Page 119 of One Last Verse

“I prefer to keep that part of my life to myself.” She laughed.

The music stopped. Sparse claps rang out from the auditorium. The soundcheck was over, and anxious voices along with some of the newly arrived VIPs moved to the lobby.

Then my heart stuttered and began a slow descent to the floor. Across the way, I spotted Janet’s silver hair among the cluster of bodies. Craning my neck in the direction of the group to make sure my sight wasn’t playing tricks on me, I reached for the clipboard Linda was holding. “Let me see that?”

“Cassy, I told you that you should take a little break,” she protested.

I skimmed through the names of the guests, unsure of whom I was actually searching for. “How come you didn’t tell me Frank’s parents were going to be here?”

“It was a last minute thing.” Linda gave me a tight-lipped smile.

I turned around and noted Billy’s bright colored ruffle shirt. He looked like a watered-down version of Alice Cooper. The only thing missing was the cane and a top hat. The man was obviously a great showmanship role model.

Isabella was in the center of the gathering. A few phone cameras flashed, then everyone started to slowly disperse. I saw her then—the woman from the photo that someone who wished to remain anonymous had emailed me a few weeks ago. She stood next to Janet. Baggy pants and short hair. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

A blend of panic and disappointment rammed up my throat. I swallowed past the tightness and took a deep breath. As if on cue, Janet separated from the crowd and ushered the woman over to me.

I was a ball of nerves when they approached us.

“Such a wonderful theater,” Janet started in a sweet, breathy voice, her gaze bouncing between me, Linda, and the coffered ceiling.

“Thank you. I didn’t know you were coming.”

She dodged my statement. “I don’t think you’ve met Alisha.”

“No.” I willed myself to smile at the woman. Up close she looked much older than in the photo. Although the quality of the image wasn’t the best. I couldn’t even tell where it’d been taken. The two were sitting somewhere. On a bench? A couch maybe? “I don’t believe so.”

A hand was extended to me. “Very nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you,” the woman spoke, her tone soft.

“Really? You have?” Taken aback, I slid my palm against hers and shook it. My mother raised me to be a polite person, even during questionable moments. Like the one right now.

The madness unfolding both outside and inside the theater was unfathomable. The noise, the cameras, the staff running around, the fans pushing against the barricade. I couldn’t wrap my head around the chaos or around the fact that a woman who’d apparently been spending time with my ex-boyfriend was here. The question ofwhydanced on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t get a chance to ask it because the screams were suddenly amplified by thousands.

A storm of flashes illuminated the red carpet and the press plunged toward the limo that rolled up to the front.

Heart in my throat, I stepped closer to the doors and stared at the warzone the sidewalk had just become. My fingers felt clammy. My pulse rushed. I’d forgotten about Janet and Alisha.

While our VIP guest list consisted of a few very influential people in the music industry, those weren’t the names that caused people to lose their minds. Outsiders didn’t know or care for Gary Torino.

Roman’s bald head lingering behind the string of security came into my line of sight first. Then Frank emerged from the crowd moments later. He was all light. His presence stole the attention of the entire block. Dressed in black pants, a fitted shirt that highlighted the fine contours of his body, and a plain leather jacket, he looked sophisticated. There was no excessive jewelry or boots with metal studs. Almost as if he wanted to strip himself of all the attributes of his past persona.

I stood in my spot by the door and stared at him through the thick tinted glass with my restless heart pounding so hard, its furious beats didn’t allow the oxygen to reach my lungs. The air around me grew tight. I could feel its weight on my shoulders and against my chest. Frank stopped in front of the barricade and went through the throng of hands that were thrust at him, shaking them one by one. Linda followed him like a hawk, occasionally whispering something in his ear as if they were conspiring to do something outrageous. I was so distracted that I hadn’t even noticed her leaving my side.

He didn’t walk the red carpet nor did he pause for a photo op. Roman led him past the reporters and straight into the theater. The noise sneaked inside at the quick swing of the door. Screams, thuds, and clicks drowned out the wild thunder within my chest for a brief moment.

I had to remind myself to breathe when Frank entered the lobby. Anxiety swirled in my stomach. Then his sharp gaze wandered over to me.

Avoidance and fear clutched my gut. I wasn’t prepared to face him like this after three months of silence, with rabid fans right outside and event staff breathing down my neck. My mind tripped and blanked with panic.

Our eyes met. His were disarming, sober, and full of determination. Chin hitched, I accepted the challenge. Crowds were his specialty, but he was also a great teacher.

He started his approach and the closer he got, the blurrier everything else became. I was in a bubble. His bubble, where the sound of our surroundings didn’t exist and the space between our bodies was filled with tenacious heat and wanton memories.

“Cassy,” his voice said as he neared. “Hi.” Then came a smile. Gentle, intimate, sexy. The kind that made my ovaries melt and my brain short circuit.

Here it was again. The full Frankie Blade effect. The electricity, the fireworks, the zippity-zap that tumbled down my spine. My knees shook and my high-heeled shoes felt like two bricks encasing my feet. The entire world fell away, leaving me one-on-one with the man I thought I’d managed to forget.

The rapid thrum of my pulse told me I was wrong.

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