Page 71 of Royal Darling
I smile. He claims I’m rock ’n roll with my ballads, though I think he brings them to that level. He’s an extraordinary musician. Just in the time I’ve known him I’ve witnessed him reach new levels of musicianship. The fire is back in his belly, that deep passion for the music.
Anna hands Gabriel the microphone. His deep voice full of rough authority rings out. “I hereby dedicate the Island Bliss Spa on behalf of the kingdom of Villroy. And we want you all back here for the grand opening in June!”
“Now!” Anna yells.
We lower the scissor handle, cutting the ribbon in half. Camera flashes light up in front of my eyes as everyone cheers. Ignite launches into their raucous number one hit, “Inferno,” shooting the energy of the crowd to a high pitch.
Anna and Gabriel are hugging, and then she rushes over to hug me and Mother too. “We did it, ladies!” she exclaims. “And in other fab news, the doctor says the heir is an heiress. We’re having a girl!”
“Congratulations!” I exclaim. “More women for the Rourke team!”
Anna laughs. “Right on. I’ve got you drinking the Kool-Aid.” She turns to Mother, who’s been quiet. “Alexandra?”
“I’m so happy for you,” Mother says, her voice cracking. Her lower lip wobbles and Anna pulls her in for a hug, offering privacy for the leaking tears. She’s taller than my mother, so Mother’s face is hidden a bit. Mother has taken all of the pregnancy news quite personally. She’s very excited to be a grandmother.
I bounce on the balls of my feet, exuberant with all the wonderful news and what I’m about to do. “I’ve got to go see my love. Congratulations again!”
Mother pulls away from Anna and wipes her eyes. “Can’t you listen from here? It’s quite loud enough.”
“I need to get a little closer.”
“She’s in love,” Anna says. “She always needs to get a little closer. Get it, girl.”
I laugh and dash off, heading behind the raised stage set up for Ignite’s performance. My guitar is waiting for me there on a stand. I slip the strap over my shoulder and admire the smooth rosewood of my guitar, humming a little under my breath.
Their song ends and Jackson says into the microphone, “Now I’d like to introduce to you the love of my life, my inspiration, my heart and soul, Emma Rourke!”
I walk on stage on shaky legs, belatedly nervous. I’ve been working with a vocal teacher to broaden my range and tonal quality, yet this is my first public performance. It’s also the first time my family has heard me sing since I was little. All of my lessons have been in the conservatory, far from the hustle of palace life.
Jackson smiles at me, love shining in his blue eyes, and I focus solely on him, my heart slowing from hummingbird range to a steady thump. He turns to the crowd. “This is an Emma original. I’ll let her tell you about it.”
I lean close to the microphone in front of me on its stand. “Hello, everyone.” Feedback rings out from standing too close to it. “Sorry. This song is called ‘The Veil’ and it’s about what happens when the veil over our eyes drops and reveals something new.”
“Jackson!” a woman screams at a hair-raising volume.
Jackson doesn’t react, merely turns to me. “Let’s hear it, love.” He starts playing. It’s a duet, and I know he’ll join me in the chorus.
I begin to play, singing just for him, my audience of one. His eyes close, his expression pure joy at the music we make together. It fills me up, our shared love. Soon the music lifts me and suddenly I’m soaring. I turn to the audience and sing strong and sure, pouring myself into the music that means so much to me. I am the woman who ripped off all the veils—the bridal veil, my palace veil, my proper princess veil—and returned to myself in a wholly new empowered way as a bride-to-be, a contributing palace member, a princess, and a musician.
I am music. I am love. I am Emma.
I ROAR!
The song ends and I come back to reality with a start as applause rings in my ears.
Jackson’s voice rumbles near my ear. “Beautiful. Take a bow.”
I bow my head and do a small curtsy, my upbringing kicking in with the tremendous shock of applause that only seems to grow. Someone wolf-whistles and I turn to see Gabriel, Anna, and my mother at the side of the stage in an area cordoned off with red velvet rope, smiling and clapping. Guards stand behind them.
I lift a hand to them in appreciation and make my exit, leaving Ignite to do their thing.
“Isn’t she amazing?” Jackson asks the crowd. “That’s my angel. I fell in love with her voice, and the rest of it, all that makes her so amazing, is the gift of my life. Emma Rourke, everyone.”
The applause keeps going. The energy of the crowd flows through me in an exhilarating rush. My cheeks flush, my pulse thrumming through my veins. This is how Jackson must feel performing for an enthusiastic crowd.
I put my guitar back in its case nearby and rejoin my family at the side of the stage.
“You were awesome!” Anna exclaims.
