Page 65 of Royal Desire

Blake and I are back in the lounge doing our thing. Tonight is no private party, but it might as well be. The place is filled with Payne’s clients again, but Ansel Reid is nowhere to be seen. I have no idea what that means, but I am able to relax and perform without him glaring at me.

Payne sits at the end of the bar and hasn’t moved since we started. He’s also done everything to support his public declaration of love, though it’s only been quick pecks on the lips rather than soul-shattering kisses like last night.

On our first break, I called Grandma to check in. She’s doing what she does every night at this time, wrapping up her nightly Law & Order rerun before she switches it over to the news before bed, so she can relay the weather report first thing in the morning.

Blake and I are well into our second set. The place is standing room only. Dean even showed up and is at the bar next to Payne with a couple of his clients I saw him with last night.

The evening might be electric, but not enough to forget about the thought of Enzo making a trip across the country. At the beginning of the night, Payne checked in with his private investigator and confirmed that Enzo is still in New York. From his surveillance, he had a family dinner and then got into the back of a limo with his father.

I don’t know what kind of Mafia shit they’re up to, but as long as it’s far, far away from Winslet, I’m good.

If only the patriarch of the family knew his youngest son killed his oldest. How I wish making a simple nine-one-one call would end this entire mess.

I’m feeling it tonight more than normal. My voice is strained from the show going long last night, the crying, and the tequila. I want to cut the set short and down a gallon of water, but the need to do my best for Devon outweighs that.

As we start another song, my gaze roams to the end of the bar like it’s done so many times. But something has shifted.

Payne isn’t networking with his clients, and Dean isn’t his jovial self, sipping on a beer.

They’re both standing and alert in a way I don’t like. Dean has his cell to his ear and talks back and forth from the caller to Payne. They’re with two other men and their wives. All of a sudden, no one is enjoying their drinks or smiling and chatting.

Something’s wrong. I feel it. It settles in my chest like a heavy, sinking stone.

Payne’s light brown eyes shift to me and pierce me speechless. I stumble over my lyrics, but Blake doesn’t miss a beat. He covers for me and shifts back to the chorus.

Dean rushes out of the lounge.

Payne twirls his index finger, giving me the universal sign to wrap it up.

The expression on his face is sharp. Insistent. Urgent.

I skip to the end of the song and talk over the applause I don’t deserve. “We’re going to take a break. Use this time to catch up with the waitstaff or visit the bar. We’ll be back soon.”

Blake gets to me first. “Are you okay?”

I don’t have the chance to answer. Payne pulls me to his chest and puts his lips to my ear. To anyone else, he’s showing the affection any man would to the love of his life. But his words do not match that.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, baby. But Dean just got word that an emergency call came in. We need to go.”

Devon joins us along with the two clients who were huddled with Payne. Both men are tall and built. One is as Italian as Dean.

“Is everything okay?” Devon asks.

Blake looks as nervous as me. “That’s what I want to know.”

I can’t look at either of them. I settle into Payne’s arms where I’ve become more and more comfortable. “What happened? Is it Grandma? Did she fall again?”

“We don’t know much. Dean is on his way, and the volunteers have been called out.”

I press my hands into his chest. “Volunteers?”

“A fire.” He sucks in a deep breath, and I see the anguish in his eyes as he says the next words. “At the Sinclair home on Second Street.”

My heart drops. “No!”

Blake grips my forearm and panic bleeds from him. “She’s always in bed by now.”

Devon turns to Payne. “Go. I’ll take care of things here.”