Page 58 of Mistletoe Missus
“You,” she breathed with certainty. “You did this.”
I put up my hands with a frown. “Me? Nah. I’m too grumpy for that.”
She giggled. “Cut the crap.”
“Seriously,” I said.
She slapped a hand against my chest and pulled on my tie.
“Fine. Deny.” Her face was close to mine as I saw gracious tears in her eyes, and my icy heart melted a layer. “But I know you did this. Thank you.”
I had to be careful. Tinsley kept thawing the organ I always thought was frozen shut.
Suddenly, Tinsley’s face changed. Her eyes narrowed with alarm like they had last time something was wrong. She pressed a finger into the piece I saw peeking out from the ear, and she listened intently to whatever was happening on the other end.
“No. No. No!” she voiced frantically.
I followed her gaze as her eyes shot toward the stage, and I saw the curtain move. There was a commotion behind it, unknown to everyone else as they mingled, ate, and enjoyed themselves. But there was something wrong, and I’d make sure I was in on whatever happened this time around.
I asked, “What is it?”
“I can deal with it,” Tinsley argued with me.
I grabbed her shoulders. “Tell me.”
“The lead singer of the band fell incredibly ill,” she informed me in disbelief. “They believe he has food poisoning. I can’t believe this.”
An entire band gone. The performance was supposed to be the highlight of the evening. This was bad, real bad, for Tinsley.
“Are you certain he can’t perform?” I asked.
“He’s vomiting backstage as we speak,” Tinsley stated as hope left her, and I hated every damn minute of it.
“What music does the band play?” I questioned her as I took off my tuxedo jacket and handed it to Tinsley.
“Alternative rock,” she answered as her eyebrows narrowed. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to sing.”
THIRTY-ONE
Rockstar
Tinsley
Mitt surprised me as he rolled up his sleeves and walked toward the stage. I followed after him, but I couldn’t finish my pleas for him to stop because I had attracted too much attention. I had to act as if everything wasn’t amiss and all was going as planned, but it wasn’t. Too much was going to shit.
The event wasn’t going smoothly and was ruining my confidence in my ability to plan anything. I had double-checked, no triple-checked, that everything was right. My trusty checklist method was top-notch, and I was confident coming into this occasion. Now, my knees were shaking and my hands were clammy as I watched Mitt disappear. I was a nervous wreck. Anyone in my position with a husband who was hot one minute and cold soon after would be the same.
A grumpy man was about to take center stage and perform in front of a big crowd of people, but I had huge doubts he could sing a damn note. Mitt could dance, I’d give him credit where it was due, but sing? No fucking way.
Doom was upon me. I might as well quit early and leave before anyone noticed. This was an embarrassment I couldn’t handle, and my career was over. My dream was shot and soonto be roadkill once my husband’s off-tune voice blasted into the microphone.
I turned away, putting one foot in front of the other. Sweat beads pooled at my forehead and threatened to fall, but I swiped them away with the back of my hand. My body trembled as the sound of tuning instruments came through the speakers and people came in my direction. They were trying to get closer to the chaos that was about to commence, and I didn’t have the heart to warn them. To turn them away while the tune of “A Sky Full of Stars” by Coldplay came on.
Suddenly, hands were clapping in a rhythm to the beat, and cheers erupted from the crowd. I panicked, frozen on the spot and unable to turn around. I was too late. There was no way out, and my husband was about to blow my world apart.
“’Cause you’re a sky, ’cause you’re a sky full of stars...” Mitt sang. “I’m gonna give you my heart.”
