Page 67 of Final Serenade

Eyes dark, Frank continued to stare at me intensely. I couldn’t read his expression. It was a confusing mixture of all his stage faces and his real one, a fusion of different emotions. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant. “My wife cheated on me.”

And just like that, he was telling me things I couldn’t possibly find online. Private things. His words hung heavy in the air.

“Frank…” I had no idea what to say to that. “You married aPlayboymodel.”

His jaw set, he looked up at the ceiling as if he were searching for an answer. “Do you always have to be so blunt, Cassy?” He was clearly irritated.

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

“No.”

“Then why are you so upset?” I did feel bad for calling him out on his marriage fiasco, but it was too late to retract it. We all make mistakes. His just happened to be as grand as his gestures.Rich people. What do you know?

“I’m not upset. Seeing that another man was contacting you brought back memories.”

Trying to inject something less heavy into our conversation, I joked, “You’re the most insecure millionaire I’ve ever met.” My freshly pedicured toes thrust into his rock-solid thigh.

“I’ll do you one better.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “She cheated on me with my best friend.”

The air left my lungs, and I swallowed past the stiffness in my throat. “Dante?” That was unexpected.

Frank nodded.

“You’re not kidding?”

“No. I’m not.”

“And you still talk to him?” I wasn’t sure how else to word my question. The two appeared to get along just fine.

“Remember what I said about being in a band?”

“Yes. You depend on each other. Your careers too.”

“Exactly. Getting rid of a wife who signed a prenup is much easier than getting rid of a wife who you signed a major record deal with.”

I took a minute to process. All the seemingly useless info I’d been collecting on Hall Affinity all these years swarmed inside my head like a twister. I knew enough to have a good understanding of who was who in the band, but I’d never pegged Dante for someone who held this much control. He’d always struck me as showman number two, who cared about nothing but his outfits, riffs, and getting wasted. “You don’t split royalties four ways?”

Frank broke our eye contact and looked out the window. His hands were still, his chest hardly moved, as if he was holding his breath. “No. We don’t. I get forty. Dante gets forty. Johnny gets twenty. Carter is on retainer.”

“That’s…interesting.” I was under the impression that Frank got the biggest cut. I was wrong.

“Dante and I do all the songwriting.”

“Lyrics too?”

“Yes. He also writes some bass lines.”

“Is that why you two had a falling out right before you recordedBreathe Crimson?” Musicians were a special breed of artists. Feuds in this business were nothing unusual. Probably even the norm. I always thought creative differences were the reason behind their disagreement.

There was a shift in the air. I felt it. Anxiety slowly crawled underneath my skin.

Frank’s gaze returned to mine. “I walked in on them fucking in my bedroom. Dante was doing a lot of drugs back then. I’d wanted to end things—the band and the marriage—then and there, but he was so fucking high, I honestly don’t know if I can truly hold him responsible for it, because he probably doesn’t remember that night, or the entire decade, very well.”

I understood where Frank was coming from, but I almost wondered if his brain had short-circuited somewhere between last night and now. He went from brilliant and confident to childish and hurt in less than twenty-four hours.

“So let me get this straight.” I needed clarification. Or maybe an explanation for why the woman was to blame in this case. “Because he’s your friend and because you’re in a band together and write money-making hits, he gets a pass?”

“He doesn’t get a pass. I still hate him, but I’ve learned to live with that hate.”

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