Wreck the Halls(35)
Until he figured it out, he needed to keep Melody at a proper distance.
A feat that was growing harder by the second.
And they would be spending a lot more time together.
Beat dragged a hand down his face, lifting it to return a wave from his mother. Despite the golden mask she was wearing, he didn’t miss the way Octavia tilted her head, pinning Melody with an analyzing look. Like she was searching for a resemblance to Trina. Or maybe Octavia was simply stunned to see Melody’s back pressed to his chest, Beat’s hands on her waist. He forcibly stepped back now, suffering through Melody’s resulting shiver.
They weren’t on a date. He needed to stop acting like they were.
Feeling like they were.
Beat’s dates were usually private and had more of a transactional nature.
Finally, the trumpets died down and his mother was helped from her throne by one of the human swans. She noticed the camera hovering at the edge of the dance floor and gave an exaggerated eye roll, before smiling conspiratorially at her rapt audience. “Let the party commence,” she purred, eliciting whistles and applause from the crowd. Someone handed her a glass of champagne in a special golden goblet and off she went, working the crowd like a fairy granting audiences to commoners.
The ballroom eased back into motion, crowds gathering around high-top tables, other couples making their way out onto the dance floor. Now that Octavia had made her entrance, the lights were gradually dimming and the classical music was being replaced with a sexier beat to inspire dancing. Even early in the evening, guests were happy to oblige.
Melody turned, blinking up at him. “Wow. Your mother really just rolled up into this joint like Cleopatra.”
Beat chuckled, a sense of camaraderie he rarely allowed himself to experience making his ribs expand.
Shit. He liked Melody. A lot. And he could tell she wanted to dig into the conversation they’d been having before his mother arrived. It was right there in the slight pinch of her brow. But he wasn’t surprised that she could read his reticence to return there. They had a way of communicating without words.
They shifted at the same time. Regrouped.
“Where is your father?” she asked.
“He waits until the fanfare dies down and then he slips in through the side door, holding a brandy snifter and wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater he can find.”
“You’re joking. Does your mother hate it?”
“On the contrary. She loves it.”
Melody gasped. “Why?”
Beat shrugged. “He lets her shine.”
Whoa. His voice came very close to catching on that last word. It wasn’t unusual for him to talk about the love he had for his parents. But their happiness wasn’t usually hanging in the balance. Or resting on his shoulders, as it were, along with the truth that could destroy them as a family.
As if on cue, his phone started vibrating in his pocket. Of course, it could be his friends watching the live stream and wanting to pepper him with questions, which would only be natural. Intuition told Beat his blackmailer was calling, though. He always seemed to find the most inopportune moments to take a swing at him—and this would definitely be one of them—the gala benefiting the charity he and his parents put so much work and love into.
“Hey, Beat!” called a familiar voice as they passed on the dance floor.
He tore his eyes off Melody and waved at Ursula Paige, an up-and-coming opera singer and one of their past scholarship recipients. “Ursula.” He nodded, quickly shaking hands with the performer’s date. “Happy Holidays. Nice to see you both.”
“I would say it’s nice to see you, too, but . . .” Ursula pulled out her phone and shook it around a little. “I’ve been seeing you. All over the damn place.”
“Right.” Beat breathed a laugh, settled a hand on Melody’s back. “Then I guess you’ve met my . . .” His what? The sentence trailed off into silence, three sets of ears waiting for him to finish. His friend? His costar? His . . . what? “My Melody,” he said, trying to laugh off the blunder.
No one said anything for long, torturous seconds. Melody looked down at her dress.
Beat stared at an escaped strand of hair by her cheek, wondering if he should tuck it behind her ear for her.
Ursula elbowed her date hard in the ribs. “No offense, but we’re going to stop talking to you now, so we can keep watching you.”
“What are: phrases that sum up 2023,” Melody mumbled, answering in Jeopardy! format. And tucking that strand of hair back on her own. Damn.
Ursula and her date laughed, high-fiving Melody. “Oh my God, Melody. The internet is so right to be in love with you. You’re hilarious.”
Melody’s nose wrinkled. “The internet what?”
The pair only laughed harder.
Beat and Melody exchanged a lost expression, but there was an odd gurgle in Beat’s stomach. Was the internet falling in love with Melody? Of course it was. And he didn’t have any right to feel the sharp prickle of possessiveness, but there it was. He liked the world having access to her even less than he’d been expecting, which wasn’t fair. He didn’t have any claim on Melody, despite what every fiber of his being seemed intent on telling him.
“Don’t worry, Beat. There are already several campaigns underway on your behalf.” Ursula thumbed through her phone. “One to make you the next James Bond and another to elect you as president of this puss—” She snapped her mouth shut. “Sorry, I should have read that one all the way through before saying it out loud.”