The next morning, Belinda was once again with her head bent over her notebook, correcting, humming, drawing notes, and scribbling chords. She was sipping her cappuccino when she felt a presence behind her and instinctively put her hands over the pages to cover her secret.
Kristian sat down next to her, holding a coffee and a biscuit. "We're early risers, huh?"
"Yes, I couldn't stay in bed anymore."
"What are you hiding?" he asked, pointing to the notebook.
"My diary." Belinda closed it. "You know, a girl's habit."
"I've never understood what drives you women to always write down everything you do. You chat so much among yourselves... Why the need to write?"
"Sometimes we're not always honest with each other, because there are things you would never confess to anyone. When you write them down, however, you manage to be honest and see yourself clearly," she explained, smiling. "Look, there are lots of guys who do it, although more often online, on blogs..."
"Yes, Tom has a blog on our site."
Belinda laughed. "But I don't think he talks about his feelings."
"Oh, you can be sure he doesn't! Can you see it?"
"You know, when amazing things happen to you and you want to shout it to the whole world, not caring what anyone thinks..."
"Like what's happening to you now?" she asked with a smile.
Belinda blushed. "Does it show that much?"
"No, but you haven't screamed in the middle of the night anymore, so I figured there weren't any more nightmares tormenting your sleep."
"Typical male reasoning," she muttered. "But that's okay... How's it going with Annalisa, though?" she asked suddenly, looking at him seriously.
"In... what do you mean?" he gasped, putting down his cup.
"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm the big girl... Wake up, do you think I don't understand what's happening?"
Kristian looked out the open window for a moment, then sighed and returned his attention to her.
"Don't worry, nothing irreparable is happening." He smiled slightly. "It's a strange time, and suddenly finding myself the center of such tender attention, so... I don't know, it made me feel... special. But maybe you don't understand..."
"Understand what? That someone can listen to you, talk to you, and laugh with you, without thinking of you just as the bassist from Scream?" he murmured. "That someone might want to get to know you, the boy and not the artist? That they might like you for who you are?"
"Do you know how many times I've fooled myself into thinking someone only sees me for who I am? And then... boom, you wake up and realize they always want something from you." She shook her long hair. "No, it's been a long time since I've felt so... alive!"
"Well, you're not the only one who's ever been there!" Belinda burst out laughing. "Italian girls are affectionate and, at times, very lively!"
"Some of your compatriots are really lively, I assure you. At concerts, they wave signs so explicit they're almost obscene."
"Those girls don't follow you for the music, Kristian, don't you get that?"
"I do, but your Bill says we owe a lot to them too." He snorted, looking at her from under his long quiff.
Belinda gave him a resigned smile. "Bill is an ethereal creature, still dreaming of a better world. I hope it always will be that way for him. If we've lost our dreams, why ruin his?"
"Why do I have the feeling we're going to lose you, Bel?" Kristian asked her with a deep look.
Belinda smiled and patted his hand. "Because you, my dear, are a wise boy!"
She was about to get up when an idea came to her and, a little hesitant, she asked him: "Kristian, I need your help. Could you help me find a chord on the keyboard? Because I can't focus properly..."
With a nod, they rose and went to the music room.
*
The rest of the day flew by, between setting up the show and choosing outfits for the final three evenings. The guys were extremely busy, giving it their all, including Tom, while Belinda had to carefully rehearse the staging of her entrance with Lucas, rehearsing several times to make sure the microcameras' effect was perfect. It didn't feel natural to have to turn or freeze at a certain moment to allow the director to get the shots they needed, but she executed, repeated, stopped, started again.
After yet another rehearsal, she sat on a bench, exhausted, taking off her helmet and breathing to ease the heat.
Lucas joined her almost immediately, sat down next to her, and offered her a bottle of cold water.
"Thank you!"
"What's wrong, Bel? Are you pale, not feeling well?" he asked solicitously.
"Don't worry, I suffer incredibly from the heat."
"Do you want me to tell Madeleine to get you some supplements, some mineral tablets?"
"No, thank you. I'm already taking them, but apparently they're not enough," she reassured him, taking a sip of cold water.
In fact, her weakness had increased significantly for about two days, but she attributed it to staying up late at night writing her song and completing the music. She really liked the lyrics, but the melody still wasn't flowing the way she wanted. By now she was humming it at all hours, including late at night, but she was dissatisfied with the result and was getting nervous because she couldn't find the solution.
She took a towel from her bag, wiped it behind her neck and over her face, and placed it on the bench.
"Shall we start again?" she asked Lucas.
He looked at her seriously. "No, that's enough for today. You need to rest."
With a tired gesture, she stood up and walked toward the dressing room, dragging her feet. If she hadn't been so tired, she would have laughed at the sound of her heels clicking on the wooden stage. The day she'd tried to seduce Bill, swaying on those boots, in another corridor, seemed so distant.
She quickly changed, taking a warm shower and trying to get rid of that horrible feeling of tiredness.
As she dried herself, she noticed that the red stain on her shoulder had never disappeared and made a mental note to put extra padding there, to prevent it from rubbing and hurting again.
She dressed slowly and then went to the stage, where the guys were testing the instruments and lights, while the technicians continued to study the set design.
She found a quiet corner and crouched on a crate, leaning against the heavy theater curtains, sighing. To pass the time, she pulled out her notebook, now full of drawings and lyrics. Mechanically, she began humming the song: she needed a guitar to understand where she was going wrong!
She knew the building also had a recording studio, and she got up to check if there was an instrument she could use somewhere.
She intercepted Lucas.
"Can you tell me where I can find the recording studio?"
"At the end of the corridor, then turn right, you can't go wrong," he replied, gesturing.
"How long do they have?" she asked, gesturing toward the stage and the band.
"If I know them well, it'll be a couple more hours."
"Okay, I'll see you here later. If you need me, just call me on my phone," she reassured him as she walked away.
Passing by the bar, she grabbed a huge glass of cola to keep herself awake and not succumb to tiredness.
André was in the room with some people, and when he saw her, he nodded, while she quickly walked away so as not to have to explain: she didn't want him to tell Bill.
Besides, she desperately needed to practice that damned melody, since there was always someone around at home.
The room was deserted, and after a quick look, Belinda found a classical guitar sitting on a shelf. She carefully opened the case and, confirming its functionality, sat down on a chair and placed it between her arms and knees.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began to play. She tried the chord several times, feeling its texture, its depth, and, as soon as she began to find a similarity with the one she was reproducing, she moved on to another piece.
Yes, it was starting to work. Even though it had a sad undertone with the classical guitar, it would work great with the electric one.
She felt a trickle of sweat run down her back and groaned irritably: it was getting hotter!
She opened her eyes to look for a fan or something to cool off with and, with relief, found the air conditioning remote on a chair: perfect!
She turned it on and returned to her station, feeling more energetic and ready to start again.
After a few minutes, she heard a noise behind her and, turning, caught sight of Tom leaning against the doorframe, watching her with his arms crossed.
"How long have you been there?" she asked, resting her arm on the instrument.
"Not long, but I like what you're doing," she said, coming closer. "Is the song yours?"
"Yes, I've been writing it for a few days, but... it wasn't working well, because I hear the music in my head, but I couldn't rehearse it," she explained.
"And couldn't you have taken the guitar I lent you?"
"No, I couldn't. I didn't want Bill to find out," Belinda replied, huffing.
"What are you worried about, Bel?" he said, annoyed. "What will he do if he finds out? Whip you? Take away your voice?"
"So, let's be clear: I don't want the subject of music to come between us. Your brother isn't much of a fan of my artistic side, didn't you tell me that? I don't want to compete with him or... with that odious B.K.!" he huffed, standing up.
"And who the hell is B.K.?" he asked, surprised.
"The one who sings and runs around the stage, you know? In short, your twin brother!"
"This is crazy!" she exclaimed. "You even split his personality! What's wrong with you, Bel? Should I really be worried? Should I drag you to the hospital? You already look like a ghost these days…"
"Oh, Tom, mind your own business! These are our business, okay?"
"But you guys need to be hospitalized, do you understand that or not? I was saying that Bill wants to be perfect in his performances because he wants your show to be perfect, not that you should compete to see who's the best!"
"Are you sure?"
Tom stared at her for a few moments and then shook his head. "Okay, I know my brother is competitive, obsessive, sometimes even hateful, but he would never do that to you, Bel!"
"And why on earth?"
"Because he likes you, damn it! And he couldn't be such an asshole, that's why!"
Belinda smiled bitterly, but didn't comment.
"Okay, now you're making me doubt myself." He sighed disheartened. "Come on, tell me, in your madness, what am I? A psychopath, a killer, or a defenseless girl in need of help?"
"Don't worry, you're just a madman in love," she teased, laughing.
Tom was the best antidepressant she knew: with him, she'd snap, and her bad mood would disappear.
"I don't find the comparison funny," he muttered, looking at her askance. "But let's leave it at that, okay? We weren't talking about me."
"Okay, so since you're here, why don't you give me a hand so I can finish faster?" she asked, handing him another guitar and sitting back down.
"What should I do?"
"Listen to me the first time and then follow along with the sound, so I can see if it comes out the way I want! And if something bothers you, let me know, okay?"
She began confidently with the notes, repeating them several times to help him memorize them, explaining what she wanted to achieve on certain passages and asking for his advice.
After a few minutes, the harmony was perfect: the music sounded richer, full of nuances due to Tom's different playing style, and slowly, feeling satisfied, Belinda began to hum the words.
Tom followed her confidently, and little by little, the song came to life. Belinda felt it reverberating in her head, in her heart, in every part of her body, from where a wonderful sensation began, which poured into her mouth and transformed into words.
When she stopped, she turned to look at the boy, who was staring at her with a cheeky smile.
"It's for Bill, right?"
She smiled, blushing a little, but nodded.
"Are you sure he deserves it?" he asked ironically.
"Yes, he deserves it down to the last note!"
"He always gets the best of luck…" Tom muttered, putting his guitar back in its place.
She followed suit and, after checking that everything was in order, turned off the air conditioning and closed the door behind her. The two walked away together down the corridor.
By the time they reached the others, the sun was already setting and the air was cooler. Belinda shivered a little and searched her bag for a thicker shirt.
"Everything okay?" Bill asked, reaching her.
"Yes!" he replied. "And you?"
He gave her a big smile, and she knew he was satisfied with how the rehearsals had gone. They walked towards the car, commenting on the various things they had done during the day and chatted calmly throughout the evening, while Tom watched them with a serious look.
Naomi noticed him and exchanged a knowing glance, knowing they shared the same concerns.