Page 57 of Perfect Order

Promise me.

He hesitates, but I get what I want when I see hisPromise.

I accept his message as my due. Besides, Kane finally found his words.And sometimes you just wish it would ring one more time so you could get the answers to the questions you never got a chance to ask.

Before I can type anything in response, Kane asks me a question that startles me.You never said—did you make a wish for your birthday?

Yes.

Then, I hope it comes true, Leanne. I hope everything you wished for comes true.

A warmth I never expected fills me.Thank you, Kane. That means…everything.

You’re welcome.

Rumor has it that indie goddess Erzulie—a.k.a. Kylie Miles—doesn’t have to work another day in her life based on the amount she inherited from her sister, Leanne. That amount was made public with the final filings of the stock transfer on behalf of the Castor Trust. However, Erzulie continues to dedicate herself to her music. The real question is which Erzulie will be showing up at the Grammys? Will it be the seasoned performer or the woman rightfully still in the throes of grief?

— StellaNova

“Let’s take it from the top,” Kristoffer Wilde suggests kindly.

I sit with Lee’s guitar strapped over my shoulder, and I strum the opening bars to her current hit—my song!—before I falter. “I can’t.” I swing the guitar strap over my neck and lay the precious instrument in the stand.

Unlike many other people of his ilk, he doesn’t launch into a tirade that this is what he’s paying Erzulie for—though he is. He simply steps up next to me and offers me his silent support before questioning, “You’ve played before a large crowd—albeit with some hiccups.”

I can’t help but press my lips together to prevent laughing at the understatement. “Albeit with that,” I manage to agree.

“Then it must be the song,” he concludes as if I haven’t spoken.

I run my hand through my hair before admitting, “She wrote it for me, for us.”

“Ahh.” His hand comes up and pats my shoulder. “If she were here instead of me, what would the two of you sing to one another?”

At that, I begin to sing a cappella an old, classic love song. When I finish, there’s silence between us. I finally break it by whispering, “We always said that song captured our ideal love story.”

“I think that’s beautiful.”

“Me too.” We lapse back into silence. I feel Kris shift and prepare myself to sing another Erzulie song until Kris shocks me to my back teeth.

“Let me speak with a few people, but I don’t see why you couldn’t sing that the night of the Grammys. They’re already willing to bend over backwards because you agreed to play,” Kris considers.

“I don’t want to make this more difficult for you. I can do it,” I say carefully.

“But would she want you to, Lee? That’s the question I’ve been asking myself. And I keep finding my answer to be ‘she wants you to be happy.’” Turning me back toward my sister’s guitar, he asks, “Do you know the music to accompany it?”

Feeling a bit lighter, I answer, “I do.”

“Then let’s get back to work. From the top.”

And I begin to do exactly what Lee would do in this situation—I lose myself in the music. At least, just for a little while.

When I finish, Kris smiles. “Now, let’s work on your walk.”

I balk. “My walk?”

And that’s when the esteemed Kristoffer Wilde causes me to fall backward off the stool when he does more than a fair imitation of the combination sashay and saunter my sister glided everywhere with. “Talk about wishing I had a video recorder to show Carys,” I murmur.

He abruptly stops and pins me with a hawkish glare before announcing, “Now, it’s your turn.”