Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Melody laid a hand on his back. There you go. Easy.
No one knew about the half dozen threatening voice mails on his phone.
No one knew how he liked to be punished for everything in life coming so easy. For never being told no or deprived of anything.
Air filled his lungs and he forced his smile wider.
“In keeping with tradition, Octavia will be granting one of your wishes this evening. I can’t imagine what it will be . . .”
A knowing ripple of amusement went through the guests.
On cue, the crowd parted, and his mother made her way toward the staircase, a second spotlight encapsulating her in a hazy glow—and if he wasn’t mistaken, the lighting was a lot more flattering than the one glaring down on him and Melody. He couldn’t help but laugh at that.
Octavia’s expression wasn’t as indulgent as usual, however.
It was curiosity laced with dread—and Melody, who was now in a full body press against his back, her hand twisted in the tail of his tuxedo jacket, was the focus. His mother craned her neck to get a look at Melody, her brow quirking higher. She looked at Beat as if to say, Excuse me, are you sleeping with the enemy?
If only.
With a deep breath, Beat raised the mic. “This year’s wish is for—”
“A Steel Birds reunion,” someone shouted in the crowd.
Applause and whistles ripped across the ballroom like wildfire.
And then the chanting started.
Chapter Twelve
“Re-u-nite! Re-u-nite!”
Still in her hiding spot behind Beat, Melody’s mouth dropped open. It appeared the crowd was doing their job for them? The public’s investment in a reunion had been increasing for months now. Was it possible the live stream had spurred that interest even further? Already?
Melody peeked around the side of Beat’s shoulder to gauge Octavia’s reaction to the chanting guests and was once again struck by the vast differences between Beat’s mother and Trina. Trina would already be kicking over tables or storming the stage, while Octavia’s expression was a mask of absolute calm, her hands folded neatly at her waist.
Melody had once watched a cable television documentary about Steel Birds titled A Flight of Fancy. In one of the interview segments, the former band manager claimed that Octavia Dawkins couldn’t be rattled. Nothing caught the lead singer off guard. A rotisserie chicken had once been tossed onstage and she’d ripped off a leg midair and chomped into it, without missing a lyric, which had to be the most badass thing Melody had ever heard. She definitely would have been knocked unconscious by a flying chicken. No question.
Man, Melody envied that kind of cool.
The kind on display now.
Octavia was a golden goddess in a Grecian-style gown, trimmed in crimson lace, her dark hair in a twist atop her head. She pulsed with presence, surrounded by a rapt, now eerily silent audience, and there wasn’t so much as a tick behind her eye. “Beat, darling, please read the correct wish,” she finally called.
The chants returned and only swelled in volume then, swallowing up whatever Beat said into the microphone. Octavia tossed an indulgent laugh at the enthusiastic crowd, one that said, Ha-ha, very funny, but there is not a chance in hell. And then she began to ascend the staircase like a queen preparing to address the population. The hand Beat was using to hold the microphone dropped to his side, and he sighed, obviously waiting for his mother to put an end to their mission before it even got off the ground.
His resignation kicked something into gear within Melody.
She couldn’t just hide back here. Octavia was going to take the mic, disregard the idea of a reunion, and their first—maybe only?—attempt at making it happen was going to be wasted. Perhaps Beat wasn’t ready to confide in Melody why exactly he needed the million dollars so badly, but the point was, he did. She’d agreed to this live stream to help him—and help herself. She wanted independence? Remaining in the background wasn’t an option.
Before Octavia could reach them in the center of the staircase, Melody stepped out from behind Beat and removed her mask. Based on the room’s reaction, half of them already knew her identity—thanks to Wreck the Halls—and the other half were only more confused.
Octavia paused midstep and slowly removed her own mask. “It stands to reason that the first time I lay eyes on you, you’re crashing my party. Like mother like daughter, I suppose.”
Now the other half of the ballroom was up to speed, gasps abounding.
“Hi. Hello, Mrs. Dawkins. This isn’t how I pictured us meeting. I mean, I never expected us to meet, really, but definitely not at a party where you’ve been carried in by a bank of swans. That’s what you call them when they’re in a group. A bank. Unless they’re in the water, in which case, it’s a bevy.”