Chapter 8 Robin
Chapter eight
Robin
I’M already short circuiting by the time we reach the rugs, our entwined hands searing an imprint onto my skin.
He only releases my hand to snatch the mic from Corbin, who in return sneered at the three of us.
I had recognised his abrasive handwriting when I found it over my scribbled out song choice, but what gets my hackles up is I still don’t know why he's doing this.
Had he really thrown a mystery murder party just to celebrate his brother? I doubted it—we all did.
Seeing him is like being faced with a hissing viper, but your hands are tied behind your back. You don’t know when it’s going to strike and you’re helpless to do anything but try to anticipate the bite.
Once upon a time I tried to find inspiration in him to write a male love interest, but the more I searched my feelings and wrote a character like Corbin, the more he became a villain.
It was a failed attempt at writing romance, to which I promptly returned to crime fiction, where he morphed into a calculating antichrist that was hiding in plain sight of my detective.
THE guitar and drum beat starts, as I spin to find Wren is lightly touching me, a guitar already in his hands with the strap around his body.
He gives me a brief nod which I take as him asking if I’m good, so I quickly nod back and bring the microphone to my lips, exhaling any nerves I hadn’t expected myself to be harboring.
Immediately we’re off, and as I hit the first line, he plays the first notes, his eyes never leaving me as he plays guitar.
There are fans who would sell their kidney to be in Wren's presence and he’s here calling me wife, shamelessly flirting but also being attentive.
What is his end game exactly? Am I a fool to want more?
I haven’t missed the way Lily keeps scowling at both him and me, her disapproving stare is burning a hole in my head right now.
It’s a nudge that keeps reminding me of what happened on Wednesday.
I sing along with the band, making it to the chorus without going off key.
Under other circumstances, with a lot more alcohol, I'd feel more confident in engaging with friends and projecting. Now however, I’m too scared to see which guests are around us.
I focus on what lyric comes next, looking above everyone's heads to the shimmering decorations hung around the gardens. I purposely don't look for Corbin and I certainly don't make eye contact with Aya, which should stave off creating any drama. This song could be a modern day Jolene, the intent of why he chose it so obvious, but what I can’t piece together is why he’s trying to fuck with me. Why throw this party? Why bring his fiancée here, when he only got out of a relationship six months ago? A bitter person would have stormed over there and told her exactly who her fiancé is, but the stronger part of my brain whispers to just stay away from them. Hold my head high and show him I’m not affected.
I’m really not in the way he wants me to be.
I feel sorry for Aya—anyone really who falls for his hollow charm and ends up stuck in the place I clawed my way out of.
I remember the freeing relief I felt driving away from Nightingale house and him, not even the house being able to make me stay with him. He no longer has any power over me.
My chin raises higher as I finally look down from the trees, meeting those cold, dead blue eyes.
I shake out my hair, starting the chorus and letting my voice sore.
Palms flat, I press on my stomach a little to make sure I’m singing through the correct breathing Phin taught me to project.
On cue, I feel a hip knock into my side and I dip into it, my best friend shamelessly knocks me again with the side of his butt and I have to refrain from laughing.
A deviancy shimmers in his eyes as he sings along with me, his laughter bubbling up without a care as he nearly plays the wrong chord.
I can’t believe I almost let myself be robbed of how much I love doing this.
The chorus ends and I unclip the microphone from the holder, walking closer to Phin as he shakes his shoulders along with the beat.
The entire band harmonises with me in the right places, but there's that angelic voice again, rising above them all. My eyes instantly shift to Wren, the green in his irises blazing as I find him already looking at me. He wears a ghost of a smile as he sings and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as beautiful as him.
I like how our voices mix together, gliding against one another like we’ve done this a million times.
The lyrics I sing are provocative, crude, but my cheeks don’t burn with embarrassment as I’m held in his stare.
How am I meant to stay away from him, when he’s so captivating?
I feel like I’m not in my own body as I sway my hips, a mop of blonde hair rests on my shoulder, and I look back as he dramatically continues to play the guitar.
His showmanship is astounding. Looking out to the crowd again, I spot Merle smiling warmly and it makes his dimples pop.
He hides behind one of his giant hands as Phoenix raises a finger at his boyfriend, then motions to himself and then like a fool, humps the guitar.
It’s honestly like having a teenage brother sometimes.
For one moment we’re all happy, contentment drifting on the light breeze and I’m able to relax my shoulders, even if it’s only a fraction.
The song slows down and it’s just the drums and bass creating the fill.
Leaning off him, I walk back to the center of the rugs.
I’m not used to so many people looking at me at once, which is something I should probably get over, with my first book tour creeping up soon.
Turn to my right as I start the bridge of the song, the slowness building and I press on my chest again to make sure I inhale enough.
It picks up to a speed I can’t keep up with, so I don’t even attempt to continue.
Wren however, doesn’t miss a beat and keeps singing.
When I finally start to sing again, he moves forward towards me, his fingers flow over the black Gibson guitar effortlessly, and he only stops once our noses are almost touching.
I keep singing as he drinks more of me in, studying my face and the way I slightly tilt my head back to hit the higher notes.
Adrenaline surges through my body and I feel like I could do anything right now.
My gaze falls down to his lips, slightly open and so close I could just lean forward…
I look back up to his eyes and he bloody winks.
Stuttering slightly, instead of feeling embarrassed, I giggle which causes his feline smirk to extend into a dazzling grin.
I’m utterly charmed by this man I’ve told myself to stay away from.
WE finish up the song unscathed and Phin crashes into me, wrapping me into a giant hug, whisking me around the makeshift stage. That was so fun and my cheeks blush deeply as our small crowd of guests applaud.
A warm breath fans my ear, as long fingers squeeze both my hips.
“You we’re so fucking incredible, pretty girl.
” Wren whispers and it sends a shiver dancing down my spine.
I find his pet names for me endearing, and I kind of like how he whispers them only for me to hear.
The band starts to put down their instruments, and the crowd turns to make their way towards the house.
He’s warm and smells like sandalwood and mint—It’s intoxicating.
One of his hands lets go of my hip and makes its way under the blazer, making a flat palm on my waist. It causes my body to ignite, the flush from my cheeks burning its way down my neck, settling all over me.
“I was ok.” I tremble, aware of everyone moving around us but feeling like we're the only two that exist. The constant noise in my head seems to quieten to a sedated hum when he touches me, like when he stroked my jaw in the library or entwined our fingers before our song.
Jesus, I just sang a song with Wren Hastings and now he has his hands on me, telling me I was incredible.
I still haven't moved, but I can feel him leaning further into me, using his flat palm to bring me closer to his hard body and I swear he inhales where his face is tucked into my neck.
“You’re insane if you think that was just ok.” He says as he tightens the grip on my hip. It's intimate, but it makes me believe him. Turning to look over my shoulder, he lifts his face from being buried in my hair as shrill bells chime through the speakers right next to our heads.
We both jump apart and I’m almost panting, my fingers fluttering to my hair as I try to calm the fluster happening all over my skin.
The garden seems to filter back into reality, and we look up to the patio as all the other guests do too.
Phoenix and Merle stand on the steps, hand in hand as one excitedly bounces and the other wears a tight smile.
I've never found either of them hard to read, but the anxiety riddled frown on his face is so unexpected, I have the urge to comfort or help in any way I can.
Automatically stepping forward, I feel the warm presence of Wren again as he places his hand on the small of my back as we leave the stage.
Quickly we join the others as everyone stands before the patio, minus Corbin and Aya who I notice have disappeared.
“Thank you so much everyone for being here this weekend. We hope you all fall in love with Nightingale House, like Phoenix and I did. It means the world to us, that all of you made it,” he squeezes his boyfriend's hand, raising the champagne glass in his free one in a toast. “We’ve had an amazing team come in to make tonight's dinner, so hopefully you all enjoy it.”
“Let's get merry and let the murder mystery commence!”