, and the way he watched her with his dark eyes was not unlike the gaze of a hawk staring at its upcoming dinner. With his dark skin that glistened with sweat and his black clothing, he reminded Amanda of a bird of prey. Even his black hair, slicked back as if still wet, contributed to that image.

If she suspected it when she first met him the previous week, now she knew for certain she didn’t care for him, especially when he scowled and added, “Let’s get this right! Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. And keep your head looking away from him.”

“There is no him!” she responded.

He rolled his eyes. “Just pretend, Amanda.”

The problem was, Amanda didn’t understand most of what Stedman wanted from her. When he barked a command, she didn’t know what to do. He used words that meant nothing to her: chassé, glissade, promenade. It was as if he expected her to know how to do these things and understand his commands.

But she didn’t and when she asked questions, he merely gave her a look that showed a mixture of impatience and irritation at her ignorance.

Today, Stedman wanted her to dance as if she was with Alejandro, but he wasn’t there. Instead, she faced a mirror, her arms held up in “position,” whatever that meant. That was part of the problem: Stedman repeatedly insisted that she look at her own reflection, pointing out that her feet were not pointed in the line of direction or that she wasn’t stepping toe to heel.

She had no idea what he meant and also couldn’t stare at herself in the mirror. Seeing her reflection with her arms lifted or pushing her knees forward as he tried to teach her the mambo moves made her want to cry, but she had always been taught that crying was for
kinner.
Adults didn’t cry over silly things such as feeling overwhelmed, anxious, or self-conscious.

Amanda had been taught to turn to God, pray for strength, and trust in his decisions for her life. Still, she found it hard to believe that his decisions for her included dancing lessons with Stedman.

“I can’t do this,” she said, dropping her arms and turning away from the mirror.

“Can’t or won’t?”

His dark hair, usually slicked back, hung over his eyes, thick curls that hid any sort of emotion on his face when he was displeased with someone’s performance. But when he was pleased, he would smile, his face lighting up as he reached to brush back those curls so that he could watch his partner without anything blocking his vision.

Unfortunately, smiling was not something he had done often during the past five days.

Five days and far too many hours, she thought.

“I don’t
want
to,” Amanda replied, dropping her hands to her sides and facing him straight on. “I am very uncomfortable with this, Stedman.”

“I see that.”

From the start, she’d hated the dance lessons. Even more so, she didn’t care for Stedman’s flippant attitude, constant interruptions, and invasive hands that kept repositioning her hips and shoulders. He wanted her to look up at the mirror-lined walls while he was constantly pointing out what she was doing wrong, and never what she did right. Just the manner in which he talked to her made Amanda want to run from the room and never return.

“Amanda,” he said, making an effort to sound patient. “You have to learn these basic moves.” He walked over and stood before her, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes studied her face. He was taller than her, but lean of build, and he always wore black slacks and a white button-down shirt with no collar. If there was something nice she could say about Stedman, it was that he had a real passion for dance. “This is a tour. A megamillion-dollar investment. Viper hired me to teach you to dance.”

She looked down at her feet, ashamed of her reaction. This was for Alejandro, after all. The upcoming tour meant a lot to him and not just for financial reasons. “I know that.”

“Good!” Stedman clapped his hands and smiled. “Then let’s get your body moving a bit more, shall we? And remember, Amanda, that when you are onstage, everything needs to be bigger than you think.” He demonstrated by extending his left arm to the side, a slow and deliberate movement. “Reach to the sides, but don’t let your shoulders lift. Keep them down and back. Proper posture is essential . . .”

“I don’t even understand what that means,” she mumbled.

He rolled his eyes and reached out, placing his hands on her shoulders. He pressed down. “Relax,” he snapped. “It’s all about the lines, Amanda. Keep your shoulders down and create a clean line here.” As if to demonstrate his point, he ran his hand up her back. “Pretend an imaginary thread is running up your spine to your neck and out the top of your head. It’s a line.”

She pressed her lips together, hating his hands on her body.

“Much better!”

“I don’t even know what I did,” she said, annoyed at his forced praise.

He ignored her. “Muscle memory, Amanda. That’s what will happen when you do this enough times.”

Her eyes flickered toward the clock. When would Dali walk through the door to save her?

“I saw that,” he said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “You still have another thirty minutes. Let’s go.”

When the door finally opened and Dali slipped inside, Amanda wanted to run to her. But she couldn’t have, even if she’d tried. Her legs ached from trying to keep up with Stedman.

“Practice over the weekend,” he told her. “Remember that the music, the lyrics, and the actual dance are only part of a performance. It’s your presence that they want to see. We’re just completing the package.”

Ignoring him, Amanda hurried off the dance floor.

“And work on your posture!” he called after her. “Elongate your spine! And keep those shoulders down!”

Amanda gave him a look that said exactly what she was feeling. She sat down and removed the special dance shoes that he’d made her wear for her lesson.

When he made a disapproving noise, Amanda shoved the dance shoes into their black drawstring bag and grabbed her sandals. She couldn’t leave fast enough, and she made a mental note to speak to Alejandro about the situation over the weekend. If she had anything to say about it, she would
not
be returning, that was for sure and certain.

“Please, I want to go home,” she said to Dali as she followed her assistant toward the door. “I simply cannot stand all of these appointments!”

Abruptly, Dali stopped and turned around, pausing to smooth back Amanda’s hair and hand her a pair of sunglasses.

“What’s this?” Amanda asked, staring at the glasses.

“There are people outside.”

Dali said this as if she was answering a question about the weather or something else that couldn’t be any less important. Amanda frowned. “People?”

Dali glanced at her phone, checking the time. “Media.” That one word needed no further explanation. In fact, Amanda had been pleased that no one had discovered where she was during the previous week. The respite from the fans and paparazzi had been refreshing. Apparently, that was over. “Just keep moving, smile, and keep your eyes on my back. Chin up. You photograph better that way.”

Without another word, Dali pushed through the first set of doors, pausing just long enough for a stunned Amanda to catch up with her. As Dali plowed through the second set of doors, a bright light blinded Amanda for a second, and she struggled to slide on the sunglasses. When she realized that it wasn’t sunlight but the bright lights of reporters’ camera flashes, their brilliance reflected off the white umbrellas stationed outside, Amanda forgot Dali’s advice and stopped walking.

“Amanda! Amanda!”

Voices called to her from both sides. Amanda looked to her right and saw a tall young man with red curly hair and freckles on his nose, waving his arms in her direction.

“One photo. Please!” he begged, standing on the balls of his feet and shifting his weight eagerly from one to the other as he tried to capture her attention.

The look of desperation on his face, the longing for just one photo with her, tore at her heart. She had seen that look before in the eyes of the women at the Meet and Greets before Alejandro’s concerts. It was the same look worn by the even younger women who lined up outside of buildings and hotels, hoping that, just maybe, they could catch a glimpse of Viper as he walked from the car to the entrance.

Amanda glanced toward the car where Dali stood with her lips pressed tight together, visibly irritated that she had not listened to her. For a moment, Amanda hesitated. But then, as if she’d heard Alejandro’s voice inside her head, Amanda knew what to do. She smiled and walked over to the lanky boy who didn’t look to be much older than she was. She let him hug her, his lean body pressed against hers. When she pulled back, she was surprised to see that he was weeping.

He gave a nervous laugh, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Words seemed to escape him.

To save him from further embarrassment, she smiled. “You wanted a photo,
ja
?”

“Oh yes!” He turned around, positioning himself so that he could take a photo of her standing beside him. With his cell phone held up in the air, he took the selfie, a big grin on his face. “I can’t thank you enough,” he gushed. “You just made my life.”

She would have found the statement unusual, but she had heard it so many times at Alejandro’s events that the words did not surprise her. However, she couldn’t believe that he was saying such a thing to
her
. Before she could reply, several other people pushed their way through and began to take photos of her, two of the women crying and hugging her before taking a picture with her. Slowly, Amanda made her way through the crowd, pausing to meet with fans and smiling for the professional photographers.

“What was
that
, Amanda?” Dali snapped when Amanda finally made her way into the car. “I was most specific in my instructions to you!”

Dali’s voice had an edge to it that startled Amanda. No one had ever spoken so sharply to her. “I . . . I’m sorry.”

“You should be! What on earth were you thinking?”

Amanda didn’t respond right away. She sank down in the seat of the car, wishing that it could just swallow her up so that she could disappear. What had she been thinking? The crowd had surprised her. All week she had been at the dance studio and no one had made a fuss over her. Usually, the fans waited for Alejandro . . . their Viper. Amanda was just his wife, and as far as she knew, they wanted photos with her only because she was in a relationship with him.

“It’s what Alejandro would have done.”

“I suppose I don’t have to point out that you’re not Alejandro!” Dali dug through her attaché case, until she finally found her phone. Shaking her head, she began typing something on it. Her cheeks blazed red, whether from anger or agitation, Amanda didn’t know. “I don’t think you understand it yet. You are a brand, Amanda. And there is a price associated with your brand image. Don’t cheapen your brand image in such a way,” she snapped, “because if you do, you cheapen his!”

“A brand?” The word sounded cold and unfeeling, but she had no idea what it meant. The only brand that she could think of was what some farmers did to their livestock. Amanda frowned. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Really?” Dali scoffed at her. “Well,
I’m
not going to be the one to explain it to you. Clearly, you aren’t about to listen to me.”

“Dali . . .”

Her own cell phone vibrated, and Amanda pulled it out of her bag. She glanced down and was only slightly surprised to see that Alejandro was calling her. Turning her shoulder so that her back faced Dali, Amanda answered the phone.
“Ja?”

“Amanda.”

She’d already known who it was. The stern tone of his voice, however, dismayed her. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What was so wrong?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When he spoke again, the edge was gone from his voice. “I know,
mi querida
. But it’s not safe to mingle with the crowds if I am not there.”

“You make the fans happy.” She fought the urge to cry. “That’s what you always do, and it was what I wanted to do. For you.”

“Sí, sí,”
he replied. “You must be careful, though. And posing with people on the street . . .”

“I’ve seen
you
do it!” She felt like a child, being scolded by her parents.

When he laughed, she knew that she couldn’t stop the tears. With the back of her hand, she wiped them away.

“I do,
sí
,” he said softly. “But there is always a reason. A strategic reason, Princesa. There is a price for such a photo, and today no one made any money but the media. You’ll learn more on our trip,
sí
? Just listen to Dali when she tells you to do something.”

“I thought I was being kind,” she whispered, part of her wanting to turn off the phone and the other part to justify herself.

He lowered his voice so that, presumably, whoever was near him could not hear. “And you are, Princesa. You have a large and caring heart. I love that large and caring heart. Don’t change. But be safe about it.”

After he’d said good-bye, Amanda held the phone in her hand for a few minutes. She stared out the window of the car, embarrassed that she had been reprimanded, both by Dali and Alejandro, as if she were a schoolgirl. Her cheeks burned from the humiliation of having cried in Dali’s presence, so she refused to turn around and apologize to the woman. Instead, as soon as the car pulled up to their building, Amanda grabbed her things and darted out of the door that the doorman opened for her, barely pausing to thank him.

All she wanted was to spend time with Alejandro. But his time seemed to be an increasingly rare commodity these days. His days were spent with his team in endless meetings about the tour, and his nights kept him in the music studio. When he finally returned home, she was often already asleep. He’d quietly undress, leaving his clothes over the back of a chair, before sliding under the sheets and tucking his arm around her waist as he gently pulled her toward him. That was usually when she awoke: the exact moment that her back pressed against his chest and she felt his warm breath on the nape of her neck.