Page 11 of Poetry By Dead Men
"Okay. You're right," he concedes, holding up his hands. "I just—I'm glad you're happy. Okay?" He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and there’s no dimple in his cheek. "Youarehappy, right?"
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out but a shallow inhale. I don't know how to answer that. Am I as happy as I would have been with him?
Or am I happy enough?
I clear my throat. "Sure, Robert. I'm happy," I say, my voice cold and flat. He doesn’t deserve anything more. I turn to leave, but he catches me by the elbow. With a clatter, my clutch falls, the clip popping open and its contents spilling onto the hardwood floor. I drop to the ground, shoving a lipstick back into the main compartment when strong, callused hands appear to help, pausing as they brush against cold metal.
My bracelet.
Hisbracelet.
Shit.
Bobby places his fingers beneath my chin, raising my face so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Beth.” His voice is rough, disbelieving, and I look away, humiliated and furious at what I see in his eyes. Not pity, but close enough to it that tears threaten to spill down my cheeks.
I grab the bracelet, shove it into my purse, and stand. "Excuse me," I say, walking away with my head held high. I'm not sure how I manage it, considering I feel like my soul was just ripped in half.
Molly finds me again, mercifully bringing me that third glass of champagne. I sip instead of chug this time, but thepopof a microphone makes me wish I’d downed it like the last two glasses. I turn as Harrison takes the stage. He's loving the attention, his cheeks flushed from the combination of applause and scotch, and he raises his hands to quiet the crowd.
"Thank you all for coming tonight," he starts, making eye contact with several people near the front. "If you know my Elizabeth—" he finds me in the crowd and places a hand over his heart. “You know she loves poetry. So I’d like to say a few words.” He clears his throat andpulls out a piece of paper, and a blush immediately floods my cheeks as a spotlight finds me.
“My missing piece, it makes me whole,the way you fit into my life.Thank you, my dear, for loving me. I can’t wait till you’re my wife.”
A woman I don’t know next to me dabs at her cheeks, and it takes every bit of my control to keep smiling and not roll my eyes. Harrison waves for me to join him as the crowd politely applauds, and I oblige.
He wraps an arm around my waist and gives me a lingering kiss that borders on embarrassing, even for an engagement party, but our guests all cheer. “Thank you. Now, I'm not one for long speeches—"
"Unless you're in court!" someone yells from the back.
"Guilty," Harrison winks, and I force a laugh along with his coworkers. “Sorry. Legal humor. Anyway, I'll keep it short. I was lucky enough to trick Elizabeth here into marrying me, but even more lucky to snag some top tier entertainment for us tonight."
The room goes still, anticipation buzzing along with the microphone. "Honey, would you like to do the honors?" Harrison asks.
I look to the side where Robert waits. Not Bobby, but a superstar brimming with confidence and charisma, his guitar strapped to his back. Our eyes meet, and for just a second, his mask slips. My stomach twists, my smile faltering, but not enough for anyone to notice.
No one, at least, but him.
"Ladies and gentlemen." I look away, my heart pinching like it’s cracking open as I smile broadly, big and fake, and sweep my arm toward the side of the stage. "Robert Beckett."
I stand with Harrison in the middle of the crowd as Bobby takes the stage, and Jesus, he looks even better standing in the spotlight. His plain black shirt is tight around his biceps, and the way his jeans fit him isunholy. He is pure, undiluted masculinity, and it pisses me off. I bet he was chopping wood before he came here tonight so he could cook somefish over an outdoor fire. Fish he caught with his bare hands. I'm not sure Harrison even knows how tostarta fire.
"Evening, everyone," Bobby starts, his voice confident and dripping with sex-appeal. His stage voice. It's similar to his everyday tone, but somehowmore. So intoxicating you fall under its spell instantly, and once it's gone, you crave it forever.
"I'm honored to be here this evening," he says, putting a hand over his heart in a gesture of humility, and the crowd cheers. Within the few seconds he's been on stage, tonight has turned from an engagement party to a full-on concert. The energy is vibrant, and I wonder if the women here are going to throw their bras at him, or if they somehow found a way to make those groupie posters.
"If there's anything I've learned in my twenty-eight years," Bobby continues, "it's that love is something that should be celebrated. Always. Especially when it's true and honest. I had a love like that once." Bobby’s voice is as rough as sandpaper, and he stares notatme, but inside me, just like he used to do when we were younger. His lips turn down, just slightly. "Only once. And this is the song I wrote about it."
Bobby holds my stare until the lights dim, and the first strum of his guitar rings out, a chord I've heard before. Only then does he close his eyes and begin to play in earnest, a soulful sound that's a mix of rock and Americana.
When the moon wanes in a weary sky
When frost freezes roots, petals wither and die
You're gonna be ok, and I’ll tell you why
You're safe in the arms of someone who loves you
Fuck. Him.
