Page 93 of Wilde Secrets

A cheer rose up, and Harper smiled, strumming her guitar and making a final nervous adjustment to one of the strings.

“This one doesn’t have a name yet,” she said, her eyes landing on Logan. “But it’s about finding peace amongst heartache.”

And then she sang like her life depended on it. Harper poured her soul into the words, closing her eyes and not focusing on being perfect but just being her. When she finished and the final notes drifted on the salty breeze, the crowd burst into furious applause.

A smile broke across her face so wide her cheeks started to ache. By the time she’d finished her set, the crowd had stopped looking at the market stalls and buying food. The people running the food trucks had stopped cooking and were leaning on the counters, transfixed.

“Thank you, everyone. You’ve been wonderful,” Harper said. She stood to more applause and left the stage.

The rest of the evening raced by in a mad rush with Harper sitting at a hastily set up table with Isla to sign a stack of postcards that someone had managed to find somewhere. Her sister had refused to talk to anyone until after Harper had finished singing, and there was a long line of patiently waiting fans ready to see her. But, more surprising to Harper, there were a lot who were interested in Harper. They wanted to know when she would be recording her music and when it would be released.

“See?” Isla whispered through the side of her mouth at one point. She leaned toward Harper and elbowed her in the side. “You have fans already!”

Harper shook her head in disbelief. “Wow.” She shared a grin with her sister. “Thank you.”

Isla scoffed. “For what? Taking the credit for years? I owe you a lot.”

“No, you don’t?—”

“Harps, please. Let me do what I can to help. You helped me, now it’s my turn to help you.”

Harper swallowed and slowly nodded. “Alright.”

“Good.”

It took over an hour to see everyone who had lined up for an autograph from the famous singer and her talented sister, which is what one elderly man called the two women.

Isla, always gracious and polite to fans, refused to leave until everyone who had lined up had seen her. King stood behind her, like a guard dog, as she smiled and chatted with her fans. Harper marveled at how Isla seemed to genuinely enjoy the experience, whereas Harper found it exhausting.

When, at last, the final person who had patiently waited in line had been seen, Isla sighed and turned sideways on the hard plastic chair.

“Ready?” King asked.

Isla just nodded, visibly drooping in front of Harper’s eyes.

“How do you do it?” She asked.

Stifling a yawn, Isla asked, “Do what?”

Harper waved her hand to where the line had snaked away from the table for the past hour. “This. You actually like this, don’t you?”

Isla smiled a tired smile, flopping sideways to drape herself over the back of the chair. “Sure. Don’t you?”

She’d spent years by her sister’s side as she recorded, performed, and spent hours signing autographs just like today. But Harper had never been involved like this. It was entirely different.

And she was exhausted in a way she’d never been before.

The thought of doing exactly this over and over and over?—

No way. I can’t do this.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly.

Isla pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the hand offered by King. “You’ll get used to it.”

Harper wasn’t sure she would.

And that left her more confused than ever.

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