Page 27 of When Hearts Ignite

And so I knew I couldn’t disappoint her. I couldn’t be another blip in what must have been a tough upbringing.

Plus, a Kingsley never shirks on a bet.

But when I got on the stage, with the heat of the spotlight on my face and my colleagues and acquaintances in the dim room staring at me, knowing she was sitting in the audience, her attention solely on me, something switched on.

A sudden shift. Intense yet fleeting.

A brief gale carried the heady fragrance of change and anticipation in the air. It was unsettling. An invisible harbinger to a different future I couldn’t make sense of, a world where my usual calculations and logic were foreign languages.

The crowds faded into nothing when I closed my eyes and listened to the chords of the music, the sorrowful sweeps of the violin, the darkness in the silence between the notes, and the heavy strumming of the guitar.

It’s a popular song, one I’d heard Emily and Jess gush about to each other the last few times we spoke on the phone. It was supposed to be a bet, singing a melody everyone would recognize, but somehow, out of my mouth poured a song with more emotions than I ever thought I had. Somehow, with her in the audience, feeling her eyes on mine, deep and penetrating, everything seemed different.

I could feel a burning rush in my chest, seeping through my voice, a voice which hadn’t performed for a crowd since the violin and vocal lessons Mother put me through in middle school and high school. Extracurricular activities for the resume, or so she said.

For a moment there, I almost felt normal. Like the dark void in my chest was filled.

Filled with a burgeoning flame which slowly warmed up my insides.

At that moment, it was like I knew what the painful stabs of heartbreak would feel like, or the crushing agony and desperate longing of wanting to follow your soulmate to the great beyond because one life with them wasn’t enough.

It felt as if an invisible gate deep inside my soul unlocked, and tethered thoughts I couldn’t name or tame came flooding out, a tsunami crushing normalcy as I knew it, bringing in havoc and destruction.

It was almost as if I was singing for one person in the audience, the one soul who would understand what I’m saying or how I’m feeling without words.

“You’re mine.”

I remember these words tumbling out of their own accord. The rush of satisfaction. The piercing need. The way I gripped my jacket to stop myself from hauling her from her seat and dragging her out of the lounge with me. So I could dip my nose in the crook of her neck, inhale that sweet scent, and claim her with my lips.

Fuck. What a load of bullshit.

My hand trembles, sloshing the whiskey in the glass.

“What the fuck was that all about? Are you going to tell us?” Ryland asks as he hangs his jacket on the coat rack by the door of the private room in the gentlemen’s club within The Orchid. He strides over to the immaculately decorated lounge area, which is a statement of old-world luxury, akin to the gentlemen’s clubs from Regency England.

The spacious room is separated into two parts, a long glass table for work or dining and a lounge area with two large, black leather sofas, imported from Italy, several navy tufted armchairs, a fireplace, which, during wintertime, would roar with a well-tended fire. The furniture centers around a coffee table crafted from glass and dark oak, completed with a Persian rug from the nineteenth century on the floor.

Normally, these rooms are reserved at least a week in advance, but Ryland, being the second eldest child and the public face of the influential Anderson family, which controls the behemoth Fleur Entertainment Holdings, where he acts as Chief Operating Officer, pretty much has a room reserved all year round for his family’s use. Clearing his throat, he levels his slate-colored eyes at me, a startling contrast to his dark hair.

I take a sip of my drink, relishing the smooth burn of the alcohol down my throat, and murmur, “Nothing. It was nothing.”

“I can’t wait to tell Emily about this.” Adrian Scott, billionaire real estate mogul slash brother-in-law, leans back in his armchair like he owns the place. He rakes his hand over his dark hair, his icy blue eyes shining with mirth before he brings his glass of whiskey to his lips for a sip. “There’s no ‘nothing’ about this.”

“Already on it before you did. Check the group chat.” Parker Wellington, architect extraordinaire and brother-in-law once removed, since he’s married to Liz Chapman, whose brother, James, is married to my oldest sister, Jess, flashes his phone screen to Adrian. Both of them snort at what they’re seeing there. He throws a shit-eating grin my way, his annoying dimples showing on his face.

I groan inwardly, not wanting to see what awaits me in the group texts.

My sisters are probably conspiring to plan my wedding at any moment.

“There’s nothing to tell. It was a bet, and a Kingsley never backs down on a bet.” Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Charles Vaughn, a business colleague and close friend, also the CEO of the Bank of Columbia, rolls his eyes and mutters, “Keep telling yourself that, Kingsley. Maybe I’m the only person in this room who doesn’t have a woman, but your abnormal behavior today has all the signs of the beginning of the fall of Rome to me. So, what’s her name and what’s your relationship with her?”

“I’m single too,” Ryland interjects, staring at the glass in his hand with a pensive frown, his forehead furrowing. He glances briefly at Adrian and Parker before he looks away, his jaw tensing.

“You wouldn’t be if you weren’t doing two jobs at the same time. Why are you doing the professor thing again? Isn’t being a COO of Fleur busy enough for you?” Charles asks, but Ryland stays silent, his eyes unfocused, his attention elsewhere if his anguished expression is any indication.

The man has secrets, and my gut tells me it’s a woman. But he’s been silent about it.

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