Page 31 of Shattered Chords

I stared up at him, allowing his words to settle in. Something shifted between us. There was a change, a stir, a transference.

My heart thudded. “What are you doing?” I asked quietly, unsure if he could hear me over the racket of equipment and the buzz of voices dribbling out from the club and the pizzeria next door. We were right in the middle of everything, surrounded by the noise.

He unwrapped the candy, stuck it between his lips, and inched closer. “It’s called a compliment, Camille. Just accept it.”

Blood rushed to my face and lit it on fire. I swallowed past the sudden tightness in my throat as the burn of embarrassment sizzled beneath my skin, in my chest, in my stomach. Everywhere.

His mouth was too close. I could feel the soft rush of his breath on my cheek and neck as it crawled down to my collarbone. He stayed like that longer than necessary before taking a step back.

The last rays of evening sun slid across his face, illuminating his skin. In this light, he seemed almost as if he were made of gold and charcoal, painted on a canvas of dullness by some unknown artist.

“There you are!” Jules’ voice drilled through the steaming air, ruining the moment. When she rushed over, her eyes deserted me and wistfully roamed over Dante’s physique. “Hi! Have we met?”

“I don’t think we have,” he said with a reserved smile, the lollipop stick poking from the corner of his mouth, and I caught a hint of annoyance in his tone.

Jules whipped out her hand. “Are you sure? Because you look very familiar.”

“I get that a lot.”

A laugh was forming inside my chest, but I held it in. Part of me wondered if she was going to recognize Dante and part of me hoped she wouldn’t.

“It’s so nice you came to see the guys play. I’m Jules. My daughter sings in Systematic.”

He finally put her out of her misery, but their handshake was quick, almost nonexistent. I could understand why he didn’t want to be touched. I could also understand why he was polite. Public people were under constant scrutiny. Although the tabloids didn’t seem to bother him a single bit according to what I’d seen online. He didn’t mind the spotlight. He’d done it all and he’d done it in front of the cameras.

“What was your name again?” Jules refused to let it go. She was onto him.

“Dante,” he said matter-of-factly.

Her expression went from mildly surprised to shocked. “Ohmigod!” She shot me a wide-eyed glance. “Is this who I think it is? Dante Martinez?”

Unsure if she was talking to me or herself, I gave her a single nod and flicked my gaze over to him. He looked devastated. His eyes—dark, nearly black, with flecks of bronze when the sun hit them just right—were transfixed on mine and pleaded to get Jules off his back.

“I knew I’d seen you somewhere before. My husband is a huge fan.” She launched into a mad rave about how much Ross loved Dante’s guitar solos. Her breathy voice jumped up and down and her hands gestured wildly. There was some name-dropping and hip rolling. The woman couldn’t stay still for a second.

Dante took the verbal abuse like a trooper. Obviously, he had the experience.

“We should get a group photo before you guys go.” Jules finally revealed the real reason she’d been searching for me. “Would you like to come with us, Dante?”

Hesitant, he looked at me, then back at Jules. “Sure. I’d love to meet the band.”

Jesse Catchum who?

That was my first thought when Dante stepped into the dressing room. All twenty-something pairs of eyes shot at him as if he were the Second Coming. The stuffy air stood still and it was so silent I could hear my own heartbeat and the mad whooshing of my pulse in my ears.

“Look who I found!” Jules said in a sing-song voice, a shit-eating grin spread across her face. She was shamelessly taking the credit for discovering Dante and I didn’t have the guts to stop her, so I lingered off to the side and watched the awe settle in everyone’s gazes.

They lunged at him all at once. Teen zombies with admiration on their faces and hands outstretched with cell phones snap-ready. Ally was part of the flock.

“You came!” I heard her squeal.

“Would you like to be in the photo?” Jules asked Dante while trying to gather the parents.

“Thank you, but I’ll pass.” He shook his head and moved to the corner. Some of the guests, including the beer guy, trailed after him, wanting to get a spot next to the international rock star.

I noted a few unfamiliar faces coming in from the dressing room across the hallway. They were the members of Dead on Fire, the only band on the bill that was rumored to be in talks with an indie label. The news about Dante’s impromptu appearance spread faster than an outbreak of a deadly virus in an end-of-the-world movie. More people showed up at the door, but the security guard didn’t let anyone else in.

Disappointment momentarily crossed Jules’ features, but she managed to muster a smile and yelled, “Okay, everyone! We have ten minutes left. Let’s get a photo.”

---