Page 83 of Moonlit Thorns

“Let’s get a quick picture,” I say and steer her toward the step with my hand on her back.

She seems surprised but pleased by my request.

When the press call my name and demand to know who I’m with and what she is to me, I ignore them. Satisfied that I’ll be able to steal a picture of the two of us off the internet tomorrow, I lead us inside and up the stairs where we can gain access to our private balcony seats.

Heads turn as we pass through the crowd. I knew they would. Not only is Anabelle stunning, but she’s an unknown. She may have come from money, but she’s not a socialite someone would expect to find on my arm for an event. People will be wondering who she is and what she is to me.

Let them. She’s mine, and mine she’ll stay.

“Would you like something to drink before we go to our seats?” I ask.

She twists her lips for a moment, giving it a thought. “Maybe some champagne to celebrate my first time here?”

God, she is so fucking cute and charming when she’s not even trying to be.

“Coming right up. Give me a minute.”

Anabelle stands off to the side while I go grab us two glasses of champagne. It doesn’t take long since the one bar is reserved for those with private balconies.

When I return, I hand her a glass and hold my arm out for her. “Shall we?”

She slides her arm through mine, and I lead us to our seats.

“Wow, this is really something. Thank you for bringing me, Asher.” She takes her seat and looks at me.

I hold out my champagne flute. “To all the firsts.”

She smiles and clinks my glass. “To all the firsts.”

I’m sure she thinks I’m thinking of things like the sex club and the symphony, but really, I’m thinking of her being the first woman to make me feel… hell, anything.

We sip our champagne, and a few minutes later, the show starts.

I’m enraptured watching her take in the music—eyes wide with a serene smile on her face as though the sound is filling her.

When the first notes of “Dies Irae” begin and the choir sings, there’s a stabbing sensation in my heart. Anabelle seems to still when she registers the song, and I frown.

I lean into her. “What’s wrong?”

She turns her head, eyes wide with what now looks like concern. “This song…”

I nod at her to go on.

“This is the song I told you about, the one that led me to the library that day and the one I heard playing from your room the night you were having a nightmare.”

Now my eyes are wide. “This was my mother’s favorite. She used to play it for us all the time.”

Anabelle’s mouth drops open. “How is that possible?”

The truth is, I have no idea. I’ve seen some weird shit over the years at Midnight Manor, but this…

It almost feels like a sign… from my mother. Is it possible?

I can’t listen to this song without thinking of her and how she used to play it all the time for us boys. It’s Latin and translates to Day of Wrath. She told us she loved it because the poem itself was all about Judgment Day and how the repentant would be forgiven and find their place in heaven. Set to music, it gave her hope. That there was always hope that people could repent.

I don’t know if she was hoping my father would be the one to repent or if it was her hope for herself. She always said that even though there was fear and dread, there was still always hope, and this piece of music reminded her of that.

“I don’t know how it’s possible,” I finally say to Anabelle.

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