stand and step towards me. Her hands went up into my hair and she pulled my forehead down to hers. I slipped my arms around her and held her close.
“I’ll be fine,” she said softly, and I moved my head back to roll my eyes, but her hands took either side of my face and held it steady. She looked into my eyes. Her face was almost completely free of makeup and her hair was wild down her back. She had denim cut-off shorts on, sandals and a loose fitting white shirt, which fell off the shoulder on one side. She looked utterly gorgeous and completely content, and in that moment I was glad we were here doing Bunt Fest again. It was one of the only performances I ever saw Urvi give that was largely stress-free.
At the O2 Arena, at Glastonbury, at Wembley she had to go through hours of makeup and styling. By the time she made it onto the stage she was usually a bag of nerves. It was only when she lost herself in her music that she would relax again. But here at the small festival that Kira organised every year for charity, Urvi could relax. Here it was all about the music – no stylists, no makeup artists and, in my opinion, not enough bloody security. That was why I’d put a ring of guards around the perimeter of the private property the festival was held at, replacing Kira’s mate (a scruffy, skinny bloke with a man bun and a questionable beard) who’d been her solution to ticket checking and security for the event. Two other close protection officers stood just outside the tent we were in now, and there was another a row of them below the front of the stage (Urvi would not be happy about this addition but I had discussed it with Rahul and we’d decided there was no other way around it).
“Why don’t you go out there and save Ben from my family,” she said, touching her lips to mine and moving back to grab her guitar.
“They’re fine,” I lied. Last I saw, Urvi’s dad had received a “glitter blessing” from a lady in a cleavage-revealing catsuit on stilts, followed by a clip round the ear from Urvi’s mum. After getting her husband in line Mrs Radia had started on Ben about the myriad of potential Radia ladies she could line up for him, while Urvi’s nephews began using him as some sort of human climbing frame. “I’m staying with you until it’s time.”
“The Ferret’s Testicles will meet me backstage and I have Beefcake One and Two just out there.”
“It’s the Ferret’s Testicles I’m protecting you from,” I muttered and she smacked my arm.
“They’re nice guys,” she said through a smile.
“I don’t know why you agreed to perform with them,” I grumbled as we made our way out of the tent and I nodded to the CPOs. Urvi shrugged.
“I like their vibe. It’s fun to be up there with them. I get tired of being on stage on my own.”
“But you’re all anyone wants to see,” I told her as I pulled her to a stop outside the main stage tent. She looked up at me with that soft, awed look in her eyes that she seemed to have whenever I managed to say something right. I could be a bloody idiot, but when it came to Urvi I had managed to pull my head out of my arse over the last five years.
I kissed her again, just because I couldn’t help myself, and only let her go when I spotted the Ferret’s Testicles lurking in the background, looking like homeless buskers off the streets – a mixture of dreadlocks, man buns, sarong trousers and way too much facial hair. They were all staring at us and grinning like overexcited puppies, and one of them played a wolf whistle on his flute after Urvi and I broke apart.
Urvi laughed but I looked up at the sky for a moment to find some patience.
“Right,” I told them as I approached in front of Urvi. “You guys will be up there with her, okay?”
“Awesome,” whispered Dreadlock Wearer, his eyes wide and excited.
“But it’s not all shits and giggles, boys,” I told them, hardening my expression. “Urvi Bailey is a world-famous performer. Being world famous means that there are people out there that can and will hurt Urvi given the chance. People so obsessed with her they would do anything to get