Page 127 of Perfect Composition
“You figured it out,” Paige guesses accurately.
“Yes.”
“Tell me,” she demands.
I reach out and cup her breast. She gasps, giving me an opening to take her mouth. When I’m done long moments later, I whisper, “Later.”
She threads her hands into my hair, sliding her bare leg over my hip. “I just hope you can remember it.”
Hmm. Good point. I start to tell Paige the idea, but the moment I do, Paige whispers something I can’t resist. Something I’ve never been able to resist.
“I love you, Beau Beckett Miller. Always have.”
Clutching her to me, I align myself before pushing deep inside and murmuring back, “And I love you, Paige Melissa Kensington. Always will.”
BECKETT
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX- SIX MONTHS LATER
September
Broadway may be awash with cartoons, but it’s historical musicals making a splash. WithThe Golden Lady, Evangeline Brogan’s and Simon Houde’s powerful voices lead us down a path of history all but a few tried to hide. The score, composed by Beckett Miller and DJ Kensington, will have you singing long after the show is over.
— The Fallen Curtain
Instead of wearing my trademark unbuttoned shirt for this event, like the Grammys, the buttoned-up collar on this getup I agreed to wear is so damned tight it’s threatening to cut off my breathing. And I sure as fuck need that to hit some of these notes my co-composer wrote for this score.
On top of which, I’m not real thrilled about the fact it’s hiding Paige and Austyn’s tattoo.
Especially when I can see Paige from the wings and she’s showing more skin than I usually do. I snarl a little bit when she shifts in her seat from the front row and the gold thread in her dress catches the overhead lights. “It’s like a damn spotlight on her breasts.”
I really hope she’s not wearing much beneath it because I plan on fucking her in the limousine on our way back to Connecticut tonight.
A fatalistic sigh resonates from behind me. “Are you going to be able to keep your mind on the music, or will you be too distracted by Mama’s boobs to actually play the music we’ve spent the last six months writing?”
I wince. “Christ, Austyn. Watch your damn mouth.”
My daughter slides up next to me and wraps her arm around my waist. Similarly dressed, we’re both in black-on-black tuxedos to avoid distracting the audience once the actors hit the stage. “What’s the fun in that?”
I open my mouth to give her a lecture I’m sure Paige would appreciate, despite the fact I’ll have to endure my own about hypocrisy when the child we made out of love over twenty years ago rests against me. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she, Dad?”
“She’s incandescent.”
Paige whirls around as Marco Houde taps her on the shoulder. She stands to greet him—and the curvy brunette who’s now sporting his diamond—with a smile. She gestures to her left, and an older gentleman rises to his feet and holds out his hand.
Paige’s father has spent the last six months working with a therapist. And while both Paige and I were less than inclined to forgive the man for the actions he took that separated us, it was Austyn who convinced us to let go of his transgressions. “In the end, he has to witness the love the two of you share. Isn’t that enough punishment when he’s endured a life without Grams?”
It’s hard to accept all the moments I lost with Austyn. Which prompts me to say, “If I had a chance to turn back time, I’d give up every penny to my name to spend it with her and you.”
And just as the house lights begin to flash on and off, signaling for everyone to take their seats, my twenty-year-old daughter whispers, “I know, Dad. Now, let’s go kick a little ass.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead. “Break a leg, darling.”
She winks before reaching for the headset the stagehand is holding out for her. “You too.”
As I slip mine on, we do a quick sound check. Then, the lights dim.
Three.
