Page 38 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

“And the note.”

I turn to look at her. “You got it?”

She nods. “And you’re right. Track five was veryinteresting.”

I resist the urge to let my grin take over. “You thought so?”

“Oh yeah. Metal with a disco influence? That song’s going to be a hit.”

She smiles and it seems to lighten the whole room, as if her face is a bright sun finally appearing after days of dark storm clouds.

“I think I get it now,” she says. “What you meant by being angry.”

I blink. “Really?”

She nods. “When you’re on stage, you’re aggressive, passionate . . . loud. You’re able to just let all of that energy out. You don’t have to contain it, or pretend.” Playing with the hem of her dress, she looks down. “It must feel cathartic.”

“Well, it’s a lot less problematic than getting into fights all the time.”

Turning her head toward me, she rests her cheek in one hand. “Was that something you struggled with?”

I shrug. “They happened, but not as much as you might think. I wasn’t like Joel, getting into fights at any and every opportunity. My dad would say I was too soft for that.”

“Is your dad proud of what you’ve accomplished?”

Scoffing, I shake my head. “My old man was never proud of anything I did, ever. Probably because I never did anythinghewanted me to.”

“So he had different plans for your life, then?” she asks, smiling sadly.

“Everyone did.”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, then looks away. “But you did it. You made it. That must feel great.”

“It’s fucking incredible. It feels like a dream.”

“Just promise you won’t let your ego grow out of control.” She smirks.

I place my hand to my chest in mock outrage. “Me? Never.”

“You say that, but after a few more months of people constantly asking you for your autograph? That head is bound to inflate.”

Pushing back my hair, the back of my neck tingles, the list I made as a teenager practically burning a hole in my pocket. “No one’s asked for my autograph yet, so I think I’m safe for now.”

Her smile falls and her joking tone desists. “What do you mean? No one—”

“Nope. No one.”

“What about that blonde girl? The one . . .” She swallows, and her eyes dart between mine. “Surely she asked—”

I rub the back of my neck. “She wasn’t exactly looking for a souvenir.”

“Oh.”

She turns away, and I inwardly curse at myself. I’m such an idiot. What kind of moron admits to that kind of thing? Telling this girl that the previous one she met was just there for a hookup.Idiot.

Isabella pulls her bag into her lap and digs around in the bottom before extracting what looks like a marker. “Here.”

I blink at her. “Here, what?”

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