Page 113 of Secret Obsession
“Willow?”
She hurriedly wipes at her face, removing the evidence of her tears and messed-up makeup. In seconds, she’s presentable, and I don’t know how she flipped that switch so fast. When she twists around, her face is a mask.
Knox comes out onto the porch, his gaze going from her to me, then back again. “Hey, baby. One of the guys said he saw you come in.”
“Yeah, I just got here.” She clears her throat and rises, letting my jacket slip off her shoulders. “Miles was just looking out for me.”
I stare at my brother, trying to convey how fucked up he is, but as usual, he ignores it. Willow takes his hand, and he reels her in. His gaze sweeps her, up and down. He kisses her on the lips and then cinches her to his side.
“Let’s get you a drink.” He guides her toward the door, only glancing back once to make sure I’m watching. Then he raises his hand behind her back and flips me off.
Fucker.
One day, Willow will come to her senses and see him for who he is. And she’ll see me, too. Then it’ll be game on.
34
WILLOW
Ifollow Aspen and Violet into the Crown Point Theater. The orchestra plays here, and Aspen’s been working with them for the past two months. She says it’ll be fine, so… I guess it’s okay. Even if we’retechnicallysneaking in.
We enter the large theater, and my breath catches. There’s red velvet and gilded columns and rows and rows of seats that immediately inspires awe. The painting on the domed ceiling is angelic. Literally,angelsand clouds and naked people.
“Wow,” I say on an exhale.
“That’s not the most impressive part,” Aspen laughs.
She takes my hand and pulls me along. Down the sloped aisle and up a staircase tucked into the side. Onto the stage, which is lit up with the house lights.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you sang,” Aspen murmurs.
Violet hums her agreement. She’s known for a while that I decided to start teaching little heathens, but it isn’t like I ever told her I wanted to sing in front of other people.
No, Miles discovered that. Although he didn’t throw it in my face, he did make mesingfor him in his bed. Quite often.
And it seems that’s where we’ve been for the last week, bouncing between campus for classes, the arena for his practices—which are once again open for students to watch—and his bed. I’ve been dodging calls from the detective, and Miles hasn’t said anything about her either. Although I have the sneaking suspicion that she calls him, too.
He keeps threatening to tell everyone he knows about my voice—but apparently, he already has. Because when Aspen and Violet showed up this afternoon and demanded to know about my dark singing secrets, there was only one culprit.
And now we’re here.
“What do you know?” Aspen asks me. “Pop?”
“Wait.” I hold up my hands. “What?”
She’s moving across the stage toward the grand piano. It’s not quite in the center, and the lid is down. It’s all closed up, not that Aspen seems to give a shit. She runs her hand over the gleaming black polish and drags the bench out.
“We’re having a concert next week,” she says. “They moved the piano up here, when it’s normally off in the wings. When I play for the theater, I use the upright piano downstairs.”
“Oh,” I murmur.
“So…?”
So I name a song off the top of my head. “Glory” by Dermot Kennedy. And I’m half hoping that she won’t know it.
But to my surprise, Aspen launches into a rendition.
“Holy shit.” Violet laughs. She grips my shoulders and propels me toward the piano. “Sing, Willow.”
