Page 22 of Release Me

And then the house lights dim and a hush falls over thetheatre. A single spotlight slices through the dark, catching on a tall figure with a guitar slung across his chest. Hozier steps up to the microphone, his long frame relaxed, his voice low as he greets the crowd, then starts to play.

The first notes roll out—raw, aching, soulful. It doesn’t sound like a performance, not really. It feels like a confession, like he’s pouring pieces of himself into every chord. His voice weaves through the room, deep and husky, wrapping around us all.

Rebekka shifts closer, just enough that her shoulder brushes mine. Even over the music, I’m aware of her every inhale, every exhale. I swear I can feel her pulse through the small points where our bodies connect.

When the chorus swells, our hands graze on the shared armrest. Once. Twice. Three times. I can’t stop stealing glances at her through the darkness. She’s so fucking stunning. Huge eyes. Delicate features. Plump lips that I can’t stop thinking about kissing. When her hand reaches up to swipe her face, I realise she’s crying. She swipes her tears away as quick as they fall.

In this very second, I hate my best friend more than I’ve ever hated anyone.

Well, almost.

I hate myself more for not speaking up after their engagement party. For not at least trying to stop the wedding. For not admitting that after one brief exchange with his fiancée, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was meant for me—not him.

Would it have made any difference?

Probably not.

Hozier continues to croon, but one particular set of lyrics lands too close to the bone—something about fire, about wanting, about ruin.Something hot touches my left hand. Heat hijacksmy arm. I look down to see Rebekka’s baby finger hooked around mine.

The crowd roars, but all I hear is her tiny hiss. I squeeze the smallest fraction in answer.

I don’t look at her face.

I can’t.

If I do, I’ll forget where we are, who we are, and what we can never be.

She’s here, tethered to me by one finger.

I have no idea what silent promise we’re exchanging, but the one thing I do know is that it’s the most dangerous promise I’ve ever made.

Chapter Nine

REBEKKA

I couldn’t help it. Those lyrics. They felt like they were written for me. For us. Hooking my finger around his was instinctive. It’s so wrong, but it feels so right. Our pinkies remain entwined until the show is over, and it’s the most comfort I’ve felt since I moved to this country, which is tragic and worrying.

How long can I go on in this loveless marriage?

How long can I go on pining for a man I can never have?

But what other choice do I have?

Lose everything I ever worked for?

The applause is thunderous. The entire theatre rises to its feet, but I barely notice with the thunder ricocheting through my blood with a deep, dark, debauched desire for something—someone–I shouldn’t want. But how I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.

The last encore drifts into silence. My body feels broken by the echo of lyrics I’ll never hear the same way again. All of a sudden, the lights flare back up. I snatch my hand away a fraction too quickly, my pulse skittering like I’ve been caught committing a crime. In a way, I have. Not by Anthony—butby myself. By the woman I thought I was. The woman who is supposed to be better than this type of bold behaviour.

Rian downs the last of his champagne in one long swallow as the Beckett women gush over the performance. I sneak a peek at his face from my peripherals. His expression is utterly unreadable.

Maybe he didn’t feel it the way I did?

Maybe it was nothing more than a drunken slip of restraint?

No. He turns like he can feel the weight of my stare. His eyes catch mine, dark and unflinching, and I’m left in no doubt.

He felt it every bit as acutely as I did.