Emily’s a talented
musician,” I break in. I won’t let them put down her art. “You’ve
never even heard her play.”
“ And you have?” he shoots
back.
“ I might not be able to
hear, but I can see the passion in her eyes and feel the joy in her
heart when she’s playing, Mr. Madison.” I take a deep breath. “The
crowd loves her. And she loves music. So, I love to watch her
play.” I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I’ll be at your show, no
matter what.”
She smiles up at me and lays her head
on my arm.
“ So will we,” her mother
declares. I’m not going to hold my breath.
“ I hope you’ll get this
music idea out of your system soon and get back to real
life.”
I stiffen, squeezing her
hand.
“ This is real life, Dad,”
she says. “This is my life. And I’m living it the way I
want.”
Her mother winks at her. “Let her be,
darling,” she says sweetly. But there’s some steel behind her
words, too, if her posture is any indication.
Everyone in the limo stops talking. I
look from person to person, just to be sure I’m not missing
anything. But no one is saying anything. Emily is looking past me,
out the window. And there’s a noticeable divide between her
parents. Trip is cool and collected. The fucker.
Emily
Logan is the most handsome man in the
whole room. And I’m not just saying that because he’s mine. There
are a lot of models wearing Madison Avenue clothes, and none of
them wear them as well as Logan does. He’s just darn
handsome.
My dad’s new ad campaign is displayed
on bulletin boards around the room. Logan stops in front of one and
scrunches up his nose.
“ You don’t like it?” I
ask.
He shrugs. “It’s fine, I
guess.”
I tilt my head, trying to see what he
sees in the pictures. “What’s wrong with it?”
He shrugs again. “Nothing really. I
just think it could be better.”
Trip claps a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll be sure to tell the big guy how much you like his ad
campaign.” He winks at me. He’s such an ass. I can’t believe I ever
considered marrying him at all.
“ Your dad will have one more
reason to hate me,” he says. He squeezes my hand,
though.
One of the models approaches us and
lays a hand on Logan’s arm. “Would you like to dance with me?” she
asks.
He shakes his head and politely
declines. Then he adds, “I’m going to dance with my girl.” He takes
my hand and pulls me out onto the floor. He smiles down at me. “I
can’t feel the beat to this kind of music.”
He looks around at the other couples. I
see my dad step onto the floor with the model who approached Logan,
and I roll my eyes. Logan takes me in his arms, his hand holding
mine. He pulls me close to him, just a breath away, not touching,
and my heart starts to flutter. Will I ever get used to being with
this man who makes me feel so perfect?
He picks up the rhythm of the music by
watching the other dancers. “You’re pretty good at this,” I say. He
just smiles and shrugs. “Mom made us all take dance lessons when we
were young. Paul did a year of ballet before he grew enough balls
to tell her he wouldn’t do it anymore.” He chuckles. I’ll never
enjoy a sound more than that of his laughter.
When we first met, he didn’t speak at
all. He started talking again for me, and it took him even longer
to learn to laugh. Sometimes he can’t tell how loud he is, and he
doesn’t alter his voice well enough for the situation.
This is one of those times.
My dad shoots me a glare. I look up at
Logan and just smile.
“ What’s bothering you?” he
asks.
“ Not a thing,” I say. And
it’s not. I’d trade my right arm for his voice, if someone told me
I had to choose between the two. Hearing his words, his laughter
and his thoughts means the world to me.
My dad dances close to us, and
suddenly, he’s pulling us apart and taking Logan’s place. “You
don’t mind if I cut in, do you?” he asks Logan, but he doesn’t look
at Logan
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