Sam.

~~~

We arrived at La Cigale, Louis parked the bus in front of the building, squeezing it into a short-term parking spot. The band needed time to unload all the equipment, so we had no choice but to make it quick.

The concert hall stood between a retro café and a trendy clothing store, its white exterior blending in yet standing out with its magnificence. The place had a few stories, and the street felt alive with activity. Cars crawled by while people bustled past, and the air was thick with the mingling smells of fresh baked goods and petrol. My empty stomach churned uncomfortably, the contrast almost nauseating.

While the guys were busy unloading, I stepped inside the building, curious to see what made this place special. The interior was breathtaking, more immense than expected, with a rounded design that felt almost like stepping into an arena. Small stairs led down to the main concert hall, where the stage stretched across the back of the room. Above it, a balcony lined with plush red chairs overlooked the space, though it was closed off for tonight. My fingers brushed the cool metal railing as I took it all in.

"It's hard to believe we're actually here," Logan said, his voice echoing slightly in the open space.

"You've done concerts in France before," I reminded him, glancing at his wide-eyed expression.

"Yeah, but not here," he said, his grin spreading as he gestured grandly. "This—" he twirled around dramatically, arms outstretched "—this means we've made it."

I chuckled, the sound bouncing off the walls. "I take it not everyone gets to perform here?"

He stopped spinning and fixed me with an amused look. "Of course not! This is La Cigale. Coldplay has been on this stage. Panic! At the Disco, Paramore—big bands, Sam. And now us." His hands trembled slightly as he spoke, his excitement barely contained.

"You're shaking," I said, placing a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Logan said, his grin softening. "Just... nervous, I guess. A thousand people bought tickets to see us. It's still hard to believe this is all real."

His blue eyes glistened, and I squeezed his arm reassuringly. "You guys are going to kill it out there. Don't even worry."

"Hey, you two!" James's voice boomed from behind us. "Quit standing around and get to work! We don't have all day."

Logan gave me a sheepish smile before hurrying off to help with the equipment. Meanwhile, I wandered toward the front of the building, where Gabe and I were setting up the merch table near the entrance. The pile of band merchandise seemed endless—T-shirts, hoodies, bracelets, you name it. After we'd arranged most of it, we carried the clothes we'd wear for the event to the dressing room.

By the time we finished, Louis had left with the bus, and there were still two hours before the doors opened. Gabe and I kept busy organizing the Purple Rain merch, but I couldn't help pausing now and then to listen to Ray's voice drifting through the hall as the band rehearsed their set. His voice had this raw, magnetic quality that always made my heart ache in the best way possible.

The music stopped, and a few minutes later, Ray appeared at the merch table. He looked straight at Gabe. "Go help the guys in the hall," he said, jerking his head toward the stage.

"Be nice," I said, grinning as Gabe gave a small huff and walked off.

"Oh, I'm super nice," Ray said, stepping behind the counter. His smile softened as he cupped my face in his hand, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my lips. "I missed you." My stomach growled on cue as his hand rested lightly against it. "We ordered food. You're hungry, right?" he asked, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"What kind of food?" I asked suspiciously, already dreading his answer.

"Pizza," he said with an exaggerated eye roll.

I groaned. "Can I just go to the café next door instead? I want something more... French."

"Sure," he said, tilting his head. "Want me to come with you?"

"I'm fine on my own," I assured him, grabbing my backpack from a nearby chair. "Go sing. I'll be back before you know it."

Outside, the street had grown even busier. A small crowd—about twenty people—hovered near the building's wall, their excitement palpable. It took me a moment to realize they were fans, waiting eagerly for Purple Rain. I kept my head down as I walked past, but I caught a few curious glances thrown my way.

At the café, I ordered a coffee and a baguette sandwich, savoring the simple but delicious meal as I sat outside. The quiet hum of Parisian life buzzed around me while I scrolled through my phone. A message popped up from Scott.

Scott: Hey, where are you now? How's the trip going?

Me: In Paris. Everything's great so far. How about you?

The loud giggling of a group of girls snapped me out of my thoughts about Scott. They strutted down the sidewalk, passing close by me as I sat at the cafe. I popped the last bite of my sandwich into my mouth and decided to try getting some photos, just like Marcy suggested. It turned out to be a complete disaster.

I took a few selfies with the café's sign in the background, but something about them felt... off. My messy half-up, half-down bun didn't do me any favors, and my bare face only highlighted my puffy eyes and an obnoxious red spot smack in the middle of my forehead. Ugh. Still, I picked the least horrible one and sent it to Alyssa and Molly. Molly's response came immediately.

Molly: Don't you dare share this picture anywhere! What is on your forehead? Just put some makeup on already. You seriously look awful.

Me: Thanks, friend.

I smiled seeing her text. After I finished texting, I grabbed my things and strolled back toward the venue. For a split second, my stomach dropped when I couldn't find my permission pass, but a quick dig into my bag's side pocket saved the day. I slipped it around my neck and headed toward the security guard.

Walking past the small crowd outside earned me a few annoyed murmurs and a curse or two, but I shrugged them off. Inside, the atmosphere was quieter, almost calm. Gabe and Adam stood by the merch table, murmuring to each other. My footsteps echoed softly as I headed for the dressing room, where all the action was happening.

The room was bigger than I expected. Against the right wall sat a worn leather couch with a coffee table in front of it. A long row of mirrors lined the left wall, each with a chair in front, while the back led to showers and bathrooms. The dim lighting and dark tones of gray, black, and brown gave the space a moody, edgy vibe.

I scanned the room, searching for Ray. I spotted him in front of a mirror, fixing his hair. He wasn't fully dressed yet—his chest was bare, his feet too, but he'd already pulled on black pants adorned with zippers and chains. He looked effortlessly hot, as always.

Smiling, I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting the side of my face against his back. I felt his chest rise and fall quickly beneath my hands. Lifting my head, I met his dark eyes in the mirror.

"I'm going to get ready," I murmured, feeling him nod in silent agreement.

I grabbed my bag and headed to the restroom, where I changed into black leather shorts and a burgundy tank top with slashed edges at the hem. After adding some jewelry and platform shoes, I made my way back to the dressing room.

Sitting down at one of the mirrors, I started on my makeup: a light foundation, concealer under my eyes, dark brown eyeshadow, winged eyeliner, and a couple of coats of mascara. As I finished, I caught Ray lingering behind me in the mirror's reflection.

He was fully dressed now—black Doc Martens and a red plaid sleeveless shirt completed his look. His black hair shone under the lights in that extremely messy look he liked.

Leaning close to my ear, he said softly, "Before we go out, we need to talk." His warm breath tickled my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

I turned in my chair to face him. "About what?" I asked, arching an eyebrow that desperately needed a bit more brow gel.

Ray placed his hands on my knees and leaned in further. "The show," he said, his voice low. "You're staying with Adam behind the curtain."

I pouted, swirling back to the mirror to finish my eyebrows. "I've been to concerts before, you know," I said, watching him shake his head in exasperation through the reflection.

"It's different now," he argued.

I grabbed my burgundy lipstick. "How?" I asked, smirking as I applied it, watching his gaze lock onto my lips.

"You're the girlfriend of a band member now. That's very different," he explained, his voice softening.

"Nobody knows that," I reminded him, capping the lipstick.

"I'm not taking any chances," he whispered.

I stood, brushing past the chair, and cupped his face in my hands. "I move among them, Ray. Invisible," I teased with a mischievous grin.

He groaned. "Don't quote TV shows at me. I'm serious," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I stroked his cheek gently. "So am I. Nobody knows who I am," I assured him.

His defeated expression told me I'd won this round. Moments later, Adam burst into the room, announcing it was time. I left ahead of the band, slipping into the crowd as they readied themselves.

The concert began with Logan pounding on his drums, followed by James and Andrew shredding on their guitars. Ray appeared last, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

As the music poured through the speakers, I let myself go, moving with the sea of bodies around me. Watching Ray perform was electric. He was the same as every other time I'd seen him on stage—but now, knowing him like I did, he seemed even more magnetic. More captivating.

And in that moment, as I watched him under the lights, I realized my feelings for him went deeper than I'd ever imagined.

The last chords of the song faded, and I took my cue to sneak out of the crowd and back to the dressing room. The heat and stickiness clung to my skin like a second layer, and I needed a moment to breathe. Over two hours crawled by before the guys finally joined me, smelling of sweat and adrenaline. They'd been taking photos with fans and signing merch, but now they collapsed on the leather couch, passing around a bottle of whiskey and picking at cold pizza leftovers.

Logan tilted his drink toward Ray, breaking the comfortable silence. "Need a lift anywhere?"

Ray glanced at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We'll be at Carlton's. It's only about five minutes away."

I nearly choked on my sip of whiskey as the burn hit the back of my throat. "We'll be where?" I asked, arching an eyebrow and nailing him with a pointed look.

The guys exchanged knowing grins, and Ray leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. "I got us a hotel room," he murmured, punctuating the sentence with a quick, playful eyebrow raise.

A slow, involuntary smile spread across my face. "Oh, okay then," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the heat rising in my cheeks.

The rest of the band burst into laughter, clearly enjoying the moment at my expense.

By the time the whiskey bottle was drained and the last of the fans had drifted away, Louis arrived with the bus. They loaded up the equipment, making plans to park it for the night and crash. That left Ray and me standing alone on the sidewalk outside La Cigale, the night air cooling the lingering sweat on my skin.

The hotel was only a short walk, nestled among other pale gray and brown buildings along Boulevard de Rochechouart. Its black balconies and ornate doors gave it an understated elegance, though I barely noticed as we checked in. Ray handled the key, opening the door and stepping aside to let me enter first.

The room was dark, the heavy curtains letting only a sliver of streetlight filter in. When Ray flicked the switch, warm light revealed a long corridor with a wardrobe and mirror on one side. Beyond that, the room opened up into a small space dominated by a double bed with matching nightstands. A pair of chairs faced the windows, and a TV perched on a table against the far wall. The decor was simple—white walls, dark brown furniture—but it felt clean and comfortable.

I tossed my bag onto one of the chairs, suddenly aware of how much I needed a shower. The guys had already rinsed off at the venue, but I'd put it off once Ray mentioned the hotel. Grabbing my toiletries, I headed straight for the bathroom, leaving him to his own devices.

The hot water was a relief, washing away the grime and tension of the night. I took my time, scrubbing every inch of my skin until it felt new again. Wrapping myself in the plush hotel robe, I stepped back into the bedroom, towel-drying my damp hair as I went.

But Ray wasn't there.

I froze, glancing around the room. The bed was untouched, and there was no sign of him. My chest tightened. Where the fuck is he?