Harley leaned against the window ledge of the landing, looking half-amused, half-disgusted. "So I get the prize, and you get the boy, is that it?" she said, looking straight at Mel.
"I guess so." Mel lifted her chin, eyeing Harley.
"I had a feeling you might be wandering around up here," Harley said haughtily. "I have to get back to sign papers and things, but I wanted to say—I'm not reporting the whole kidnapping thing, or pressing charges."
"That's kind of you," Mel replied.
"Yes, well—this whole show was a big mess. Why make it any more complicated?" She looked from Mel to Kiyo and back again. "You realize that we've all kissed each other at some point? Crazy, right?"
"Insane," Mel agreed. She suspected that Harley wouldn't have minded an invitation to join in, but she didn't roll that way. She wanted Kiyo all to herself.
"Okay then. See you at the dinner, I guess." She turned away.
"Harley, wait." Kiyo stepped forward. "I'm sorry about your health. I didn't know."
"I didn't want anyone to know," said Harley. "I didn't want to be treated differently, or stared at, or talked about behind my back. Mel understands." And with a final nod, she descended the stairs.
"So you two really bonded, huh?" Kiyo said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"Jealous?" Mel tilted her head, smiling at him.
"Not at all. Now where were we?"
"You were going to give me something."
"Oh yes, that." He advanced, and Mel went a few steps further up.
"Tell you what," she said, smiling with all the seductive power of a Lianhan Sídhe. "If you can catch me before I reach the attic door, you can give me anything you want."
She pelted up the stairs, laughing as he cursed and ran after her. When he lagged behind, she tripped and slowed her pace—not at all on purpose, of course. And by complete chance, he caught up with her at the very last step.
***
Mel came to the dinner on Kiyo's arm, wearing a short scarlet cocktail dress. The long room where the contestants and staff used to breakfast had been rearranged, its walls draped in red tulle and its worn tables concealed with snowy white cloths, dotted with dinnerware and sparkling glasses. A savory aroma drifted from silver warmers along one side of the room.
Glossy dark curls tumbled over Mel's face. Her hair was trained to act as her shield and she didn't push it back. No need to put anyone off their dinner. They knew her truth now, but she didn't want to be a spectacle, any more than she already was.
When she walked in at Kiyo's side, heads turned, and she struggled to keep from hunching, from curling into herself. Instead she walked tall—head level, shoulders pinned back. Graceful. She felt Kiyo's eyes on her and wondered what he was thinking.
And then he told her. "You look beautiful tonight."
"Stop it," she snapped. "You're going to make me cry." She ground her teeth together, willing the tears back, because beauty shouldn't matter. What a man thought of her face shouldn't matter. But it did, when the man was Kiyo.
The murmur that had abated when they entered rose back to normal levels again, and Mel breathed easier. She picked out faces she knew, including some of the eliminated contestants, returning for the final celebration. A few of them smiled or nodded at her. It was odd, being visible, not being merely a useful pair of hands in the background.
Madame Boucher bustled up to them, glimmering in a sequined black dress.
"Alors, mes enfants," she said. "The show is over! A relief, yes? I know it is to me. Too much to manage in this building so old and full of drafts. Time for a new opportunity."
"Yes," said Kiyo. "And Mel mentioned your wonderful idea earlier today. I'd be honored to have you as my agent and manager, Madame Boucher. I think you'd be great at it."
Pure excitement shone in the woman's eyes. "I agree, and I accept! Come, there is someone you must meet."
She led them to a heavyset man in a crisp dark suit. He was deep in conversation with Archambeau, but as they approached, he turned, and his face brightened.
"Kiyo Darcy!" he said, stretching out a broad palm. "The man with the magic voice. I have to say, I was hoping you would win. Harley certainly clinched the final episode with a thrilling performance, but I think you were the most consistently brilliant contestant on the show."
"Thank you, sir."
"Kiyo, this is Mr. Ellison. He works for Mayfair Media, the company that will be producing Harley's album as part of her prize."
Mel's eyes widened. A producer. And he loved Kiyo's voice!
"Harley has mentioned the possibility of producing a single with you, Kiyo," said Mr. Ellison. "I think it's a wonderful idea, and in addition, we'd like you to consider doing an album with us. I know you didn't win, but I'd be a fool to pass up the chance to invest in a voice like yours. Do you write songs, too?"
"Yes, sir, I do." Kiyo's voice was breathless. Mel put her fingers through his, and he gripped them tightly.
"Good! Have your agent call me and we'll set up a meeting to discuss the details. You'll have to come to us though, out in L.A. Is that a problem?"
Kiyo's mouth hung open, so Mel intercepted. "No problem. I'm actually from L.A."
"Yes? What part?"
She chatted with him for a few minutes before gracefully ending the conversation when she sensed Archambeau's impatience. Kiyo steered her toward a knot of former contestants—Diwali, Jalana, and Ramon.
"We almost got there, huh?" Diwali clapped Kiyo on the shoulder.
"Almost."
"No sad faces for you though, right? I'm guessing you won't need the Playboys again?" He winked at Kiyo.
"Playboys?" Mel cocked her head.
"Never mind," Kiyo said quickly. "What are you all up to after tonight?"
"We're going to start a band," Jalana piped up, practically bursting with excitement. "We've got it all worked out. Diwali knows about a studio space we can use, and we're going to record videos and upload them to YouTube. We've already got an audience, thanks to the show—and with all three of us bringing our fans together, it's going to be lit!"
"I'm going to be front man," said Ramon, smiling serenely.
"Hey now, we talked about this," Jalana said, prodding his shoulder. "No front man. No front woman. Equal shares, equal glory."
"But somebody has to lead, to be the face of the band. I've got the physique and the talent to do it."
"What do you think you are, God's gift?"
"You're just salty 'cause I've got more fans than you."
Their argument faded as Kiyo and Mel edged away. After a long speech from Archambeau and an equally long line for the food, Mel could finally sit down beside Kiyo and relax a little—and eat. She felt hungrier than she had in a long time, and Kiyo plunged into the meal as if he were starving.
Several seats away, at the other end of the lengthy table, Mel glimpsed Eddie Carver, picking at his food and looking miserable. After a moment's thought, she slipped her phone out of her clutch and tapped out a text under the table. "Congratulations, Eddie. You put your protégé into the winner's seat after all. —R. P."
She watched him pull out his phone and turn pale as he read the text; and then she sent a quick follow-up.
"As it turns out, she did deserve the win. So I'm going to let you off the hook. You won't hear from me again. Enjoy your beef bourguignon. Oh, and Catherine keeps looking at you. You might want to hit that."
Eddie's wide eyes rose from his phone screen, traveling the perimeter of the long table. Mel tucked the phone away quickly and picked up her fork, smiling at Kiyo.
"What did you do?" he murmured.
"I fixed something," Mel replied. "And maybe I put something else together. We'll have to wait and see."
***
Weeks later, as she and Kiyo pulled into the L.A. headquarters of Mayfair Media, Mel got a text from Eddie Carver—a simple "Thank you," and a photo of him and Catherine in Las Vegas. She wore a wedding veil, and he wore a genuine smile. Mel
grinned.
"You drove too fast." Kiyo leaped out of the car, slamming the door.
"I wanted to get us here on time." Mel skipped to catch up to him, hooking her arm through his.
"Well, now we're early. And lucky to be alive."
"Oh, stop it. You drive worse than I do."
"I do not!"
Mel laughed. "You're cute when you're offended."
Kiyo faked a frown, but it melted in mere seconds. "So this is the place?"
"Yep."
"It's bigger than I imagined."
The media company's headquarters towered above them, the gilding on the front entrance gleaming in the morning sunshine. A warm breeze tossed the feathery palms flanking its doors.
"So first you're doing the recording session for your single with Harley, and then you're meeting with Mr. Ellison about your album. Madame Boucher will be joining us for that part. And then this evening we pick up your sister from the airport."
"Sounds like a busy day. We'd better get in there so I can start warming up."
But he didn't move. Mel ran her hand down his arm to find his palm wet with sweat, as she suspected it would be. "Kiyo, you don't have to be nervous. You sang in front of big crowds during Voices Rising—this is just a handful of people in a studio."
"Yeah, I know." He swallowed.
"Hey." She caught both his hands. "I'm right here. And you're going to be amazing. Wanna know how I know?"
He gazed down at her, his dark eyes warming her right down to her bones. "How?"
"Because they're going to be so busy staring at me in horror they won't notice any mistakes you make." Mel said it with a smile, but her insides were crawling with panic, with the urge to disappear into the nearest dark corner. But in this part of L.A., there weren't many "dark corner" options.
"So we're both scared stiff," said Kiyo.He didn't deny that people would stare, and she appreciated that. Honesty, not false flattery. He knew that no matter how beautiful she was to him, his love couldn't heal her ruined face.
But his love could make her stronger. Strong enough for this, and for everything else they would have to do.
"I'm going to kiss you before we go inside," she told him. "No muse magic—just me."
"My favorite kind of kiss," he whispered.
Magic and music came in many forms; but to Mel, the most perfect blend of the two was when their lips touched, and his heartbeat sang harmony with hers.
It was the best song ever.
THE END
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Acknowledgements
I'd like to give a shoutout to the #WritingCommunity on Twitter. Their talent, enthusiasm, and support is a constant source of encouragement to me. There are so many beautiful voices in indie author circles, and I feel privileged to be a part of that indomitable, crazy, creative, fun-loving crew.
To my husband, who always believes in me,
And my kids, who think I'm the world's greatest writer,
Thank you. You're everything.
The Monsters of Music Page 24