Chapter 45
LUNA
The club is sizable, but the dim lighting and strategically placed tables give the main room an intimate atmosphere.
“There’s my dad.” Charlie nods to the left of the stage, then places a palm on my lower back to guide me.
Even through my shirt, the warmth of his hand burns and has me wanting to melt back into him.
Instead, I press forward.
When we get close to the table, Charlie’s dad rises to greet us. Mr. Keller stands at an average height, barely reaching his son’s shoulder. He gives me a warm grin in greeting, reaching out to shake my hand.
“Dad, this is Luna.”
“Of course. Didn’t think I’d recognize my own fake daughter-in-law?” His words are jovial, a twinkle in his eyes telling me he finds our situation more amusing than disconcerting.
I breathe a touch easier.
After our talk about telling our families the truth, I still worried the Kellers would get defensive or protective, thinking I was taking advantage of their son.
I am, but not maliciously.
It appears I wasted my time worrying, as the older man pulls out my chair with a welcoming flourish. Before Charlie takes his own seat, he gives his dad a firm hug.
The gesture fascinates me. What would it be like to have a relationship with my parents like that? Where family members pass gestures of affection back and forth rather than insults and cutting remarks?
Chances are, I’d be a lot friendlier today if those were the type of guardians I’d grown up with.
“Y’all have enough time to order a drink before your mom goes on. She’s looking forward to singing here. Says they’ve got great acoustics.” Mr. Keller waves for a passing server.
Charlie glances around the space at his father’s words, as if he can discern the truth of them on sight alone.
Maybe he can. After living together for just over a month, I’ve become familiar with Charlie’s hidden musical depths.
Multiple evenings, I’ve come home to find him strumming his guitar on the back porch with Pig lying rapt at his feet.
After the waiter takes our drink orders, Mr. Keller leans toward me. “I hope you don’t mind if I hold off on the get-to-know-you-better portion of the evening until after my love’s show. She’s gonna want to ask you the same questions as me. No need for you to have to repeat yourself.”
“No problem.” I glance at Charlie in time to catch the amusement curling at the corner of his mouth.
I’m considering if I should be the one asking questions when the waiter returns with our drinks, and just as I’m taking the first sip, the lights dim everywhere except for the stage.
When Rosa Keller steps onto the stage, I discover where Charlie’s height came from.
The woman is statuesque, rising high above us all. Soft, kinky curls halo her face and glow in the stage lights. A gold dress hugs her curvaceous figure, and if I didn’t know she had a son in his late twenties, I might assume she’d only lived two or three decades herself so far.
“Hello, everyone.” Her voice is music, even when she speaks. “I’m glad you could join me tonight. I haven’t sung in Nashville for many years now, but I know a city that loves music as much as you all would always welcome me back. Let’s have a good time tonight.”
The audience claps and cheers, and then the band behind Charlie’s mom starts playing a beat, the instruments coming in at different times, blending seamlessly. Once they’ve warmed into the rhythm, Rose finally adds her voice to the mix.
And, holy mother of musical goddesses, the woman is amazing. Even I, a novice in the world of music, can recognize she has some golden pipes on her.
At one point during the set, when her voice drops low and the words ring of hard times and struggles, my own darkness stirs in recognition.
Without thinking, I reach under the table until I find Charlie’s hand.
With the silent request, he entwines our fingers together, and we stay connected through the rest of her show.
For a full hour, she sings. There are pauses when Rosa talks to the audience, connecting with us all by sharing anecdotes from her travels and her thoughts on certain songs.
She takes the time to introduce every member of her band, giving them opportunities to solo their instruments.
The bass is my favorite, the deep notes reverberating in my chest, like the thick strings caress my heart.
When the show finally draws to a close, the whole audience stands, roaring and stomping, applauding the magic of Rosa Keller. The band plays her off the stage, and then they continue with unobtrusive background music as conversations at the tables pick up.
A moment later, the star of the show arrives at our table, and I’m so awed by her that I momentarily forget she’s Charlie’s mom.
“You were amazing, love.” Mr. Keller stands, embracing his wife and brushing a kiss over her cheek that rounds with a smile.
Rosa presses her lips to her husband’s cheek in return, immediately wiping off the red lipstick smear.
Then her powerful attention turns to Charlie and me.
Few people in the world intimidate me anymore. Mainly because there aren’t many whose opinions I care about.
But I care about Rosa’s.
And she intimidates the hell out of me.
“Hi, Mom.” Charlie stands, pulling me with him because our hands are still linked. He gives his mother a one-armed hug. “This is Luna.”
When her honeyed eyes meet mine, I stand as straight as I can and wipe my sweaty palm on my pants—thank the universe they’re black—before offering a hand to shake.
“Hello, Luna.”
My name in her smoky voice becomes something beautiful, and I find myself wishing I knew her well enough to get a hug of my own.
But that’s ridiculous. I don’t need hugs. I’m tough.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Keller,” I respond in a polite tone, not at all revealing I’m obsessed with her. Or her son.
“Please, call me Rosa.” She returns my shake but clasps my hand between both of hers and takes an extra second before releasing me. As if the gesture means more than just a polite greeting.
The four of us settle back in at the table, and Rosa sips from a dirty martini her husband ordered for her.
“Now, my dear, sweet, faux daughter-in-law, we got some of the story from our son, but why don’t you tell us your version of these high jinks?”
Just as I start to tense up, Rosa leans forward, reaching over the table to give my shoulder a reassuring rub. “We’re not here to judge. Just to listen.”
“We trust Charlie,” Mr. Keller adds. “If he agreed to help you, then that must mean you’re good people.”
“Of course, we knew you were anyway, just from spending time with your brother.” Rosa raises her glass, toasting Dash as if he were standing beside her.
“Don’t give my family a pass for Dash’s sake. He’s the kindhearted oddball out.” I already feel dishonest enough, so no need to add more half-truths to the pile.
“You both are.”
Charlie drapes his arm along the back of my chair, and with his warmth surrounding me, I find myself easing into the conversation. Still, I shrug off his compliment. Maybe I’m not a bad person, but Dash is the sweet one. I’m a prickly bitch most of the time.
“Okay. My side of the story, huh? Well, Dash and I have a brother …” And I go on to relate most everything. The Lamont family criminal enterprise. Leo’s entanglement in it. My uncle’s exorbitant price. My Wai Po and her inheritance full of caveats.
And then I start talking about Charlie.
I never meant to. The words simply spill out of me, as if I overfilled my brain with Charlie observations and now I finally have a place to empty them. All over his parents.
And the things that come from my mouth are honest and revealing.
How he’s done great as my fake husband, never letting me doubt we can last the full year. How we have a good time, living together, taking care of Pig. How I enjoy his guitar playing whenever I’m cooking and wish I could be equally entertaining when it’s his turn to cook.
Then my mind brings up how we finished the last meal he made, and my words dry up. I take a hearty swig of my drink, letting the prickle of the ginger beer clear away my nervous, dry throat.
Why did I just babble for so long? I never babble.
I think it must be something about Rosa’s smile. The kind way she looks at me has me wanting to share every inner piece of my soul with her.
But vulnerability is dangerous. That’s how people hurt each other.
“You two sound like you’re doing well together.” Mr. Keller claps a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Temporarily,” I point out, trying not to grimace with how much I hate the sound of the word.
There’s a lull, Charlie glancing off to the side, as if he saw something fascinating at another table. A pain sits just below my breastbone, but when Rosa speaks up, her voice distracts me from the ache.
“For a year. Of course. But you tied him down closer to home for now. We’re happy to have him nearby.”
Charlie offers his mom a smile. “You say that like you plan on sticking around New Orleans for more than a month or two.”
The Kellers share a look, and then his mom grins wide.
“I accepted a teaching position at the university.”
“Wait, seriously?” Charlie’s brows curve up.
She nods. “All the traveling was fine when we were younger, but I’m tired of sleeping in hotel rooms and sitting in airports for hours. Home has been looking better and better these past few years. We think it’s time to stand still. At least for a little while.”
Charlie’s parents are staying put in New Orleans. From the grin on his face, I know this has to delight him. This is what he said he wanted. To find a place to settle, where he can see his family regularly.
I bet at the close of our year together, Charlie won’t want to wait before moving down to New Orleans.
Not like anything will be keeping him in Nashville.
I’m the one who just made sure to remind everyone we’re temporary.
The lime in my drink must have been bad because there’s a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. Luckily, I’m good at keeping unwanted expressions off my face. I offer a smile to the table.
We spend the next hour hearing gossip from New Orleans and the plans Mrs. Keller has for teaching her future class. And as I sit here with this family, overflowing with love for each other, I can’t help feeling like I’m playing a role.
Of course, we all already know this is a farce.
It just hurts because some part of me wants this to be real.
“Well, I think I’m done in for the night.” Rosa half sighs, half yawns. “Honey, would you mind pulling the car up? Wearing heels this tall was a mistake.”
The man chuckles as he kisses his wife on the cheek. “Of course.” He stands, smiling down at his son and me. “I’ll see you both at breakfast tomorrow.”
“I’ll walk out with you, Dad. Grab our car too.” Charlie turns to me. “Sound good?”
I want to point out I’m perfectly fine with trekking the block to our car with him, but that would mean leaving his mom alone at the table. No way am I abandoning Rosa, even if this makes me feel like I’m giving in to the patriarchy.
“Good with me.” I raise my still half-full glass before taking a sip.
Charlie grins wide, placing his hand over mine and squeezing briefly before he gets up. Then they’re gone, and I’m left with a woman giving me a detective-level gaze full of curiosity.
Just as sweat gathers in my pits, she speaks. “You know, I have eyes on that stage.”
The comment throws me, and I try to recover. “Yes?”
She nods. “Most people think I can’t see them. And often, I can’t when the lights are up high. But here, I could see the first few rows. And when I glanced over at your table and watched you sitting next to my son, you know what I saw?”
I brace myself. “What?”
Her soft palm rises to cup my cheek. “Potential.”
Words fail me as I stare into her warm amber eyes.
“Good things don’t have to be temporary,” she continues. “If you’re strong enough, you can hold on to what you want. Figure out a way to make it work.”
“I—”
“Charlie is worth it. Isn’t he?”
Oh hell. The way she looks at me now is a challenge.
Do I tell her he’s not?
Because then I’d be lying to her and myself.
Her lips slowly curl in a triumphant smile. “You’re worth it too, you know.” She grips my chin and leans in to press a kiss against my forehead. “No one gets to bad-mouth my daughter. And that includes you talking bad about yourself.”
Rosa sits back, swiping a thumb across the spot where her lips just were, likely cleaning off the mark of her burgundy lipstick, and then moves to stand from her chair.
My mind goes back to the moment on the boat when Mr. Herbert called Dash his son. My heart swelled for my brother, who had found more people to love him for the amazing man he was. And I can’t help wondering what it would be like to have the Kellers think of me as their daughter.
The idea is so tempting that it’s dangerous.