Melody of Truth (Love of a Rockstar Book 3) (16 page)

My finger tapped against my bottom lip as I considered a few activities. “Skydiving?”

“I puked in mid-air last time.”

“Bicycle around the park and a picnic?”

“Too out in the open.”

Since he turned down my ideas, I switched the spotlight on him. “Then tell me, what do YOU want to do?”

A devious expression flooded Sean’s face and I squealed as he yanked me against his chest and palmed my ass. “Guess.”

“Besides sex.”

He ran his hand up my spine and cupped my head, kissing me as if I were a candy he wanted to savor. He pulled away and said, “Your company is all I want Melody. We can be doing exactly this—hanging out, having sex, and talking until dawn. Nothing would make me happier, because no one lights up my world like you do.”

THE NEXT MORNING, SEAN SLIPPED
out early around eight thirty for a band meeting at a coffee shop down the street. Although he was running late, he made sure I was fully satisfied before leaving—as if the last six orgasms hadn’t done the trick. I wasn’t complaining though. My limbs felt loose, my stress levels had dissipated, and my mind was clear. Minus the guilt that hovered at the surface like scum, I couldn’t have been better.

I must have drifted back to sleep because a loud bang jerked me awake. Groggily, my gaze drifted around the room where it eventually landed on Jane. She was standing in the doorway with a shit-eating grin on her face and clutching a cup of coffee.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said breezily.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter past nine.”

Smoothing down the rat’s nest on top of my head, I swallowed thickly. “Is that for me?”

“No.” Jane took a long pull from the caffeinated beverage with a look of revenge in her eyes. She threw the now empty cup in the trashcan and wiped her mouth. “Delicious.”

“You’re such a bitch. I’m not the one who arranged an ambush with our father.”

“Right. You just left me standing in the middle of a strange city and didn’t answer your phone until one in the morning.”

“I was busy,” I grumbled.

“Busy getting fucked two ways to Sunday.”

“You’re so vulgar.”

She laughed and perched herself on the edge of the bed as if she had no plans to leave. “How was he?”

“I’m not discussing that with you.”

“Why? Don’t be such a prude.”

“You’re my sister, and besides, how do you know we even had sex?” Jane arched a groomed eyebrow and gave me a look that said
I’m not an idiot
. I slumped back onto the pile of pillows with a groan. “Fine, yes we had sex, and it was life ruining.”

“In a good way?”

“A very very good way.”

Clapping her hands together, she bounced up and down on the mattress. “Yay! I knew it would be.”

“Why are you so excited? I’m still engaged to Marco and am going to be walking down the aisle with the word
cheater
stamped on my forehead.”

“Please, as if he hasn’t cheated before.”

“He wouldn’t do that. Just because I couldn’t resist temptation doesn’t mean Marco is as weak as me.”

“Would you care if he did?

“I don’t have the right to.”

She scoffed. “What a load of bullshit. If you’d cared for Marco at all before you met Sean, there would be a dash of anger or jealously at least, but it’s like you convinced yourself to fall in love with Marco without ever actually loving him. Jesus, I thought I had issues.” I threw a pillow at her and she glared and huffed out a breath. “You know I’m right.”

“Right or not, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m marrying Marco tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you’re going through with it.”

As a prospective bride, excitement and joy about your upcoming nuptials keep you awake at night. Then, at last, the day you have waited for finally arrives, and you get to walk into the future as Mr. and Mrs. For me, that wasn’t the reason sleep was hard to come by. For me it was because when I pictured walking into any future now, it wasn’t with Marco. It was with Sean. Crap on a cracker.

Sensing my distress, Jane smiled. “Maybe Marco will find someone else.”

“Doubtful.”

“You could divorce after two years, and then run and reclaim the man you truly want.”

“He is a rock star, Jane. He isn’t going to wait two years for me.”

The whole conversation was seriously depressing, and the afterglow of my amazing night with Sean had dimmed. Glumly, I got out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“To shower.”

“Can we grab some breakfast after? Ash offered to make me scrambled eggs, but I was afraid there was a catch, like I had to eat them naked or something.”

“Sure. Is Dad going to be there?”

Her eyebrows pulled together in mock innocence. “No, why would he be?”

“Jane…”

Coming clean, she yelled, “Come on, for me! You can stay for two minutes and then leave.”

“I’ll go if he apologizes.”

“You know how Dad is.”

“Stubborn, pig-headed, would rather chop off his own arm than admit he is wrong? I’m familiar, but he said he some really hurtful things. I’m not sure I can sit across from him and act as if everything is peachy keen.”

“He loves you and wants what’s best for you.”

A laugh devoid of humor spilled from my lips. “What’s best for him isn’t what’s best for me.”

“I know that, but our family is small enough as it is. Don’t cut him out. Talk to him, tell him how you feel, and use your inside voice when you do it.”

My sister sounded like an actual mature adult, which put my own brattiness in perspective. “Fine. Where are we meeting him?”

“Bread and Butterfly in ten minutes.”

“Can’t wait,” I drawled sarcastically, shutting the bathroom door behind me.              

THE CUTE FRENCH-INSPIRED BISTRO WAS
an Instagrammer’s wet dream with its jade tile navy accents and plush leather booths. Once upon a time, my dad would have hated this restaurant. He had always preferred no frill burger joints, but Kristen had opened his mind to other cuisine, which was a godsend for his arteries.

The hostess led my sister and me outside to the enclosed patio. Handing us three menus, she spouted off the specials and told us our waiter would be with us shortly.

“They are known for their oatmeal,” Jane informed me. “They use locally grown sprouted oats and in-season preserves along with a few choice toppings like toasted coconut, pecans, and honey.”

“I don’t care how you dress it, oatmeal taste like cardboard.” My eyes bugged out of my skull when I spotted the price. “Twelve bucks?! Are they insane?”

“You haven’t tasted it yet.”

“And I don’t plan to. I can go home and make oatmeal for three dollars.”

“You’re such a cheapskate.”

“And proud of it.”

Jane shook her head with an amused tilt of her lips. “What are you having then?”

“I’m not sure.”

Scanning the sidewalk, I spotted my father walking toward us. He was hard to miss in a plaid pink and blue button-down t-shirt and shorts. My father’s fashion sense had gone dramatically downhill since moving to Arizona.

“Jesus,” Jane muttered. “Can he get any more embarrassing?”

“He could be wearing a fanny pack.”

He waved as he approached our table and hitched up his shorts before he took a seat. Amongst the hipsters and business professionals, my father stuck out like a sore thumb. “Sorry I’m late. One of my printers broke at the shop and it was complete mayhem. We had an order of a thousand brochures that were due today. Poor Larry was having a meltdown.” He chuckled. “Work doesn’t stop when you’re on vacation.”

“Where’s Kristen?” Jane asked.

“Off shopping.” Cracking open the menu, he studied the options and frowned. “Duck fat fries? Huh.”

Trying to appease him, my sister pointed out the pancakes. “They’re buttermilk, your favorite.”

“Great. I’ll have that.” I could feel his eyes on me as I looked at anything but him. He was a fool if he thought our whole argument would be swept under the rug. “How are you, Melody?”

“Fine.”

“How’s the documentary coming?”

“Good.”

At my one-syllable answers, he growled. “God dammit. Is this really how you’re going to act?”

My gaze met his as I controlled my voice to remain calm. “Is there another way you would prefer? I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“I’m sorry about what I said—”

“Are you? Because it sure seemed like you meant every word.”

His hands rested on his stomach as he leaned back and assessed me. “Do you want to be with Marco?”

The question knocked me off guard, partly because it was out of leftfield, and partly because I wasn’t sure about my answer any more. After my night with Sean, everything had changed. He’d knocked down my walls and showed me the beauty in giving your whole heart to someone.

My dad filled in my silence. “Ignore your head. What’s your gut saying?”

“No.” My eyes widened at how easily the answer slipped free, as if it had been there the whole time, just waiting for me to find it.

“Whenever I heard you talk about Marco on the phone, it was in this flat tone. You didn’t sound excited to become his wife. Your mother, the romantic, would have been devastated if you didn’t get a fairytale.”

I smiled. “She used to make us watch
Sleepless in Seattle
every year on Valentine’s Day.”

“With a bowl of Red Hots and popcorn,” Jane said.

A wistful expression flooded his face as he sighed. “God, I miss her.”

I figured since my dad had entered a new relationship, the hole in his chest had been spackled. “You have Kristen, though.”

“Kristen is an amazing woman, but your mom was the love of my life. We had twenty-three glorious years together, which began at the winter ball at Ohio State. Struck by her beauty, I asked her if she wanted to dance, and to my surprise, she said yes.”

“You wouldn’t have changed things if you’d known the tragic outcome?”

My dad looked stricken at the mere suggestion. “Not for a minute.”

“But you where completely wrecked by her death.

“Twenty odd years of memories is better than having none at all, and those memories are what keep your mother alive for me. I can’t fathom trading them in because I was scared of what the future might hold.” My dad leaned forward on his elbows. “I don’t have a single regret in life. Who else can say that?”

Jane scoffed. “Everyone has regrets, like the time I wore white pants to school and forgot it was my time of the month. Regrets are natural.”

“True, but those are small regrets. I’m talking getting on your motorcycle drunk and losing your leg kind of regret.”

I blanched. “Can we save the morbid talk for after we eat?”

My dad grinned. “I forgot what a sensitive stomach you have.”

“After witnessing my fair share of atrocities, it doesn’t roll at the sight of blood or mayhem any more, but it’s nine in the morning, which is way too early to talk about loosing limbs.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Is there someone else who has caught your eye?”

Jane lurched forward in her seat, eager to spill the beans. “Sea—” I kicked my sister in the shin. “OW! What was that for? He has the right to know.”

My father didn’t need the full 411 on my love life. There where certain aspects that were better left in the dark until I figured out how to raise the money for Hendrix. Sean had offered to do a benefit concert, but I didn’t want him to shoulder my problem. There had to be another solution on the horizon and quick, because my wedding was a mere twenty-four hours away.