Public Secrets by Nora Roberts

London?”
    “No.” He was half impatient, half amused by her literal mind. “To the way things were. Begging to play in some grimy pub, grateful if we got free beer and chips for pay. Christ, Bev, we’re in New York, and after tomorrow millions of people will have heard us. And it’s going to matter. We’re going to matter. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
    She sat up to take his hands. “You’ve always mattered, Bri.”
    “No. I was just one more scruffy singer. Not anymore, Bev. And never again. People listen. The money’s going to make it possible for us to experiment a bit—do more than the boy-girl rock. There’s a war going on, Bev. A whole generation’s in upheaval. We can be their voices.”
    She didn’t understand big, sweeping dreams, but it had been his idealism that had attracted her from the beginning. “Just don’t leave me behind.”
    “I couldn’t.” He meant it sincerely, completely. “I’m going to give you the best, Bev. You and the baby. I swear it. I’ve got to get dressed.” He kissed both her hands, then shook back his tousled hair. “Pete’s really high about us being in the first issue of this new mag that’ll come but in November.” He tossed her a tie-dyed T-shirt. “Come on.”
    “I thought I’d stay in here.”
    “Bev …” They’d been through all this before. “You’re my wife. People want to know about you, about us.” He bit back annoyance when she simply sat, running the shirt through her hands. “If we give them a little, they won’t hound us for so much.” When he said it, he believed it. “It’s especially important because of Emma. I want everyone to see that we’ve made ourselves into a family.”
    “A family should be a private thing.”
    “Maybe. But the stories about Emma are already out there.” He’d seen them, dozens of them, labeling Emma as a love child. There could be worse things, he mused, since Emma hadn’t been made out of anything remotely resembling love. It was his other child, he thought as he laid a gentle hand on Bev’s stomach again, who had been made of love. “I need you with me on this.”
    Hating it, she climbed out of bed and began to dress.
    Twenty minutes later, she answered a knock on the door.
    “Johnno.”
    He gave Bev a quick grin. “I knew you couldn’t stay away from me.” Swooping her into an exaggerated dip, he kissed her. As she laughed, he looked over her head to where Brian was coming through the doorway. “Ah well, he’s found us out. We’d better come clean.”
    “Where’d you get that ridiculous hat?” was all Brian said.
    After setting Bev back on her feet, Johnno straightened the floppy white fedora. “Like it? It’s a happening.”
    “Makes you look like a pimp,” Brian commented before he walked to the bar.
    “There. I knew I’d made the right choice. Nearly cost me my life, but I managed to break out of here and do some shopping on Fifth Avenue. I’ll have one of those, luv.” He nodded to the whiskey Brian was pouring.
    “You went out?” Brian stood with the bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.
    “Sunglasses, a flowered tunic …” He wrinkled his nose. “And love beads. Worked nicely as far as disguises go, until I tried to get back in. Lost the love beads.” He helped himself to the glass Brian held. With a pleased sigh, he flopped on the couch. “This is the place for me, Brian, my lad. I
am
New York.”
    “Pete will have your head if he finds you went out on your own.”
    “Bugger Pete,” Johnno said cheerfully. “Though he’s not precisely my style.” Grinning, he downed the whiskey. “So, where’s the little brat?”
    “She’s sleeping.” Bev picked up a cigarette.
    Brian answered the next knock. Stevie strolled in, and after an absent nod to Bev headed straight to the bar. P.M. followed, and looking a little pale, dropped into a chair.
    “Word from Pete is we’ll do the interview here,” he said. “He’ll be bringing the reporter along.