Eleven Days of Christmas #3
When we’re situated, she puts on the headphones and looks up at us. “Tonight I’ll be singing ‘If I Were a Boy,’ by Queen Bey, of course,” she says. “Preston, find me the music?”
“Bossy little thing, isn’t she?” I ask.
“She knows what she wants, that’s for sure,” Preston says, searching for the music for her.
I watch her standing there, tapping her foot impatiently.
There’s no way a little white girl is going to do justice to a Beyonce song, but I’m not surprised she chose to start right at the top.
Of course she’s not going to work her way up, choosing something easy.
If I’d had her confidence at fourteen, I wonder what my life would be like now.
Would I have been knocked down by the tragedies that plagued my high school years? Or would they have just rolled off me?
Magnolia starts singing, and a shiver rolls over me.
She said she had a voice coach, but damn.
Watching her sing is like watching her dance.
She doesn’t hold back anything. She’s no Beyonce, mind you, but she adds her own flare to the song, switching things up to cover her shortcomings and meld the song to her own style instead of trying to mimic the incomparable.
Preston sees me rubbing the chill bumps on my arms, and he puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close as we watch his little cousin belt out the chorus.
There’s something so beautifully raw about watching her sing into the mic without recording, without the autotune and the pop-star trappings that go into making a song on the radio.
I find myself trying to remember if I ever sang like that, or if I just danced around my bedroom with Destiny, singing into a hairbrush.
I’m not really a singer. I’m a pop music creation, as sugary and insubstantial as cotton candy, according to a scathing review of my album.
Watching Magnolia sing makes me feel like a fraud.
I thought if I left this town, I could finally spread my wings and fly.
I thought I knew what I wanted, and I couldn’t get it here.
But maybe I only wanted wings so I could fly away from the pain I’d gone through in this town.
Maybe at eighteen, I didn’t know what I wanted at all.
Or maybe I knew, but I was too scared to let myself have it, to let myself live big in my own way when those closest to me hadn’t gotten that opportunity.
I went after what someone else wanted instead of picking up the pieces of my own dreams that lay shattered on the ground after my devastating breakup with Devlin.
It was easier to walk away, to start fresh, than to patch my broken wings and fight through the messy, painful healing process.
I know I’m lucky, that most people don’t get that chance.
Preston was forced to stay to protect his family and heal in whatever way he was able.
The town had to go through the painful growing process that comes with a change like it underwent after the Dolce invasion.
Meanwhile, I found a new nest, and I tried to be a different kind of bird.
But I never flew. Maybe that’s the problem, why I was never quite right for the role.
I was faking it all along. Nash isn’t to blame.
He tried to help me, telling me I could be a swan if I just tried harder, if I just trimmed my tailfeathers, bleached them a little whiter.
Faulkner’s the place that never tried to hide me away, that allowed me to be who I am, that encouraged me to spread my wings and show my outrageous feathers.
Magnolia finishes and pulls off the headphones, dropping them into a chair. “How’d I do?” she calls. “Did I nail it? Because I felt like I was totally nailing it.”
From overhead, someone bangs on the floor and yells, “You suck!” Maniacal laughter follows.
Preston and I step out of the booth. “You were amazing,” I say.
“I know, right?” she says with a little giggle. “Did you record it? I want to play it for my voice coach so I can get pointers.”
“Sorry,” Preston says, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Maybe next time.”
“Aw, y’all suck,” Magnolia says, spinning around to walk backwards down the hall in front of us. “Now that he gave it to you, can I practice with you, Dolly?”
“Of course,” I assure her. “You can use it any time you like.”
“Yay!” she says, doing a graceful little skip and spinning to face forward again. “I can’t wait. It’s going to be so fun having another girl here. Not that Kamlai isn’t a girl, but she’s always working and just tells me to go play with Charles. Oh, this is going to be the best Christmas ever!”
I glance at Preston, my heart breaking for this sweet girl who thinks it’s going to be a good Christmas just because I’m here.
She has to remember what Christmas used to be like, with all her cousins and aunts and uncles.
The Darling Christmas party was an enormous affair that was always featured on Local News with Jackie as a heartwarming piece on our town’s holiday traditions.
Having a struggling pop singer over is hardly comparable.
Or maybe it is to the baby of the family. Magnolia’s the youngest Darling cousin. She didn’t have a lot of family her age anyway. Aside from her brother, every single one of her cousins graduated before she even started high school.
“What do you think?” Preston asks, nuzzling against my ear as we walk behind Magnolia, who’s still prattling on.
“I think she’s incredibly talented,” I say honestly. “And lucky to have you acting as a big brother.”
He shakes his head. “I meant about the studio. But yes, Maggie’s the Darling family jewel. The rest of us were just practice for when she came along.”
“Yeah, you were,” she calls back over her shoulder. “And if you don’t stop calling me Maggie, I’ll kick you in your family jewels.”
“I’d like to see you try, Mags,” he says.
“Ew, that’s worse,” she whines. “It rhymes with hag.”
“Maggie it is,” Preston says, opening the door that leads back to the rooms where I’ve been staying.
“Boy, I will hit you,” she warns, dancing on her toes and pulling back a fist. “Remember, you can’t see on one side. Don’t think I’ll hesitate to take out the other eye.”
Preston grins and releases me, stepping toward Magnolia.
She jumps in and swings, and I almost scream.
Before I can make a sound, he grabs her, spins her around, and pins her back to his chest, one arm around her throat.
In another second, he’s wrestled her other arms down and pinned them at her sides with his free arm.
Even though she’s not even done growing and nowhere near a match for his physical strength, it’s still impressive to watch how fast he subdues her.
Sometimes I forget how quick the Darling boys were, how much Preston fought, and that he always won.
Until the Dolces came along, that is.
“Let me go,” Magnolia howls, thrashing around in his grip. “If someone ends up poisoning you in your sleep, I won’t cry at your funeral.”
Peanut perks up, watching with interest, like she’s on alert in case she’s needed to break up the fight.
“You won’t be at my funeral,” Preston says, chuckling. “You’ll be in jail, little psycho. No one else would poison me. You forget, everyone else here actually likes me.”
“That’s what you think,” she seethes.
“Let me give you some pointers,” Preston says. “First off, don’t broadcast your intentions. If you’re going to go for my eye, don’t tell me ahead of time.”
“Okay, then I won’t tell you when I’m going to poison you in your sleep,” she huffs. “Now let me go, or I’ll tell Grampa you molested me.”
“You think that sick old bastard would care?”
“Magnolia,” I scold. “That’s not something to joke about.”
“A girl’s gotta work with what she’s got,” she says, slamming her head back against Preston’s chest.
He lets her go, looking unconcerned. “It must be time to get you in another self-defense class. That was a sad attempt.”
“Not as sad as your attempt to make someone famous fall in love with you,” she huffs, straightening her mussed hair before flouncing for the door. “Which, by the way, will never happen. Do you actually think you have a chance with her? Talk about sad.”
With that, she disappears through the door, slamming it behind her.
An awkward silence falls for a second.
“Maybe I don’t want kids,” I say, forcing a little laugh. “At least not girls.”
“You were never like that,” he reminds me, taking my hand. “I think that’s a Magnolia problem, not a girl problem. But if we have one like that, don’t worry. That’s what boarding school is for.”
I laugh, and he spins me like we’re dancing, then pulls my arm behind his neck. His hands fall to my hips, and he sways his strong, graceful body against mine. I stare up into his stormy ocean eyes, my heart hammering suddenly.
“Marry me.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say, laying a hand on his chest and pushing him back, putting distance between us so I don’t lose my mind the way I do. “You’re literally holding me captive.”
“One day, you’ll stop caring and say yes,” he says, smiling down at me.
“Magnolia’s right,” I ask, jerking myself free of his grasp. “Preston, I’m never going to agree to marry you. How can you be so delusional? You expect a girl to love you after you lock her up and won’t let her see anyone, even her own family?”
“Your family thought you’d be better off here,” he reminds me.
“And when they’re ready for me to come back?” I ask. “I’m supposed to go to dinner there in a couple days. Are you going to let me go without a fight? Let me go back to California without interfering?”
His gaze slides away from mine. “You’ve seen Maggie,” he says. “And Charlie, and Mrs. Potter.”
I stare at him incredulously. “Those are your people. Would you let me call a friend and have her over for a drink?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I’m your prisoner, Preston,” I say. “Not your girlfriend.”
He steps forward, grabbing me around the waist and kissing me hard.
I gasp, shocked by the suddenness of his move.
His fingers tighten, sinking into my soft flesh, and he growls low in his throat.
A shiver rolls over my body, making my nipples harden painfully and my thighs quiver with anticipation.
Preston breaks the kiss, rubbing his nose gently back and forth across mine. “Try harder,” he whispers, his breath coming quick and hot against my damp lips. “I’m not convinced.”