Page 174 of The Broken Note

“She’s a featured guest in the band Pain and Punishment,” Zane says. “She’s crazy good.”

“Pain and Punishment?”

“Dad’s latest new project.” Zane scoffs. “It’s like a rip-off of us.”

“Online, I’ve seen them tagging her as ‘Soprano Jones’.”

“Soprano.” My eyes jolt to the phone. “Cadence used that name the first time she played at Redwood.”

“We didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Finn explains.

“And yet,” I peer at the road sign, “you’re taking me to the airport.”

“The band’s on a European tour. Now that we know Soprano Jones is Cadence, it’s safe to assume she’s over there now with them, ” Finn says.

“Just for the record, I don’t think you should do this.” Zane’s chest expands with a breath. “Cadence got sent away. You went to jail. It’s clear Dad’s getting desperate.” He runs a hand through his hair. “If he really went to all this trouble just to keep the inheritance, there’s no telling what he’ll do next. And what if Cadence really gets pregnant?”

My stomach twists into knots.

“I keep thinking it might be safer for you, and for her, if you two stay apart.”

“That’s not happening,” I growl at Finn.

Zane nods as if he’d expected that response. “What are you going to do when you see her? If she’s keeping up with Jinx’s app, she probably thinks you’ve moved on to someone else.”

“She knows that’s bull.”

“Does she?” Finn challenges.

“I don’t care what she believes. I’m going to remind her of the truth,” I spit, my fingers tight on the phone. “She belongs to me. And she always will.”

CHAPTERFORTY-FOUR

CADENCE

Rowdy laughter breaks out from the crowd behind us. The pub’s been getting louder and more crowded as the night wore on.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Hunter says, moving my mug away.

I hiss at him and grab the beer from his fingers. The contents slosh over the rim, splattering against my hand and the darkly varnished table.

Hunter gives me the stink eye, but I don’t care.

We’re sequestered at the back of the pub. Above me, triangle-shaped Union Jack banners hang from the ceiling and there’s not a single Christmas tree in sight.

I told Hunter to take me away from the hotel’s bar because they were playing Christmas carols and it was making my head hurt. In here, the songs are Europe’s version of country music. I can work with that.

“Hold still,” Hunter grumbles. He swipes a bunch of napkins from the dispenser and dabs my fingers.

I stare at the napkin, remembering the day at the amusement park when Dutch decided he didn’t need a napkin to clean me up.

‘You’re melting, Cadey.’

I refuse to think about his tongue sliding over my skin, or his wicked smile as I gasped.

But now it’s all I can think about.

Dutch smiling.

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