Rio and Polly

Chapter 2: The New Tattoo

Being marched out of the hotel lobby was humiliating. The security guards let go of my arms once we were outside on the sidewalk.

"Don't come back in, ma'am. You won't like what happens if you do. You'll be looking at stalker charges and jail time."

With that happy thought, they stomped back into the hotel and left me standing outside. Alone. On the sidewalk. The hotel at my back. I tried to process what the hell had just happened to me, but it took me quite a while to come to terms with the reality of it all.

Rio, the man I loved, the man who supposedly loved me, had just allowed two beefy security guards to take me away as if I were just some crazed fan desperate for his attention. As if I were a stranger, as if I didn't know that he had fourteen tattoos, where they were located on his body and the meaning behind each one. As if we didn't have matching tattoos, a P and an R intertwined. His tattoo of our initials was big and bold on his left pec; mine was a smaller version on the inside of my left wrist.

There had been a quicksilver flash of...something on Rio's face when my eyes had met his, when he saw the two burly guards each grab my upper arms and practically drag me out of the hotel lobby. I just couldn't identify it because I didn't know the man who would allow this to happen to me. Somewhere in the last nine months, I'd lost my Rio and gained a stranger. He'd kept his arm around Danielle, and she'd played the part of fearful celeb facing a deranged stalker beautifully. She'd pressed in tightly to Rio, clinging to him, her hand clutching at his chest. But she'd flashed her eyes at me, nasty, almost triumphant. That bitch knew who I was; Rio insisted that I meet her and being there when she and Rio negotiated the terms of their fake relationship.

"If anything makes you uncomfortable, just speak up or squeeze my leg and I'll make it so nothing makes you uncomfortable, Polly."

Umm, this whole idea, maybe?

But I'd been willing to allow it so Rio could achieve his dreams, dreams that, with enough money could be realized and could allow him to help others through music. Part of what initially attracted me to Rio was his vision for how he could use his fame and fortune in wonderful, helpful ways.

Being bumped from behind brought me back to my present circumstances. How long I stood there on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, lost in my thoughts, I don't know. But when I came back to myself and was aware of my surroundings, there were a ton of paparazzi gathered around me, jostling for position, being kept from entering the hotel by a half dozen security personnel. I found myself pushed and jostled to the back of the crowd. Being vertically challenged, I couldn't see anything, but I caught the odd fragments.

"They're coming out and then..."

"...if they're on the way..."

"...big announcement -- there! I see them but..."

And the crowd parted just enough that I could see Rio with Danielle, his arm slung over her shoulders, her hand on his chest, her arm curved around his waist. 

The reporters yelled some questions at him, asking about his current number one album and his next one.

"Do you think you can top this one?" one reporter shouted at him.

"Well, I'm going to do my best, ma'am, and that's all I can promise," he drawled in that low voice of his. That answer was pure Rio. Humble. Sweet. "But with Danielle as my muse, I've been writing what I think are my best songs yet."

Danielle was his muse? Since when? Of all that he'd done so far in his fake relationship with her, including the two kisses, that one statement he'd just made maybe cut the deepest.