Page 123 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars
We study each other, adjusting to the fact that we both respect what the other has achieved. We both love the subject, and it means more to see how far we’ve risen, when we started together all those years ago, lying in the makeshift tent, reading that atlas.
“I miss those days,” she says, obviously following the same train of thought as me.
“Me too.” I think about how different my life might have been if Atticus hadn’t freaked out at our kiss. We would have dated for a few years, gone to the cinema or skating, taken long walks in the evenings, just the two of us, and talked and kissed, although I’d never have let it go further than that, no matter what her father thought. And then once she turned sixteen, I’d have asked his permission to marry her, and then we’d have grown up together, maybe even gone to university together, and flourished with the safe security of our friends and family around us.
Instead, we were torn apart, and although we’ve both clawed our way back to relative success, it’s been so much harder than I’m sure it would have been if we’d had each other for support.
All those wasted years. My heart aches to think about it.
On the stage, someone is currently belting out a terrible version of Bon Jovi’s Living on a Prayer and having a great time. Elora gives a short laugh and looks across at the singer. “Talk about ruin the mood.”
I smile, but my gaze lingers on her. She looks young, and healthy, and so incredibly full of life.
“Sing a song with me,” I say.
Her head snaps back, her eyes startled. “What! No! Absolutely not.”
“I know you can sing, Elora-Rose.”
“That’s not the point.”
“You have a lovely voice. So come on, let’s sing a duet.”
“Oh my God, Linc, stop it. Why do you have to keep pushing me?”
“Because it’s fun.”
We continue to bicker while the next few people take the stage and sing equally badly, and eventually she winces and says, “Jesus, you know I’m actually tempted.”
“Excellent,” I say. “What shall we sing?”
“I didn’t… oh what the hell.” She blows out a breath. “What do you suggest?”
“Something cheesy. What duets do you know?”
We settle on Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers’ Islands in the Stream, with Elora insisting she can do Dolly’s harmonies, and I go up to the organizer and put our names forward for the next space.
We’ve just managed to finish our drinks when our names are called, and an enthusiastic round of applause meets our arrival on the stage.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she mutters as we collect our microphones and move to the center of the stage. “There are so many people here!”
“Look at me,” I tell her, turning her so she’s facing me. “We’re singing to each other, okay?”
She nods. “Okay.” She glances down at herself. “I don’t really have the required figure for this.”
I chuckle. “Get ready.”
The music starts, and I dance a little to it, making her laugh, then begin singing Kenny’s words.
When it’s her turn to come in with Dolly’s part, she joins in, dancing a little as she sings the harmony, hitting the high notes perfectly.
I meant this as a joke, and because I meant it when I said it was fun to push her out of her comfort zone, but as we sing the chorus, I’m surprised that actually we sound really good together. And when we sing that this could be the year for the real thing, goosebumps spring up all over my skin.
We make it to the end without a single mistake, and everyone cheers as we take a bow and descend the steps. I grin as I lead her back to our table and hold up a hand as everyone sitting around it whoops and claps.
“Autographs available for a fee,” I tell them, making them laugh.
Elora is flushed and her eyes are sparkling. “Cold drink this time?” I ask, and she nods, so I get up and order us both a Sprite Zero over ice from the bar and bring the two glasses back.
