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Her lyrics catch me off guard—they’re about hidden love and stolen moments, about wanting something you can’t have yet, about hope and waiting, and the space between now and soon.
“How did you...”
“I’ve been there, remember?” She smiles knowingly. “Also, I’ve seen the way you look at Lila when you think no one’s watching.”
My hands freeze over the keys. “Kendrick...”
“Don’t worry.” She scribbles something in her notebook. “I’m good at keeping secrets—and I assume you have your reasons. Now, try the bridge again, but slower this time.”
For the next hour, we work on bringing the song to life, my fingers dancing across the keys as her words weave perfectly with my melody, telling the story I couldn’t find words for.
“You should sing it,” she says finally.
I shake my head. “I’m not a singer.”
“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard you in soundcheck. You’ve got the voice for this one.”
I prefer just playing,“ I say firmly.
“Emily’s been trying to get all of you to do solos,” she points out. “Because she knows what she’s doing.” Kendrick tears the pages from her notebook. “Take these. Work on it. When you’re ready...”
“Thanks.” I tuck the lyrics carefully away. “For everything.”
“Just...” She hesitates at the door. “Make sure you know what you’re doing.” Then, in a softer voice, “I won’t say anything about the song, but you should think about it. This one’s too good to hide away.”
I nod, unable to trust my voice. Once she’s gone, I play through the melody one more time, letting Kendrick’s words bring shape to everything I’ve been feeling, everything I can’t say—at least not yet.
I pack up slowly, knowing Crystal’s waiting at some overpriced restaurant to discuss flower arrangements or table settings or whatever else she’s planned for tonight.
But I take Kendrick’s lyrics with me, tucking them safely away like the secrets they tell. Once this charade is over, I’ll find the courage to sing them.
Until then, I’ll let the music speak for me.
The Davidson mansion is a study in tasteful excess—crystal chandeliers, museum-quality art, and tonight, Jacksonville’s elite mingling over cocktails.
I spot Crystal near the entrance, wearing a dress that screams high society. She beams when she sees me, looping her arm through mine before I even have a chance to say hello.
“There you are,” she says brightly. “You’re late.”
“Traffic,” I mutter, letting her steer me toward the house.
“Why do you insist on driving that ridiculous Jeep?” She asks me, then without waiting for my answer, she continues, “Once we’re married, I’ll insist you purchase a nicer car.” With a calculating look in her eyes. “Maybe a Ferrari or a sleek Mercedes, something more elegant, and sleek. You know, something a rockstar should drive.”
I grimace but don’t even bother to try and change her mind. We’re so close to ending this charade that the wait is becoming unbearable.
The moment we step inside, I spot them—Robert Chen and William Hartley, two key members of SterlingMotors’ board. They’re standing near the bar, drinks in hand, chatting with Marcus like old friends.
Crystal must notice where my gaze lands because she leans closer, her voice low. “Daddy’s just getting them up to speed. Isn’t this exciting? Once the deal goes through, Sterling Motors will be unstoppable.”
I grit my teeth, forcing a neutral expression. “Yeah. Exciting.”
Marcus catches sight of me and waves us over. His smile is all teeth, and the glint in his eye makes my skin crawl.
“Luke!” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Glad you could make it. You remember Robert and William, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I say, shaking their hands.
“We were just discussing the future of the company,” Marcus continues, his tone dripping with faux enthusiasm. “Big things ahead, right, gentlemen?”