Stuck behind her, p.1
Stuck Behind Her, page 1
Copyright © 2024 Lilly H. Dove
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by YR Editor
Cover design by Ken Valenzo
ISBN 978-1-7381388-0-7 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-7381388-1-4 (eBook)
To Nadine, my best friend.
Because you don’t need to be someone’s lover to be one
of the best things that ever happened to them.
Contents
Playlist
Prologò
Chapter 1 – Ottantaquattro
Chapter 2 – Ottantatré
Chapter 3 - Ottantadue
Chapter 4 – Ottantuno
Chapter 5 – Ottanta
Chapter 6 – Settantanove
Chapter 7 – Settantotto
Chapter 8 - Settantasette
Chapter 9 – Settantasei
Chapter 10 – Settantacinque
Chapter 11 – Settantaquattro
Chapter 12 – Settantatré
Chapter 13 – Settantadue
Chapter 14 – Settantuno
Chapter 15 – Settanta
Chapter 16 – Sessantenove
Chapter 17 – Sessantotto
Chapter 18 – Sessantasette
Chapter 19 – Sessantasei
Chapter 20 – Sessantacinque
Chapter 21 – Sessantaquattro
Chapter 22 – Sessantatré
Chapter 23 – Sessantadue
Chapter 24 – Sessantuno
Chapter 25 – Sessanta
Chapter 26 – Cinquantanove
Chapter 27 – Cinquantotto
Chapter 28 – Cinquantasette
Chapter 29 – Cinquantasei
Chapter 30 – Cinquantacinque
Chapter 31 – Cinquantaquattro
Chapter 32 – Cinquantatré
Chapter 33 – Cinquantadue
Chapter 34 – Cinquantuno
Chapter 35 – Cinquanta
Chapter 36 – Quarantanove
Chapter 37 – Quarantotto
Chapter 38 – Quarantasette
Chapter 39 – Quarantasei
Chapter 40 – Quarantacinque
Chapter 41 – Quarantaquattro
Chapter 42 – Quarantatré
Chapter 43 – Quarantadue
Chapter 44 - Quarantuno
Chapter 45 – Quaranta
Chapter 46 – Trentanove
Chapter 47 - Trentotto
Chapter 48 – Trentasette
Chapter 49 – Trentasei
Chapter 50 – Trentacinque
Chapter 51 – Trentaquattro
Chapter 52 – Trentatré
Chapter 53 – Trentadue
Chapter 54 – Trentuno
Chapter 55 – Trenta
Chapter 56 – Ventinove
Chapter 57 – Ventotto
Chapter 58 – Ventisette
Chapter 59 – Ventisei
Chapter 60 – Venticinque
Chapter 61 – Ventiquattro
Chapter 62 – Ventitré
Chapter 63 – Ventidue
Chapter 64 – Ventuno
Chapter 65 – Venti
Chapter 66 – Diciannove
Chapter 67 – Diciotto
Chapter 68 – Diciassette
Chapter 69 – Sedici
Chapter 70 – Quindici
Chapter 71 – Quattordici
Chapter 72 – tredici
Chapter 73 – Dodici
Chapter 74 – Undici
Chapter 75 – Dieci
Chapter 76 – Nove
Chapter 77 – Otto
Chapter 78 – Sette
Chapter 79 – Sei
Chapter 80 – Cinque
Chapter 81 – Quattro
Chapter 82- Tre
Chapter 83 – Due
Chapter 84 – Uno
Chapter 85 – Mezza
Chapter 86 – Zero
Epilogò
Playlist
Back to December (Taylor’s Version) – Taylor Swift
Style (Taylor’s Version) – Taylor Swift
Best Friend – Conan Gray
that way – Tate McRae
Matilda – Harry Styles
Delicate – Taylor Swift
Selfish – Madison Beer
The Archer – Taylor Swift
A Little Too Much – Shawn Mendes
The Heart Wants What It Wants – Selena Gomez
Lavender Haze – Taylor Swift
Hurts So Good – Astrid S
run for the hills – Tate McRae
Bad Blood (Taylor’s version) – Taylor Swift
Say Don’t Go (Taylor’s Version) (From the Vault) – Taylor Swift
The Scientist – Coldplay
Memories – Conan Gray
Bigger Than the Whole Sky – Taylor Swift
Look After You – The Fray
Long Live (Taylor’s Version) – Taylor Swift
guilty conscience – Tate McRae
Champagne Problems – Taylor Swift
Prologò
Lorenzo
The sound of people walking out and being welcomed by their loved ones is the only sound that can be heard. Check out in security and passport control, walk through customs, and let your friends and family welcome you into the arrivals area.
Not me. No one knows I’m here. No one’s here to pick me up. The only person who does know is the person who calls my phone the second I get a signal. “Fashion mom.”
I move through all the crowds, dragging my luggage behind me, and continue to walk toward the exit of the Los Angeles Airport until I’m outside. The wind hits my face, sending a weak shiver through my body. I then take my phone out and call her.
It only rings once before there’s an answer. “Ehy Lore, è tutto okay? Ci hai messo di tempo per rispondere... mi hai spaventata,” she exclaims, a hint of panic in her voice.
“Hey mamma, sì sto bene, l’aereo c’ha messo più tempo del previsto per atterrare,” I answer her. I hear a breath of relief through the line. I know me being here alone worries her, especially now. I’ve never been away from her for so long.
“Non so come farò a superare le tua assenza per due mesi. E se succedesse qualcosa?”
“Mamma conosci il motive del quale sono qua, dovevo venire. Inoltre starò con papa, sono solo due mesi e poi mi vedrai ancora,” I assure her. I try to, at least. But I don’t think anything could.
“Ma non posso garantirti questo, cosa succederebbe se non torneresti da me? Non so cosa dovrei fare se non torneresti.” She cries.
I look down at the luggage in front of me. “Torenero, te lo prometto, ti fidi di me no? Sono qui solo per vedere Val e altre persone fin quando sarò qui. Dopo questo sarò da te con te, non con qualcos’altro,” I tell her. She goes silent for a bit at the other end of the line.
“Okay tesero... stai attento.”
“Tranquilla mamma starò attento, ti voglio bene.”
“Ti voglio bene anch’io.” The line then disconnects, leaving me to stand on the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi or Uber to pick me up. I’ll be back. I know that. I just don’t know how I’ll leave.
Chapter 1 – Ottantaquattro
Val
“VAL! VAL! I’M YOUR BIGGEST FAN!”
The shouting continues to echo in my ears as the space around me shrinks. My vision starts to blur as the fans get larger and closer. What happened to personal space and the right to breathe?
“Val, has your hair always been blonde, or is it fake?”
“Val, when’s your next album coming out?”
“Val, everyone has been wondering if you’re dating anyone?”
What kind of questions are these? I suddenly get pushed from the side as they all continue to blurt out questions and requests, and something suddenly snaps inside me. “Oh my God, can everyone give me some space! I can’t breathe!” I yell into the crowd. That might be an exaggeration, but it won’t be if they keep going. Their label doesn’t give them the right to break boundaries.
Everyone takes a step back, and a silence descends over them. I calm down, realizing what I’ve done. I yelled at my fans, what’s wrong with me? Oliver’s going to kill me. I take deep breaths, looking around me. Okay, I can fix this.
“Just, everyone relax. You’ll all get what you want, but at a distance.” I tell them. People then start screaming questions in my direction, each one more personal than the other. They should just live at my house at this point, seeing as there’s nothing they don’t want to know. I look around trying to find an escape, but I find nothing. This park is too open. It’s surrounded by grass and plants. No buildings. No closed spaces. No hiding spots. I sigh, accepting the fact I’m just going to have to work with them.
God, when is this going to end?
Nearly two hours pass by the time I free myself. The breeze is soft, the sun shining through the clouds and onto my face. That’s the one lucky part of the day, looking at my choice of clothing. I never really get hot, so I always wear something light. I run to my car before anyone spots me and start the engine. A breath of relief leaves my mouth. Finally.
I grab my phone and s croll down the notifications, seeing I have a lot of missed calls. All of them are from Mom. I forgot to tell her I’d be late. It’s not like they would’ve let me tell her anyway. I press on one of the notifications and call her back.
“Took you long enough. What happened to you? I thought you died,” my mom shouts into the phone in a panic. Now I know where I get my exaggeration gene from.
“Sorry, I got caught by some fans, and you know how it goes from there,” I inform her. I already know she’s frowning on the other side.
“Look, I told you that you can have this career if you’re happy with it, but I can easily change that if it keeps interfering with my knowledge of your safety and where the hell you are,” she threatens.
"Ma, I’m fine. You should honestly start worrying when I do contact you,” I assure her. My phone is nowhere within my reach when fans are around. I don’t need someone snatching it out of my hand and selling it for over thousands of dollars on some black market. It’s the one thing that luckily stays mine.
“How long will it take for you to get home?” she asks.
“About thirty minutes. But the second I get home, I’m going to sleep. The only thing keeping me awake are the traffic lights,” I tell her. I look down at the time on the car’s dashboard. It's five p.m. but I don’t care. My eyes are trying their best to stay open, and they’re doing great. I’m used to this. But the second I get home, I know they’re going to shut down with the rest of my body.
“Okay. Update me, goddamn it. I swear it’s not that hard,” she demands.
I laugh softly. Mom gets scared easily when it comes to me. She doesn’t care where I am, or what I’m doing, as long as she can ensure I’m safe. She really has got to stop worrying so much. “Okay, I will. Bye.” I end the call, putting my phone aside. I use one of my hands to move my curls up and away from my face. Thirty minutes. I can handle thirty minutes of not falling asleep. At least, I hope.
Parking at home is probably the most complicated thing ever. I drive around the house to the back, park in the garage and close the garage door, ensuring the lock is plugged in enough, then enter the house. But it’s worth it. The last thing I need is fans at my doorstep.
I open the front door to find Ellie, my younger sister, standing at the entrance. The place looks like it’s been tidied, the two couches on the side not as messy as usual, and the coffee table in the middle not overflowing. You’ve got to be kidding me. I sigh as her face comes into focus. She’s always been the one who looks more like our mom, with her brown hair and oval face shape. The only difference is she got hazel eyes, while mine are green—one of the little things I inherited from our mother’s physical appearance. I love Ellie, but I know that the second I see her at the door, she’s going to ask for something.
“Ellie, you look paralyzed. Just tell me what you need this time?” I ask her in a weak voice, sliding my shoes on the rack’s right side, and hanging the keys on the mini key hook.
“I have homework. It’s a project. I need help assembling it,” she asks. A project. Is she telling me this now?
“How last minute are you?” I mutter. She continues to stare at me, leaving me to answer myself. I groan, walking to the gray couch on the right side and throwing myself on it. I have no energy to deal with anything.
A deeper woman’s voice fills the silence. “Ellie, leave your sister alone. She’s tired. She’s been out for a long time. She’ll see if she can help you out later,” my mom tells her. Thank God. Someone did it for me. “Plus, she has a meeting in an hour,” she continues. My eyes shoot open. A what? No. I raise my head slightly.
“No, you’re kidding,” I moan.
“Oliver called. Said it was urgent.” Why Oliver, why are you like this? Why can’t you be a decent manager? I throw my head back on the couch, shutting my eyes again. Never mind, that’s unfair to him.
My emotions toward Oliver are interchanging. I personally like him, and he knows how to work with me. That isn’t something you find in any music manager, considering my age. But at times like this, I resent him. Does he not feel pity for my wellbeing?
“Vi, I’m sorry. I tried to tell him to change it, but he said it was important, and that they couldn’t do tomorrow. I don’t think he knows you’ve been out.” Her fingers stroke the length of my face, sending a warm wave through my body.
I don’t reply, too tired to even say anything. I just lie there, knowing my mom is sitting in front of me.
“Look, how about you rest for thirty minutes, then you can get up and go. You’re already dressed and ready anyway. Okay?” she suggests, her voice soothing. Ugh. I don’t want to go. But I have to, so I nod weakly. “I swear I’ll make sure tomorrow isn’t as tiring,” she says. I know it won’t be. Because I’ll kill myself before going out and not readying myself for another fan crowd appearance.
An hour later, I’m at the office, staring at the coffee machine dripping the black substance into my almost-full cup, as Oliver sits on the other side of the table. He’s a man who looks exactly his age—twenty-seven—with short dark brown hair and a tall figure. He’s wearing a suit, per usual.
A coffee machine is a must in my office, then comes a desk. And two chairs. And a small shelf. And drawers. But most importantly, a coffee machine. I sit on my chair, which is different to the one Oliver is sitting in. Though I do most of my work at home, I enjoy being comfortable doing it here. So, I requested one of those comfy pillowed chairs on wheels, but I got it in gray to fit the gray and light purple theme of the room. I place my coffee cup on the white desk separating Oliver and I, after taking a small sip.
“Any time today,” Oliver complains, his elbow on the table as his head rests on his hand.
“You don’t bring me here after a tiring day and expect me to be 100 percent with you. Especially without coffee,” I tell him. He rolls his eyes, sitting up straight.
“Can I start?” he asks, fixing his suit tightly around him. I rub my eyes before looking back at him. He’s serious with me most of the time, as expected of a manager, but he tries to break the mood every now and then. He gets that I’m younger, and that I might work differently than others.
Most managers wouldn’t have taken such a young person, they think we’re immature—which honestly isn’t too far from the truth. After the video went viral, Lorenzo and I were mostly who controlled everything, still looking for someone to help me manager. Oliver was the first, and only one, to contact me. This is an investment to him, if he helps me out from now, it’s going to be good for him in the future. With me, and with other potential clients. I really hope it does end up good for him, he deserves it.
“Yes, you can start.”
“Great. First and foremost, I’m going to ask you a simple question. Why did you yell at the fans?” he asks, his voice rising slightly with annoyance. Oh, great, we’re starting with that.
I sigh, staring him in the eye. He obviously doesn’t accept that and waits for a proper answer. “Come on, Oliver. It was getting irritating, and soon enough they were going to climb on top of me. It was a reflexive reaction, and I didn’t do anything afterward,” I explain.
His mouth turns downward. “Val, you can’t just yell at them because they’re annoying. Fans are irritating sometimes, it’s what they’re defined as. You have to learn to deal with them,” he tells me, hitting the side of his hand on the table. A soft thud startles me back to full consciousness. I shut both of my eyes for a second, recollecting myself. I know.
“I try. But there’s a limit to what I can handle. I told you, it’s a reflex. I don’t like people pushing me around. Most importantly, I don’t like getting trampled by people every time I want to go grab a drink or take a walk. Can’t they go crowd another celebrity? Maybe one who’s actually out to see their fans,” I say. I need a break; can they not give me that?
“Val, I know you don’t like it when they’re always around you, but you don’t have much of a choice. We have these rules for a reason, and that’s your reputation. I know singing is something special to you, and I’m trying to help you keep it. If they’re violating your privacy, don’t answer their questions, or if you need to, try to find a way in which you can answer broadly, but don’t yell at them.” He requests, calming his voice. He’s behaving more pleasantly now. Why? Now I can’t argue.
“Oliver, you’re my manager, I know that. But you’re also like a friend. And from a friend to a friend, I’m telling you they are around me twenty-four seven. I can’t do anything. I have a life to live. I’m not even eighteen. I can’t vote yet, but I have to work with them around me all the time. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate them. I know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them, but I also need some space. It’s relentless, all the questions they keep asking me, like, ‘are you dating someone?’ How can I be dating someone when I don’t even have time for friends? I have no friends.” I complain, mocking the fans' words and hoping Oliver takes pity on me.
