Page 12 of Last Chorus

Nor do I care about the woman who attached herself to me like we’re old friends—the intimate kind—the moment I stepped outside. She’s beenchattering in my face for less than a minute and I’ve already stopped listening.

Talon-like nails pinch my bicep. “Did you hear me, Wilder?” she asks with a little laugh. A laugh that says,Of course you did because you can’t possibly be ignoring me.

I pause my search for Evangeline and frown down at her. Her face is familiar, but I don’t know her name because she didn’t bother telling me. Like she can’t imagine a world where every man she meets hasn’t jerked off to her photograph.

“You have such pretty eyes,” she says breathily.

I extract my arm. “Thanks. What did you ask me?”

She arches her back, trying to draw my attention to her breasts. I keep my eyes on her face.

“I asked if you wanted to get out of here,” she says with a sultry smile. “Celebrate New Year’s our own way.”

I’m almost,almostimpressed by her nerve.

“No, thanks.”

Her shocked expression makes me want to laugh. It also makes me want to buy her six months of therapy. In lieu of suggesting she consider how propositioning a stranger might not be healthy, I go back to ignoring her.

She doesn’t like that, her breasts pushing against my arm. “Fine by me. We can just find a bedroom here.”

Now I’m annoyed. I open my mouth to tell her to get lost, but no words come. Because in that moment, myroaming gaze finds Evangeline’s profile, downturned as she walks toward the house on the other side of the patio. Martin Page is with her, his arm around her waist. He’s staring at me, dark eyes glimmering like he’s trying to telepathically communicate. My brows lift in question, and he shakes his head.

Utterly confused, my gaze falls to Evangeline. The second it lands on her, her head jerks up and turns. Mismatched eyes lock unerringly on mine.

My breath stills.

My heart seizes.

It’s the first time in over six years she’s looked directly at me and nothing has changed.

She hates me.

I swallow. Nod in acknowledgment. She and Martin disappear into the house.

When Lilyand Rye asked me what my plan was for tonight, I told them I didn’t have one beyond seeing Evangeline for myself, maybe observing her for a minute before bailing. It was true—wasbeing the operative word.

Now that I’ve seen her, I’m incapable of walking away.

Even harder to swallow than her gaunt cheeks and the almost brittle way she moved was seeing the absence of what always made herher.That intangible aura that ensured she was the center of every room even when she was hiding in a corner.

She didn’t look like someone at the peak of professional success, whose lifelong dreams have come to fruition.

She looked empty.

The only thing familiar about her were her two-toned eyes and the loathing in them. In every other way, she barely resembles the girl I grew up with. The woman I loved, whose heart I irreparably broke.

I wander the party in a daze, waiting for Evangeline to come back outside or for an ability to leave to manifest. People talk to me. I talk back. Smile and nod and fulfill the demands of small talk.

“What brings you to L.A.?”

“Just escaping the rain for a minute and visiting some friends.”

“Did Night Theory break up?”

“Don’t believe everything you read. We’ll be back in the studio soon.”

All the while, I fight the instinct to find Evangeline.

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