Page 65 of Broken Chords
Chapter Thirty
Cadenza:a solo section, usually in a concerto or similar work, that is used to display the performer’s skill and artistry
Charlie
“What do you want to drink? They have a signature cocktail for the party, but you can get liquor or beer or whatever you want. They have some good local craft beers here. Or wine. I think I’ll have a cocktail.”
My nonstop talking about drinking seems to provide enough of a distraction, because Damian’s expression changes from confusion to bemusement. “Have you been spending more time talking to Gabby than I realized? Has she rubbed off on you that quickly?”
I laugh, and it’s a little too bright, an edge of hysteria tingeing it, but I manage to rein it in. He has no idea. I’ve spent a lot more time with Gabby than he realizes. She and I even talk on the phone every once in a while. Not as much as she talks to Lauren. As far as Damian knows, though, we don’t talk at all.
Damian gives me a quizzical look at my crazed laughter, but I shake my head and bite my lip.
Before I can blather on about more drink selections, we’ve reached the bar, and a tall man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee in a white Oxford shirt and sage green vest approaches. “What can I get you?”
“The signature cocktail for me,” I put in, masterfully tamping down my panic. I glance around, scanning the room for safe people to talk to and people to be sure to avoid. Or avoid letting anywhere near Damian. Given the fact that I’m also trying to keep my own identity under wraps, I need to be careful who I talk to, too. Enough words to be recognizable to the wrong person, and my new life is blown wide open.
Like Selena over there, who’s sweet and friendly, but far too much of a blabbermouth. She’s talking to Gabby and Jonathan right now.
And there’s Sam, one of the guys my mom and my publicist had me date for a while to boost his career. I was pimped out so his publicist would owe us a favor later. He was nice enough, but a little self-obsessed. And not too bright.
Damian’s arm slips around my waist again, and he has a tall, slim glass in his hand filled with amber liquid, a slice of lime floating in it. He nods his head in the opposite direction from where I was looking. “There’s Tamara and Zeke. Want to go say hi?”
“Oh! Sure. I didn’t realize they were coming.”
Even though there are a few people I feel safe talking to and being myself, the entire party is exhausting. Keeping my guard up, being careful not to say too much to the wrong person, making sure to need a refill or use the restroom or make some excuse to leave a conversation if someone who’s likely to recognize me wanders over is draining. And has Damian casting me concerned looks off and on.
Finally, after what feels like forever, he wraps his arms around me from behind, drops a kiss on my bare shoulder and whispers in my ear, “I’m tired. How much longer do we have to stay before it’s okay to leave without being rude?”
I turn my head to look up at him, and he kisses my mouth. “I think we’re safe. How tired are you?”
His eyes flash, and the corners of his mouth tilt up. “Not that tired.”
He takes the water glass out of my hand and sets it on one of the trays on a stand conveniently located throughout the room. His arm around my waist, he guides me through the people between us and the door. We nod politely at a few people, but Damian is moving like a man on a mission, and no one tries to strike up a conversation. Probably because we’re nobodies as far as many of these people are concerned. As such, if we want something from them, we can open the conversation. Otherwise, without an introduction, they have no reason to engage.
When we’re back in the room, Damian’s hand finds mine, but he doesn’t thread our fingers together. Instead, he lifts my hand over my head and guides me into a spin with his other hand around my waist, causing my skirt to twirl out.
When he stops me, crushing my body to his, he smiles down at me. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night. You have to wear this the next time we go dancing.”
“Oh? When’s that going to be?”
“Next week? The week after? I don’t care. But right now, I want you out of this dress. So I can do the other thing I’ve been wanting to do since this morning.”
“And what’s that?”
His mouth claims mine, his kiss hard and fierce while his fingers find the zipper and slowly pull it down.
Yes. This. This is what we need to get us back on even footing. To reconnect and recharge. Especially after all the stress of juries and finals and traveling and then tonight and all its crazy. I know Damian was wondering what the deal is with Jonathan and me. And I’ll tell him. Just not now.
Now is the time for us. For feeling. For being. Not for hashing out the past and the future based on one, admittedly rather significant, detail that I’ve neglected to tell him.
Thankfully I skated by without anyone recognizing me. When I agreed to come, I had no idea how hard this would be. At industry parties, I’m used to wearing my Charlotte James persona, my Charlotte James clothes, my Charlotte James makeup. Here, I’m Charlie. But it’s an industry party.
The clash of my two worlds is fucking with my head.
Damian’s hands part the fabric of my dress and slide the straps down my arms, the only things anchoring me to reality. His lips ghost over my cheek, my jaw, my neck, following the path of my dress down my body. The plunging V-shaped back that mimics the cut of the front means I didn’t wear a bra, and my nipples stand at attention as his tongue circles one and then the other.
My dress hangs off my hips, and Damian’s on his knees in front of me, his mouth on my breasts, his hands on the bare skin of my sides, holding me in place. But I want them lower. I want my dress gone.
