Protecting Love (LarssonSiblingSeries #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Betty

Two weeks come and go, and Finn is still keeping himself busy ignoring me and working out whenever he gets a free slot. It's as if we never spoke, and he didn't reveal the secret of a lifetime. I'm stuck between wanting to confront him about it, so he knows my views haven't changed about him as a person one bit, and keeping quiet until he comes to me.

Neither is working at this point.

It's the last day shooting my latest and first ever music video. I'm in a happy bubble as the crew run around me, making sure everything is in order. My outfit is tight and a little see-through, but my stylist, Jenny, promises me that it will look perfect with the oversized denim jacket patterned with sewn on cloth stickers of lipsticks, hearts and other cute shapes, paired with knee-high suede boots.

I'm not convinced.

I would never say it because I don't want to offend anyone, but I feel like a hooker...it's the skin tight body suit, it's quite something.

I let the hairstylist secure the curls in my hair, so they don't fly everywhere when the open roofed Mustang drives down the South California roads. There's a camera fixed to the front of the bonnet, and a camera man sat on the back, ready to capture the scenery passing by us. I spy the mini camera on the dashboard to which I guess, is put there to capture my moving mouth and body movements.

"Ready people?" the director shouts, and we all collectively cheer.

I allow for last minute touch ups on my makeup, loving the bronze glitter they pressed on my eyelids and the glowing skin they gave me. I look like a transformed woman. I spy a few people crowding around the set, probably wondering why the road leading to the nightclub we are heading to is closed.

The engine starts, and the dancers behind me get into position, while I move my arms to rest on the back of the long car seat, pushing my hips up and tipping my head back, so the wind catches the strands and blows it everywhere. My song pelts out the radio as we speed down the road and I begin to mime the words in quick time, smiling so big my jaw aches.

I've made it.

Dreams do come true.

The models behind me start to yell, dancing in their seats, giving me the signal to move my body up and glance to my left to see the pink sky as the sun starts to set over the palm trees and beach. I tip my shoulder down and giggle when one of the models lean over the front seats and hugs me, gazing into the camera.

As we pass the crowds of people, you can hear their faint screams next to the wind. I turn my head, scared for the camera man as we pick up speed, but he's strapped in and loving it. Each to their own. The woman driver glances over at me and takes one hand off the steering wheel so we can join our fingers together like we learnt in the choreography, both singing the lyrics, not able to help myself as I belt the top note out into the darkening sky.

"Go, Betty," the camera man behind us shouts in his excited American accent, and then the models follow.

The car comes to a halt next to the entrance of the nightclub we are set to celebrate in, the other side of the road crowded with crew members and the public. I run a shaking hand down my face, feeling like I'm floating on a cloud having lived the most surreal few days. I have a music video. It's crazy.

"And, that's a rap," the director shouts hitting the side of the car twice with his hand. The motorcycle he used to follow us forgotten at the edge of the road. "How are you feeling, Bee?"

I take a while to answer, finding it hard not to cry at this point. "I feel like I'm dreaming. That's what they all say, huh?"

"Yeah, and they either want to drink a bar dry or sleep for a year," he says.