"How did you find this place?" It's basically a castle. "Wait, stupid question. How did Esther find this place?"
"Ouch! You underestimate me!"
"We arrived on the right continent, so I know she was involved."
"That was one time."
"Only because she's never let you book another flight since. Seriously, though, this is gorgeous."
"It was actually pretty easy to find. AirBnB has a 'sort by price' option. You can just pick the most expensive one."
I've always wanted a sugar daddy, and he knows it. We're sharing our finances now, and it's not like I couldn't afford any Icelandic castle on the market for a few weeks even without his income, but when we sat down and covered all the essential pre-marriage topics—kids, plans, family, money, etc.—we found that he makes a lot more money than I ever did as an actor, even with the crazy figures I squeezed out of Baz. Even now, the label pays Scott a solid twelve times what they pay me.
In addition to the castle, my sugar daddy and I get to enjoy hot springs, Jonsi, leisurely hikes through the scenic wilderness, little villages, a cool wig shop where we try everything on and I decide to start a collection, a guided tour led by an old-school Pentatonix fan named Miranda, a tattoo parlor where I get a tiny little music note inked on the back of my ear, and many tranquil evenings watching the fire, while Scott masters the art of French braiding, mostly so he can kiss my new tattoo so much my lips get jealous.
We stay for three weeks. We've worked hard, and we deserve to remember what it feels like to be bored once in a while. Not until we've done everything there is to do in Iceland twice and exhausted our supply of hot chocolate and marshmallows do we head back to the States. He scoops me up and carries me over the threshold. Sweetheart. I suppose we could go shopping and find a new place now, but I don't see a reason to. This feels like home.
We head back to work before we've really worked out the jet lag. Power through, that's the strategy. Scott's idea of success has never involved sitting back and relaxing. It's part of what I love about him.
"You'll never guess who we get to write with today," Scott smirks.
"Nobody?" Questions that start with, "you'll never guess" are usually trick questions.
"Nice try."
"Tori?"
"Nope."
Who else would he be this excited about? "Kelly?"
"Nope." He looks like a child about to announce that Christmas has been rescheduled to every day of the year. It's gotta be someone big.
"Uh, Max Martin?"
"Better."
Better than the greatest producer of all time? "Sia?"
"Keep guessing."
"Taylor?"
"Better."
"You?"
"Ha, nope."
"SOPHIE?"
"Better."
"Now, see, that's just not possible. Unless... No way."
"Yes way."
"You have got to be kidding me."
He's grinning ear to ear. "What's your latest guess?"
"You're not talking about Beyoncé, are you?"
"Nope. Better."
I'm confused. "Imogen?"
"No, but that can be arranged."
"Are you gonna tell me, or just gloat until we arrive?"
"I'm gonna make you keep guessing."
"Adele? Britney? Elvis? Shakespeare? SpongeBob? Dr. White? I really have no idea."
"I told you you'd never guess."
"And I started guessing, falling right into your trap." But we're at work now, and I'm about to find out. I can't resist a few more guesses before I push open the conference room door. "Is it Lady Gaga? Amers&? Sara Bareilles? Halsey? J. K. Rowling?" He shakes his head and I open the door. No one is sitting at the table. In the far corner, bent over a pen and notebook, glancing up to smile at us, welcoming us back and rising to hug us, is Kevin Oluwole Olusola.
"You got Kevin?" I can't believe this is Scott's surprise. "How?" When Scott and I were deciding a wedding date, the first thing we did was call Kevin's secretary to find out when he'd be open. Out of everyone we know, he's the least available. "Aren't you supposed to be running the world or something?" I ask.
"More or less, but that can wait for a couple of days. I can't let an opportunity to write with the great Scömìche Grassi-Hoying pass up. Or is it Hoying-Grassi?"
"Not if you value your life," Scott answers to Kevin's infinite amusement. How this man finds everything we say side-splittingly hilarious will always be a mystery to me, but I absolutely love it. "Top billing is in the contract."
"No officially, but yeah.
"Grassi-Hoying," Kevin beams. "Got it." We have to keep our stage names the same, but our legal name changes are being processed even now. "Grassi-Hoying" is worth the trouble of a little paperwork.
"Listen, Kevin, Scott hasn't told me a thing yet. How long can you stay? Do you wanna get right down to it? Are we starting from scratch?"
"You tryna start without Avi and Kirstie? Cold, man. They aren't even late yet!"
"They're coming?!?"
"And they're staying," Scott grins, unable to contain his excitement any longer.
"In L.A.? How long?
"Until we go on tour, I guess."
"They could stay at our house after we go. I'm sure they have more to do in L.A."
"No, they're staying with us. On the bus. On Tour."
