While Royce and I are finishing up the room service breakfast he’d ordered in, consisting of the promised poached eggs and ham, the incessant knocking I now associate with the stylists, has begun shaking our door.

“Damn.” He stands up, rolling his eyes toward the knocking. “Would you mind if I grabbed all of the shit they’re going to want us to wear, and tell them we can do it ourselves today? I don’t want to share you just yet.”

“Um.” I blink, tamping down butterflies because of what he’s just said…because, aww. So sweet. “We’re allowed to do that? Dress ourselves?” I ask.

He pulls in a breath, shaking his head like I’ve surprised him. “Robin. We are allowed to do whatever we want.”

“We are?”

“These people work for us, you included. They’re not jailers. Watch and learn how it’s done.” He crooks his finger at me and I pad along behind him in bare feet to hear what he’s going to say when he opens to door.

“Well good morning, Clara.” He wedges his body into the four inch crack he’s made in the opening so she can’t see behind him or me at all. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”

Her voice pipes in from the other side of the door. “Oh. I told them I could handle this by myself. It’s only two outfits, after all. But you, Royce? You could totally get away with just going down to the lobby in that robe it looks so good with your skin tones and all.” Clara suddenly sounds sort of breathless.

I can only imagine she’s fluttering her lashes and flipping her hair how she does.

“Well that’s nice of you to say, Clara.” His voice is polite, friendly, but also clearly distant. “Robin and I also thought we could handle getting dressed by ourselves. The part where she is still undressed is why I can relieve you of everything right here. Thanks for bringing it all up, though. Can’t wait to see what we’ve got.”

“What. What do you mean?” Clara’s voice swaps into panic. “What if you do it wrong and I get in trouble. You should let me come in and help.”

“It’s only a morning press conference. Not a red carpet event.” Royce rolls his eyes again, making me smile.

“Yes. But…” Clara’s all but stuttering now. “It’s the first time you’ve been seen together in weeks. This is really important that it goes off well and that Robin doesn’t screw it up again or look…like a hot mess…”

I see Royce’s back go stiff and whatever expression he’s holding on his face makes Clara change her words to, “I mean, I just want you both to look your best.”

“Well, again that’s very nice, but I’m sure you can respect how my wife and I want to be alone as much as possible this morning. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other, and I’m feeling really stingy with every second of her free time. It will all be fine. If we can’t figure it out, maybe we can take your suggestion and we’ll both head down in our robes because her skin tones are way better than mine.”

“P-please don’t do that,” she adds. “I’d get in trouble.”

Royce’s voice grows taut, slightly harsh and very firm. “See you down there in about a half hour in whatever we choose to wear. And thanks again.”

With that, he starts backing up, dragging in a small cart hung with hangers with a few boxes stacked below. Just before he shuts the door I peek around and lock glances with Clara who’s standing there with her mouth hanging open.

When she sees me she closes her mouth fast. Her eyes scour over my loosely tied robe just like the one Royce is wearing, and then go over my hair and how it’s flowing down all over the place in its usual, curling-damp, post-shower mess. “Hi Clara,” I call out, with a small wave, trying not to act too smug, but it’s really hard considering she was flirting with my—sort of—husband. “Thanks for bringing the stuff up,” I echo, acting like it’s totally normal for people to deliver outfits to me like this.

Clara nods, but she’s flushing bright red—not with embarrassment but with unmasked jealous-fury. She spins away, calling out in a light voice that did not match her expression, “There’s a hair brush and some special make up for you, Robin. Try to use everything correctly.”

Thankfully, the heavy door has closed all on its own, so I don’t have to answer her.

“Wow.” I sigh eyeing the cart. “Does she flirt with you like that every day?”

“Unfortunately, she does. Does she insult you like that, every day?”

I shrug but don’t answer that, because I don’t want to make waves. Royce, being Royce—mistakes my silence for me being mad that Clara was flirting with him. “Look,” he starts, going all serious. “I only tolerate Clara more than others, because I’ve known her a long time. It’s because of how her mom has worked for the band for years. So many girls do that flirty-shit, though. They think, because of my job, they should just openly hit on me, or show me cleavage or do something creepy-random like complimenting my skin tones, how Clara just did, instead of just having a normal conversation. I never just hear the words, ‘nice day, huh’?” He laughs. “So messed up. Skin tone. Please.”

I laugh a little. “I honestly don’t mind what Clara does. She’s annoying, that’s all. And…not that I want to take Clara’s side on this one thing, but…” I eye him up and down. “Speaking as an artist and a friend here, you do have pretty awesome skin tones. Rare even. I can hardly blame her for the comment. She’s dead on correct in her observations.”

“What? No. Don’t even start.” His brows shoot up.

“Yes. You’re made up of mostly olive skin tones, but with this very clear beige-taupe overlay. That’s what really features how it’s possible you were born with no pores whatsoever. It is quite the ‘wow’ effect.” I breathe in, holding up a finger as he’s opening his mouth to protest again. “And when you’re suntanned I’ve seen real hues of salmon glinting through here and there. Also very cool.” I shrug. “The white robe does bring it all out.”

His brows go up more as he stalks over to stand next to me by the cart and starts peeking in boxes and unzipping the clothing bags while chuckling. “Did you say Salmon? Please.”

“Yes. One of the many varied colors of pink coming from the primary color red. You also have a whole bunch of coral. Oh, and when you’re all flustered you don’t go bright red like I do, because I have zero olive tones, in case you didn’t notice. You have so much olive that you go sort of crepe colored.”

“Crepe?” He sounds twice as doubtful as before.

“Oh yes. Crepe and more.” I say. “I won’t bore you though, because I could literally talk about the color palette that makes up you, Royce Devlin, all day long. Your eyes—straight up silver is hiding in those, and the inky-hair?” I point at his rumpled mop. “That’s hiding some major magenta and navy.”

He finally cracks up and holds his hands up high, turning to face me. “Okay…well…stop for now, would you? Clara’s comments were annoying, but with you saying this? I—I’m feeling all kinds of flattered. Hell, I might even feel touched that you’ve spent time studying this. I feel like…” He tears his gaze off of me and returns to unzipping the second clothing bag. “I think it’s making me stuck up…or…something.”

“You’re married to a huge color nerd. And textures. You might as well know this about me. I might drive you insane with this stuff,” I add, eyeing how his chin, baby smooth last night, now has this soft-scratch stubble covering.

He pauses to survey the rack again. “This one is yours,” he says, motioning to what looks like a strange red mini skirt paired with a white blouse, but he’s not looking where he’s pointed. His eyes are back to going over my face like he’s admiring me, or rather, admiring who’s inside of me. And I mean he’s seeing that nearly OCD artist-girl whom I try hard to hide from everyone.

When my answer to him is only a shrug, he says quietly, “You’re a very cool, very smart person, you know that, Robin Love? And way out of my league, if you must know.” He falters, laughing a little. “Shit. I meant to call you, Robin Devlin.” With a fast head shake and a very flustered expression, he adds, “Damn-me, but that made me realize just how much I really miss your last name.”

“So do I,” I’ve whispered, wishing I’d held silent, because my reply has my chest lurching down too fast, because he’s made me remember my whole past life.

Only from where he and I both stand, we both know it’s a past life that feels completely erased all of a sudden.

I work to joke over how I’m faltering inside by adding, “If we took my last name instead of yours the world would be calling you, “Royce Love.”

I shake my head and I mimic one of Mrs. Felix’s disapproving faces, as I try to add in her voice as well, “And that name, young man. With your skin tones plus the extrovert job you already have…would just make you seem very obnoxious.” I drop the Mrs. Felix voice, laughing along with Royce. “Right?”

“Totally obnoxious.” He agrees, picking up his whole outfit and holding it high so we can both eye a pair of dark jeans plus a soft grey, summer weight suit jacket. “This is kind of nice. I’ll change in the bathroom. Shout out when you’re decent and I’ll come back out. No hurry, I’m going to figure out how to get to your bucket list while I’m in there.”