Page 67 of Belonging to Them
I nod.
“Okay.”Her brown eyes show nothing but trust and belief.If she had doubts about the last song, she’s hid them well.“You look stunning, by the way, did I tell you that?”
“You did, but I don’t mind hearing it again,” I say with a smile.I fiddle with the skirt portion of the dress.The top fits like a bodice and is slate blue.The black skirt flares out and ripples, concealing the pockets.My shoes aren’t Louboutins or anything, but they’re cute—black Mary Janes that I’m wearing with sheer black ruffled socks.It’s girly and sexy and feels some.Kingston and Sebastian are going to lose their minds when they get me alone later.
A knock on the door.A deep voice from outside says, “Miss Marchand, it’s time.”
“You got this,” Helena says, giving me a thumb’s up.
I’m not worried, I want to say, but my throat is suddenly tight and my mouth is as dry as Death Valley.Did someone add sand to my tea?I take one last sip, trying to clear my throat.
I think it works until I follow the Red Letter crew member to the edge of the stage.The owner of the club introduces me.There’s polite applause, and then somehow my feet are moving up the low steps, taking me to the piano where a mic is set up, and a system I can use to add percussion and other additional background because I’m not playing with a band.
Helena and I talked at length about where and how I would speak during the set.We decided that I’d launch right into a song, no nervous chit-chat beforehand.Which is good, because if I had anything to say right now, it would get swallowed up with my nerves.
My hands are shaking.Fuck.That can’t be good for my playing.
What if I forget all the lyrics?
Breathe, Ella.
It’s Sebastian’s and Kingston’s voices in my head at the same time.Because of the real danger of being blinded by the stage lights, I’m afraid to look into the audience.But I do it anyway.I can barely make out Kingston’s and Sebastian’s faces, but I see them there at a table near the front, just like they said.
They’re here.I’m here.I’m singing to them.
I sit down at the keyboard, place my hands on the keys.
A few opening chords.
I know this song.I wrote this song.I love this song.
I open my mouth and sing.
* * *
Sebastian
When Ella first steps on stage, she looks hesitant, a little nervous.People in the audience who don’t know her likely won’t pick up on it, but I tense up in empathy.I know that feeling of low-key stage fright.
Next to me, Kingston’s gripping his glass of whiskey, his gaze fast on Ella.
“She’s nervous,” he whispers.
“I think she’ll get over it once she starts,” I say.
After she sits down, carefully arranges her skirt around her legs, and takes a deep breath, she looks out to the audience.Her gaze stops searching when it lands on King and me.She can see us, good.
You got this, princess,I say in my head.
She plays the opening of her first song, just like we rehearsed.And when she begins to sing, she falters over the first lines, but quickly recovers.There’s my girl—scared, but doing the thing anyway.So fucking brave.I exchange a look with Kingston, see the pride in his eyes, as well.
Song after song, Ella impresses the shit out of the crowd.I’m tempted to sneak a peek at her VideYou channel, because I’m willing to bet her subscriber count is going up with every passing minute in this club.
After each song, the club erupts in applause.Nothing polite about it—these are the sounds of a crowd that is captivated, completely under Cinderella’s spell.I hope Helena’s warned her—there will be interview requests rolling in.First from the followers of the local music scene, and expanding outward.Everyone will want to be early to get the scoop.The questions will range from general to intrusive.
Bright side: Ella has no intention of hiding that she has two boyfriends.We’re going to be open from the start, avoid any scandals.The fact one of her boyfriends is her ex’s father, well…Joel was never truly her boyfriend, so he can’t really be her ex, can he?We’re going to avoid talking about it, but if it comes out, so what?She’s not worried, so I won’t be, either.There is the matter of our ages, though.Landen’s disgust still leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
Who the fuck cares what Landen thinks, right?
