3. Cora
cora
. . .
Emma is having a great time, laughing with our table mates, then on the dance floor with Diego. It brings me joy to see her happy. And I need all the joy I can get after what I overheard inside earlier. I should have known that bitch didn’t mean it when she apologized.
Once a bully, always a bully, it’s just done in different ways. I will never feel bad about standing up for my sister. Even in front of a world-famous rock star.
Based on our interaction after the blushing bride left, he didn’t feel too bad about it either.
It’s within my best interests to steer clear of Ronan Christian. I’ve not heard anything bad about him, and he doesn’t have much of a reputation for causing trouble or stirring up the paparazzi. He could be very dangerous to my health though.
Diego and Emma come back to the table, both out of breath but grinning. They only have eyes for each other and my heart swells. I don’t give a fuck about Francesca anymore.
This is what matters to me. She will never, ever know what that bitch was saying about her before.
A tinkling of glasses and the music lowering has everyone turning toward the head table. Diego kisses Emma, gives me a grin, then heads back to the wedding table. Leaning back and resting one arm on the back of my chair, I sip my champagne like I’m not imagining something evil befalling Francesca.
The father of the bride gives a speech, and it’s lovely and everyone laughs in the right places, and claps when he’s done. He kisses his daughter’s cheek and shakes the groom’s hand. My cynicism is getting the better of me. It’s time to snap out of it.
Instead of watching the main event, I watch the photographer and zone out. In my head I’m planning out the best angles and envisioning how the photographs will look. This guy is good, he’s not drawing attention to himself, focusing on all the right action, while getting reaction from the guests.
Color me impressed.
“To Brandon and Franny!”
My attention snaps back to the people around me. Most of them are on their feet, and they all just yelled that out. I snort laugh and immediately look to Francesca. I have to suck my bottom lip in between my teeth to stop from laughing way too hard to be polite .
Her face. Emma turns to me and her eyes narrow.
“What?”
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?” I give her innocent eyes.
“I don’t know how you did it, but this has you written all over it. Oh my god, did you trick Ronan Christian into calling his new sister-in-law by the name she despises?” she hisses into my ear, grabbing my forearm.
“Me? No. How do you think I did that?”
“Cora.”
Everyone is still cheering and clapping. Francesca is smiling, but it’s pinched. The groom wraps his arm around her shoulder and kisses her cheek, oblivious to his wife’s internal bubbling rage. Maybe I should feel bad, it is her wedding day after all.
Then I remember all the times I found Emma crying in her bedroom. Or eating lunch in the bathroom. Flinching away from the popular kids in school, with them all watching her, as if they’d been making comments, until they saw me coming.
It’s hard, but I keep the smirk off my face, especially when I turn my gaze to Ronan. He’s staring at me with a half tilt to his sexy mouth. Then he arches a brow.
Oh Jesus, what have I let myself in for? He will never know what I’m thinking. If I can fool my sister, I can fool anyone.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Seriously, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I drag my eyes from Ronan .
Emma is trying not to smile. She links my arm and pulls me close to her, resting her head against mine for a moment. The click of a shutter draws my attention to the photographer. He gives me a smile before moving on.
I wonder if Franny will be open to letting me have a copy of that photo. Somehow, I doubt it.
“We can leave soon, promise,” Emma tells me. “Let me just watch them cut the cake and have their first dance.”
Fine. “Sure thing, Shortie.”
“Back at ya, Angry Bird.”
“You guys are so cute.”
We turn to find Ronan standing behind us. Emma has gone into some kind of shocked state, so I guess I have to be the one to talk to the super-hot celebrity encroaching on our sisterly moment while ignoring he heard our childhood nicknames for one another.
“May we help you?”
His grin grows. Emma shakes out of her stupor and glares at me. “How did you manage that, huh?” She pushes her chair back and gets up, one beady eye on me the whole time. “It was nice to meet you,” she says to Ronan, even though they weren’t properly introduced.
“You too,” Ronan says, stepping back to allow her to move away from the table.
Without invitation, he takes Emma’s seat.
He’s still wearing his suit, but he’s lost the tie and unbuttoned his shirt.
I take a moment to look at him, being as he’s so damn close to me.
I like his hair, it’s the color of dark chocolate, short on the back and sides and styled up top.
He has a nice amount of scruff on his jaw, not a full beard but not clean shaven.
This close, I can see flecks of green in his hazel eyes.
Sitting silently staring at one another, I see a whole lot of something in those eyes.
He’s lived a life worth writing about. That doesn’t mean I haven’t.
We’re all the stars of our own show. Who we invite to star alongside us in that show is one of the few things I’ve learned to keep tight control over.
“I kept up my end of the deal.”
“You did? I didn’t notice.”
His lip quirks in amusement. “You know my brother leaned over after my speech and told me not to call her Franny. He said she’s never liked it.”
“Imagine that.” I sip my champagne and lean back in the chair.
“Yeah, imagine. What is it with the two of you?”
“It’s not my story to tell.” I shrug.
“Fair enough. However, you dared me to do it, remember?”
“And you’ve come to collect.” I lean an elbow on the table and shift my upper body so I’m facing him. “What exactly?”
“Can’t I just want to talk, buy you a drink?”
“The alcohol is free.”
He lets out a little laugh and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Let’s do this right.” He holds out a hand. “Hi, I’m Ronan.”
That’s a surprising move from someone who half the world’s population knows. Taking another sip of my drink to give me a moment to think, I stare down at his hand. I can’t leave him hanging. His fingers are warm as I clasp them. Albeit briefly.
“Cora.”
“Nice to meet you, Cora. So, if I was to make you a mixtape, what songs would you want on it?”
A laugh slips out. “What?”
“It’s a genuine curiosity of mine.”
“You know people haven’t made mixtapes for about thirty years, right?”
“Not true, they just haven’t made them on cassette tapes. Play lists are so impersonal though.”
“Are you telling me you have cassette tapes? You’re not old enough to have been around when they were.”
“I’m not. Let’s just say I grew up with nostalgic parents who kept everything. And I’ll let you in on a secret,” he leans a little closer. “When I’m on the tour bus, I only listen to music on my Walkman.”
He smells heavenly. Don’t sniff him.
Did I hear that right? A Walkman? A rockstar in a band who has albums streaming digitally all over the world, and he uses a Walkman?
“What kind of music could you have on a cassette tape? Nothing modern.”
“Trade secret on how I made that happen.”
“It’s digital isn’t it, or a CD player?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“Nope, they’re all genuine cassette tapes.” He leans back as he studies my disbelief. “I can show you, if you’d like? ”
“Let me guess, you want to show me, but it’s in your room?”
“Well, I was going to say we could go out for dinner tomorrow night and I’d show you then.”
“Smooth.” I fight hard to hide the smile. “I gotta say, as pick up lines go, this was inventive.”
“It’s not a pickup line. It’s a heartfelt, genuine request for you to join me for an evening of good food, interesting conversation, and a private viewing of my Walkman.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Admit it, there is a little part of you that wants to unravel the mystery of a modern-day music man listening to a prehistoric music device.”
This time it’s harder to hide the smile. He’s not wearing me down. Not this easy. This man could get any woman at this wedding to go up to his room right now, even the ones here with a date. I’m not that girl.
“It is up in my room. If you want to see it now?”
“Okay, I’m not going up to your room. And I’m undecided about dinner.”
His brow creases when I pause. He knows he’s got me on the hook, I’m just not biting. Not yet.
“Damn, Cora.” He smirks again. “How come I’ve only just met you, and I find myself wanting to know every little thing you’re thinking?”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“It definitely is. So, you don’t want to come to my room, have dinner, or tell me why you have very strong negativity toward my sister-in-law. What can you tell me? ”
“Ask me something and maybe I’ll answer.”
A server walks by the table and Ronan stops him, taking two glasses of champagne from him. He hands one to me and holds his up. I clink the glass and watch as he drinks. His nose wrinkles and he sets the glass down, pushing it away.
"What’s wrong? Too cheap for your tastes?”
He fake gags. “Too gross for my tastes.” He rubs his lips as if he could brush the taste away. “I thought I was being cool, then remembered I hate that shit.” He flags down another server and asks for a beer.
I would have expected him to ask for something stronger, more…rockstar-y. Is that a word? No, and it’s also a sweeping generalization and borderline stereotyping. Just because he plays drums doesn’t mean he drinks vodka straight from a bottle.
Although that is a pretty vision.
“What do you do?”
“Huh?”
“You said I could ask you anything. I’m asking. What do you do?”
“I’m a photographer,” I tell him.
“Interesting. What do you photograph?”
“All kinds of things. I have a studio in Venice.”
“Nice. I knew someone once who lived there.” Ronan makes a face like he smelled something bad.
“A woman,” I laugh. It’s not a question. From his expression it’s clear. He lifts both hands out as if to say I caught him. “There are a lot of beautiful women around Venice.”
“There are a lot of beautiful women right here, Cora. ”
Oh. He is playing dirty now. With the sexy voice and the implication that he is referring to me with that statement.
The server returns with his beer and Ronan thanks him, taking a long swig of the beer. He lets out a satisfied sigh.
“Better?”
“Much.”
For the first time since my sister walked away, I remember where we are and glance around. Most of the people are enjoying the day, not paying us any attention but there are a few people staring. Including Francesca.
“Seriously…” Ronan leans forward and rests his elbows on the table.
The move brings us much closer together. I resist the urge to pull back. Or move closer. I’ve not decided which.
“What is it with you and Franny?”
It can’t hurt to tell him how we know each other. It could if I told him why. Despite this strange set of circumstances where I’ve enjoyed bantering with a rock star, he is still brothers with Francesca’s husband.
“We went to high school together.”
Ronan looks over at the happy couple, who are heading toward a table where there is a ridiculously large cake waiting for them. Goody, one more stupid tradition out of the way so I can grab my sister and get out of here.
Although that thought seems less appealing than it did ten minutes ago.
“Ah, and that has something to do with the purple hair, I’m guessing.”
My attention snaps back to Ronan.
“She was complaining about it. I guess you hadn’t snuck up on them till after she said that.”
“I didn’t sneak up on anyone. I was looking for my earring.”
It’s true, I lost my earring when I went to the bathroom. It’s a good job they’re cheap costume jewelry because I never found it.
Wow though, I can’t believe she brought up the purple hair. That was a good one. It was worth the week of detention. And her coming into school for two full weeks with purple hair as punishment from her mom, who found out what her daughter was capable of.
“If you do something for me, maybe I’ll give you a couple of songs for the mixtape.”
“Still not gonna tell me?” When I don’t answer, he drinks more beer.
The host announces the cutting of the cake. Instead of getting up to move closer, he watches me.
“Hmm, is this us making a bargain, or is it a bribe?”
“Neither.” I finish my champagne. “But there is something I want and, given my…” I pout and look over at Francesca. “History,” I say after thinking of how to phrase it, “with the bride, she’s likely to set fire to it before she ever gives it to me.”
“Well, shit, now I’m intrigued. What is it you want?”
“A picture.”
Ronan’s face drops.
“Not of you.” I nudge his knee with mine.
Big mistake, the electricity from that touch shocks right though me. If the way he is looking at me is anything to go by, he felt that too. Anyway.
“The photographer got a shot of me and Emma. I’d like a copy.”
Ronan leans back in his seat, bemused by the request. “Why that picture?”
“Because I know he caught the perfect shot. I could tell by the way he looked at the screen after he took it.”
“It couldn’t just be that he was looking at the two gorgeous women?”
I ignore that. “I could tell. Not because of who we are, but because of what he saw between us.”
Ronan is staring at me. That sounded weird as hell.
“Sometimes you take a picture that you never thought was going to have the impact that it does. It makes you pause for a moment, knowing you’ve taken a beautiful image, captured a perfect moment.”
He stares at me, trying to figure me out, no doubt. We can’t have that.
“The picture,” I prompt.
He jolts himself out of whatever trance he’d gone into. “I can do that. But I’m changing the terms.”
“This isn’t a contract negotiation.”
“Everything is a negotiation. It keeps us on our toes.”
“What do you want?”
His eyes dip to my mouth, a look that has me desperate to shift in the seat.
“One song, and your number.”
“Any number? ”
“Your trouble, Cora. Serious trouble.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Ronan. You need to be careful.”
He grins again. “Careful is my middle name.”
Why does that seem like the first untruth he’s told since he sat down beside me?