Chapter Twenty #5
Brina . I go to her, putting my hand in hers, noticing the lace covering her hands but this is a fancy party, so I try not to think of it too much, instead offering a smile.
I look up at the man that towers over the both of us and back down to the girl I stayed up nights with gushing about boys during our freshman year at RMU and raise a brow in question.
“This is my betrothed – Maksim Giordano.” Yes, she’s definitely fuller in the face and body.
Her mulberry dress hugs her curves and honestly, she looks fucking hot.
Gone are the sharp ridges and protruding bones, nothing but softness.
Her usual green eyes are darker now, and she has bags under her eyes blotted with concealer.
I can’t shake the feeling that something’s happened to her.
Something bad.
Intuition or just PTSD, but… the smile she has on her face, as pretty as it is, feels like the other fake ones plastered around here. Living statues amongst humans.
Maksim holds his hand out and I take it. “Lovely party.”
Dark hair, dark eyes. Velvet voice like sin. He has at least a day's worth of stubble and his hair is pushed back like he ran his large fingers through it one too many times. He smells expensive and his expression remains bored as though this was just an obligation, and I feel that.
“Oh, she doesn’t talk. I just wanted to introduce you two since I’m hoping she’ll be my maid of honor come Spring.”
My mouth drops and I shake my head at her. I want to tell her that just being here is giving me hives underneath my dress. I don’t know if I could be her maid of honor at something that will most likely be the event of the year, knowing her .
God, there are so many people here, when did more show up? If it weren’t for the tables, it feels like we’d be shoulder to shoulder. Maybe that’s why it’s getting so warm in here. Or maybe I’m flushing with embarrassment.
Someone calls Sabrina’s name, and her attention goes to them. “We’ll talk later, Raven, okay?”
What can I say? I nod and watch them walk away.
It’s like watching a Kane Corso and a Chihuahua walking together.
Seriously. How tall is that man? He beats Jonas by an inch at least .
Broad in the shoulders, looks menacing. I mean, he’s definitely her type.
She ever wanted a nice boy. Kind, yes. Nice?
She used to tell me nice guys were the ones that ended up as a docuseries on Netflix.
“You’re drooling.” Jonas singsongs.
I laugh softly and keep my hands low. No, I’m trying to figure out how they’re going to have sex. He’s a giant.
Jonas dips his chin and laughs out loud, causing Axel’s attention to turn to us from across the room. There are so many people now, but I can see him between the shoulders of others and the person he’s talking to also decides to slowly turn and look at us.
Why do I know him?
How do I know him?
It’s low… so fucking low when it starts…
the other part to my symphony. My Death Lullaby.
The melancholy song coats my spine like warm wax from my atlas to my coccyx, and slowly receding back up into my skull, settling in and spreading through my grey matter, smoothing out the wrinkles.
Fuck. I shiver, keeping my eyes on the man, dirty blonde.
Clean shaven. Chameleon eyes like Axel’s.
How do I know him?
“Excuse me, everyone?” I almost growl when I hear John’s voice, booming to be heard over the chatter and music, which both die down.
His smile is wide and lizard-like, and that sends chills down my spine.
Jonas must have felt my tiny shiver because he rubs little circles on my lower back with his thumb, soothing me from the outside in.
“We have a special treat for you, our daughter, Raven, is going to play for us.” He points to my cello waiting for me by the stage they made for the instrumentalists.
What the actual fuck.
All eyes are on me as applause erupts from partygoers.
I grab a flute from a passing tray and gulp it down quickly.
Okay. I can play this game. I was a party trick once.
I can do it again. But if I’m going to play, I’m going to do it my way.
Really shake them up. I turn to Jonas and tip up on my toes for a kiss on his cheek where I whisper to him to tell the crowd I’ll be right back when he leans down.
I then speed-walk to Axel and make a motion with my arms for him to grab his guitar and amp upstairs.
“You want me to play with you?”
I grin, nodding my head.
The surprise on his face is warm and ecstatic, almost child-like that I want to do this with him.
We run upstairs together like we did when we were children - him to his room, me to mine, and grab my black binder full of sheet music from where it’s always been.
It’s the only majestic Christmas carol we’ve ever played together, that we mastered for a string quartet plus a guitar during my unfinished second year at RMU for my Music Composition class.
Which was supposed to be played by the string quartet I was in during the RMU Holiday Concerto, accompanied by the man himself, Axel Monroe.
Darting back downstairs, in my three-inch heels no less, my leg biting at me, (I really should go back to physical therapy) a little sweaty, I see Axel is already setting up and the string quartet is pushing their chairs back to make room for him and the celloist is rising and making a getaway to the restroom.
Yeah, I remember those days. Playing for hours without a bathroom break.
I pass my men, all standing together, smirks on their faces in encouragement, and pass out the sheets of music to the violinists, the violist and take my seat, bending to pull my cello from the stand where she sits, beautiful and shiny.
Settled, I look at Axel, electric guitar strapped and ready to play.
And give him a nod .
He begins, plucking the strings of our version of Carol of The Bells as if four years have never gone by. The violinists pluck at theirs, before readying their bows and I lift mine, eyes on my men, not needing the sheet music. This song is already in my memory. In my soul.
My fingers touch my strings and…
There goes Simon Hoover.
My lips lift at the corners of my mouth as he sets one glass of wine down on a server’s tray and picks up another, throwing it back like a shot. His wife hangs on his arm, beautiful and definitely sober. But he looks annoyed. A little red in the face, even.
The guitar crescendos as does the viola, one violin is playing the harmonic, higher pitches, the other, the lower and me, my fingers almost cramp at how tightly I’m playing, concentrated, watching, never wavering, as Simon tilts his head to the side and tugs on his pristine white shirt collar with one finger.
All eyes are on me, and that includes Simon’s.
His upper lip curls back in what might be disgust but I only smile when he grabs another drink.
But God, I want to laugh.
Axel holds his note, letting it linger in the air, where one thinks the song would stop, it loops back to what would be the chorus if a choir had accompanied us.
I can hear it in my mind, the need to dance, to sing, to clap and twirl around.
It’s everything. Everything . My arms tremble, my fingers and wrists ache – but it feels so goddamn good to hurt. To feel so alive again.
“Ding dong… ding dong…”
He breaks our eye contact, grabbing his wife by the wrist.
“Ding dong… ding… dong…”
He says something, and she shrugs at him.
“Christmas is here…”
He shoves her forward lightly.
“Bringing good cheer…”
She stumbles but not nearly enough to fall and he catches her by the elbow .
“To young and old…”
Through the crowd they go.
“Meek and the bold…”
To the coat closet.
“Ding dong… ding dong…”
And out the front door.
“Ding dong… ding.”
The applause is ear-splitting. I have to blink to remember where I am.
I bend, to place my cello back in her case along with her bow and close the lid, not letting my mind wander to how badly this could go.
I haul my cello case, but Jonas takes it from me and motions with his head for me to follow him upstairs. But we’re stopped.
“I hear congratulations are in order.” Blue eyes like endless skies clash with mine and I almost lose my balance, but Jonas catches me, never letting me look weak in front of others.
I would kill for Jonas Anderson.
I will kill for our future together.
“Mr. Prescott,” Jonas greets. “Thank you.”
“Raven, what a lovely performance.”
I blink up at him. He’s so much taller when I’m not in my thigh-high boots. A bit imposing, actually, since we’re toe-to-toe and not… crotch-to-face. I catch myself before I can cringe.
“Uh, she says thank you. That was her thank you blink.”
Stephen eyes me up and down, from the silver stripe in my hair to my breasts, down to the tattoo on my wrist and back. “Fascinating.”
The way he says that, like I’m a mouse at a lab that hasn’t been fed in days and he’s my keeper makes me feel a little sick. I balance from one foot to the other and then looks at Jonas.
“Yeah, we’re gonna take this up to her bedroom. Happy Holidays, Mr. Prescott. It was nice seeing you.”
“January third, Mr. Anderson.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll need you.”
“I won’t be in town. I’ll be… elsewhere with Raven. ”
“Another time then.” He replies sternly. It’s not a question. And it’s definitely not a request. It’s an order.
“I’ll let you know when I’m back in town.”
“See that you do.” He says, walking away.
“C'mon baby, let’s get you upstairs so we can go.”
It doesn’t take us long.
When I open the door to my old room, I’m surprised to see a familiar woman sitting on my bed.
She smiles a small, sad smile that makes my chest ache and when Brina bursts into tears, I run to her, my leg be damned.
My arms go around her new-to-me plush body and her head immediately goes into the crook of my neck.
She’s sobbing so hard her entire body shakes. I make a motion with my hands at Jonas so he can give us some time.
After a few more minutes, she pulls away – face red and blotchy, mascara ruined – but still, so stunning. She catches her breath but more tears well in her eyes. “Can I please, please just talk to my best friend?”
I keep her gloved hands in mine and nod.
Even if I can’t talk to her yet, I can still listen.