Page 79 of Butterfly

Something passes between them, but I can’t tell what it is.

Charles swallows and takes the portrait from Fiona’s hands. “Thank you.”

Alex nods, lips pressed together.

A phone rings, breaking the moment, and I focus on Alex, handing him his present. “For you.”

“Thank you. I hope it’s a jar of marmalade.” He winks, and my face burns.

His mouth quirks up when he opens the present, but then frowns at the gift card. It’s black and gold with gleaming stars. “What is it?”

“Prepaid card that grants you access to a collection of old films, the ones you struggle to find around. There’s even that Anchovy guy.”

He bursts out laughing. “Tzachovy.”

“Yes, him.” I search through the box where there should be a list of some of them. “You enter a code on a website, and you’ll get all those black and white—”

His hug cuts me off. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and brushes his lips under my ear. “I love you.”

God, I’m melting in his arms. “I—”

“How did this happen?” Fiona says on the phone, pacing. “What? And Terry? I can’t believe that.” Her gaze shifts to Alex and narrows to a slit. “Wait. Let me check something. I’ll call you back.”

“What’s the matter?” Charles asks, bunching a pile of wrapping paper.

“Our singer, Josey, broke her leg while ice skating yesterday, and the understudy, Terry, is hungover.” She rubs her forehead. “We’re short of one singer for the charity show. Josey was supposed to sing a few songs. Alex?”

“What?” He straightens, brow furrowed.

Fiona eyes him again as if assessing his worth. “Can’t you replace Josey?”

He barks a gruff noise. “Ask me to recite Hamlet’s monologue, but not to sing. I don’t sing. Ever. I’m against it, actually.”

“You’re a bloody actor!” She stomps her foot on the floor.

“Exactly. Not a bloody singer. And I can’t—” His gaze trains on me. “Sienna.”

I grip my butterfly. Hell, no. “Yes?”

“You can sing.” He points at me.

“I’m not a professional. Quite an amateur, really.” I shake my head, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Is she good?” Fiona asks, biting a fingernail.

“Brilliant.” Alex flashes a smile that means my demise. “I heard her sing in a small group. She reduced me to tears.”

“He’s exaggerating.” I glare at him. “I’m not that good.”

“Please, Sienna.” Fiona’s hand hovers over her phone. “We need this. We need a singer to complete the show. It’s for charity. I have to give an answer to the organiser right now.”

“I-I don’t sing in public.” I’m shying away from her, but the woman is like a hound smelling blood.

“Oh, it’s all people you aren’t going to see again. Who cares?” She’s already dialling on her phone. “Yes?”

I sigh. “Yes.”

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