Rio and Polly

Chapter 1: You're The One I Love

The hand holding had been hard enough to see, the intimate looks, the sweet smiles -- those should have been only for me. Then the red carpet events had turned into some dinners out at high-profile restaurants and some parties. But the kiss? Oh, the kiss had killed me. I'd slowed down the video so I could see her hand snake around the back of his neck, pulling Rio down to her, his one arm going around her waist to pull her closer. She'd tilted her head one way and he'd tilted his the other, and she'd grabbed a handful of his longish, light brown hair, and I could tell it was no close-mouthed kiss. In the grand scheme of things, eight seconds isn't long, but I swear I died multiple times while watching them kiss.

When he'd pulled back, she swiped her thumb over his lips where his were shimmering from her lip gloss. I'd felt that gesture in my gut, like a punch, and had wanted to cry. So I did. For a lot longer than eight seconds.

We'd been fighting over the fake relationship more and more, and the kiss had almost been the end of us. I'd told him I'd been willing to tolerate a lot, but the kiss had lasted eight seconds and had included tongue. It was the kiss that had made headlines everywhere -- it had been referred to as the hottest kiss ever photographed. My man kissing another woman was the hottest kiss ever. Fuck my life. And while we're at it, fuck Rio and Danielle, too.

After watching the videos of that damn kiss over and over, I'd called and left a voicemail for Rio saying I hoped he and Danielle would be very happy together and to have a good life. Oh, and to not bother stopping by when he got home because I was done with him.

He hadn't responded -- probably because he'd been on a late flight back to Nashville, about to take off when I'd sent my goodbye text -- but as soon as his plane landed a few hours later, he'd been at my door, explaining, begging, pleading, promising it would never happen again, that it had just been for the cameras, that their agents said that the one kiss would be enough to really cement them as the IT couple, that it would finally convince those people who were claiming their relationship was for press only. I was the one he loved. Just three more months and then we could be together, in public.

But, darlin', you're the one I love.

I'd been so stunned that before I could process the fact that he had known about the kiss before it happened, before I could wrap my mind around him discussing the kiss with his agent and Danielle and her people, before I could fathom him not discussing it with me, not even to give me a heads up so I wasn't blindsided -- he hit me with the fact that now he and Danielle were slated to stage a break up at nine months, and to please be patient with him. Four months had suddenly morphed into nine months. Nine months. Long enough to have a baby.

We'd fought about that new nine-month deadline, too, in addition to the kiss, and I asked him repeatedly if it was actually going to ever end, given that he'd moved the deadline from four months to six months and now he was pushing it to nine months.

"When is it going to end, Rio? On your fucking golden anniversary?" I'd shouted at him.

Rio had promised me he would end it no matter what at nine months, no matter where his career was, no matter what was going on in the press, no matter what his agent pleaded with him to do -- he swore that nine months was the final deadline.

He was confident the end was in sight because his second album Milliken had negotiated for him had hit the charts at number three and had quickly climbed to number one on the country chart.

Darlin', you're the one I love; can you please find it in you to be patient a few more months? I promise, she will never kiss me again. We just have to be seen at events together.

And it had all gone according to plan until Danielle was photographed kissing him again to congratulate him on his number one album as they got out of the limo to attend a record label party in Rio's honor. I texted him immediately:

You kissed her again.

His reply took almost an hour:

Darlin', I didn't know she was going to pull that. I've told her no more. We're almost there. Just a little more patience, please.

So, having had enough, I showed up at the hotel where the record label party was. I'd waited in the lobby, dressed in yoga pants and a hoodie, my hair piled haphazardly on top of my head, my nerd glasses perched on my nose. I'd been so incensed by his reply to my text -- he didn't even apologize to me! -- that I was going to have it out with him. Confront him at the hotel. Obviously I hadn't thought it through. I'd merely let my anger carry me and I'd grabbed my purse and keys off the counter, run to my car and put the hotel name into my phone and followed directions. I'd parked then run to the lobby, just as he and Danielle had been leaving the ballroom where it had been held.

She looked perfect -- if you liked plastic and fake. Looking at her, I didn't see one thing natural about her, but even I had to admit she looked stunning, and her long blonde hair and makeup were perfection. Her sparkly black dress was short and flirty, showing off her assets perfectly, and she was cozied right up against Rio's massive body, displayed perfectly in his tailored tux. They looked like a couple. They looked like they belonged together. Rio's head was turned toward Milliken Malcolm, his agent, who I wasn't fond of but didn't hate. (Even Rio agreed with me that his agent's name was unfortunate.) Whatever Milliken had said, Rio found amusing and was laughing, but it wasn't his real laugh, the laugh only I seemed to pull from him.

Maybe between Danielle, Our Lady of the Plastic, and Milliken "My veneers are whiter than white" Malcolm, they were turning Rio into someone just as fake and plastic. Someone who no longer had any real emotions beyond what they faked for the cameras.

Looking sharply at Rio, who still hadn't noticed me, I wondered if he truly cared about me anymore. If I still came before his career, as he'd assured me I always would way back when we first began dating and fame was just a distant, hazy dream. He was just a young man with big dreams and an awesome voice who sang the incredible songs he wrote with such depth and feeling that you couldn't help but be moved to tears. Although he was backed up by other instruments now on his albums, to me, the purity of Rio's deep baritone accompanied only by his acoustic guitar was the most beautiful sound in the world. 

I'd told him after he'd hired Milliken that he should pitch an acoustic-only album, but Rio had said Milliken would never go for that yet, not until Rio was an established star who had a huge fanbase.

It was this same agent who, when I tried to confront Rio, had called security on me while my boyfriend silently watched as he held Danielle Force tight against his side -- and I was escorted out of the venue.

Let me repeat that. I was escorted out of the venue.

Rio had just used his last chance.