Page 266 of Come Back to Me

I love watching her play. She’s so confident, and all that energy is contained but it seeps into her music, making each note magical.

I don’t think she even knows it’s happening, but I do.

When the ceremony begins in earnest, her wandering eye finds mine.

But her expression shifts.

The blank face of boredom turns into a frown.

She doesn’t look away from me. If anything, it’s like she can’t break the link.

The emotions it triggers in me have my heart rate soaring.

I want to run to her side, toss the cello into the water, then carry her off toourlake and make love to her on the shore.

Thatis how intimate the look she’s sending me is. But her microexpressions fill me with unease.

The only reason I know my brother’s married is because she plays “Summertime,” a request she’d complained about to me, proving that she’s giving the whole thing more attention than I am.

As Etta James drifts into a Christy MacFarlane original, I don’t think anyone notices, but I do. When people cheer the bride and groom, they don’t know they’re hearing something unique.

I shoot her a smile, one filled with pride for her talent and love—always love.

When Callan pops up out of nowhere and hisses something in her ear, she jumps in surprise and that shatters our sustained eye contact.

Damn cockblocker.

Whatever he says, she ignores because she carries on with her composition.

Even adds a flourish to the tune that’s a silent ‘fuck you.’

It’s received, too, because Callan grunts something at her then stomps off, adjusting his earpiece and mic that are hooked up to a ‘control room’ in the house where the servers are waiting on his orders.

Yes, he’s made this wedding mission impossible.

We’re just missing Tom Cruise on the guest list.

I amble over to the shore when I see Cole and Mia jump into the damn lake. Laughing with the rest of the crowd, I tip my head back at the sound of drones and enjoy Callan’s pièce de resistance in the air.

A gazillion drones form into myriad shapes as guests woot and clap at a display which contributed even more to the deterioration of his stomach lining.

“Well done, Cal,” I congratulate when he approaches me. “How many Tums have you had today?”

“Too many,” he grumbles, but he’s beaming with delight as I drag him into a hug. “The buses have started taking people home if you’re ready to leave.”

“It’s time for pictures now, right?”

“Yup, but they’re only doing a couple different shots.”

“Huh. Weird.”

“Not really. Mia doesn’t exactly have much family,” he points out, “and Cole has too many. Still, it’s their choice.”

“True.”

I turn back to find Tee watching me and my unease returns.

She’s not outright scowling, but she seems worried.

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