Broken Chords (Songs and Sonatas Book 4)

by Jerica MacMillan

  “I’m Damian,” I answer woodenly as I try to figure out what he’s saying. “Wait a second. You think that girl over there”—I point at Charlie—“is Charlotte James?”

  “Damian.” He repeats my name like he’s trying to place it and gives a slow shake of his head, his eyebrows pinching together. “I don’t think I’ve heard of you.”

  “I’m not sure why you would have.”

  His eyes widen. “Is that false modesty, or are you being serious?”

  I raise my eyebrows, inviting him to come to his own conclusion, because I’m ready for this farce of a conversation to be over. I’ve learned that being quiet is the quickest way to either get people to spill their guts or decide to move on. Hopefully this guy will go for the second option, but if he chooses the first, it could be entertaining.

  He looks at me expectantly for a moment before sipping his drink and looking at Charlie again. “To answer your question, yes. That girl over there is Charlotte James. You can drop the act. I know she’s trying to fly under the radar, but I’d recognize her voice and the way she moves anywhere. I’ll admit the weight gain threw me more than the hair change, but after watching her today, I’m sure it’s her. Plus, the way Jonathan treats her is a dead giveaway. Those two have been close for years. Surely you’ve seen them in the papers.” His eyebrows raise, like I’d be a moron to admit otherwise.

  And I have seen Charlotte James’s name paired with Jonathan’s. Or at least his stage name, Jonny B. I remember Gabby talking about them last year before she dropped out. Something about being annoyed that the press kept making it seem like he was going to get together with Charlotte when they’ve always been like brother and sister.

  I look closely at Charlie, watching the way she’s interacting with Gabby and Jonathan. He stands and hugs her again, leaning down to say something in her ear. Gabby watches them, a smile on her face. No trace of jealousy. Like she knows their relationship is close and approves of it. Meaning it’s no threat to her. Like Jonathan and Charlie are like siblings.

  Jonathan’s eyes meet mine as he releases Charlie from their hug. He says something else, and she whips around, her face panicky before her expression shutters behind that mask I hate. Now more than ever. Because I saw that panic, and I want to know what it means. Why is she panicking? Because she’s worried I’m finding out the truth?

  I bend my arm, bringing my glass to my numb lips. Swallowing hard, I never take my eyes off Charlie as she says something to Jonathan and Gabby and starts making her way across the room.

  “So how do you know Charlotte James?” I manage to keep my voice calm as I ask the question, and my companion doesn’t seem to notice that anything is amiss.

  “Oh, we dated for a while. Nothing serious. Something our publicists set up. Is that how you got this date with her?” He asks the question like he’s asking what I thought of the cake. Normal small talk.

  I move my head, a single gesture of denial. “No. In fact, I asked her to come with me.”

  He lets out a low whistle of appreciation and claps me on the shoulder. “Good for you, man. Just being photographed with her helped my career, getting me more attention, which meant more album sales and more radio play. Hopefully you’ll get the same kind of boost.” His smug congratulatory demeanor changes as Charlie approaches, and a smooth smile takes over his face. The transformation from self-important blowhard to unctuous schmoozer happens before my eyes.

  He holds out a hand to Charlie, who comes to my side, her arm sliding around my waist. “Charlotte. So good to see you again.”

  I look down at her, wondering how she’ll react to this guy. Say she doesn’t know him? Tell him her name’s Charlie? But I know that Charlie is short for Charlotte. She’s told me that. Her full name is Charlotte Baxter.

  She glances at me, that false smile on her lips, her eyes scanning my face. Whatever she sees must help her make her decision, because she turns back to the guy holding her other hand. “Sam. So good to see you. How have you been?”

  “Great,” he gushes, his other hand now covering hers, as though to hold her in place. “You helped me out so much last year. Thank you for that.”

  She lets out a soft laugh, gently trying to tug her hand out from between his. “Don’t mention it. You also helped quash the rumors that I was getting together with Jonny B. As we all can see, nothing could have been further from the truth. I don’t like being the source of my friends’ distress, so being seen with another guy helped take the attention off him and I together.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he says, placing a kiss on the back of her hand before finally releasing it.

  I grind my teeth together to keep myself from blowing up. She knows him. She dated him.

  She’s Charlotte James.

  The world tilts as this realization sinks in, and I clutch Charlie—no, Charlotte—tightly to my side to steady myself. The knuckles of my other hand turn white as I squeeze my glass hard so I don’t drop it. What I want to do is throw it.

  Charlie relaxes against me after Sam leaves, like she’s relieved about something. I shift my feet, relaxing my hold on Charlie.

  She turns to me. “Damian?”

  I shake my head, closing my eyes, taking a deep breath through my nose. When I open my eyes, her expression has broken out of its mask, now covered in concern.

  She reaches for me, but I pull back. Hurt flashes across her face, then she smooths her expression into practiced blandness. But the way she swallows hard and seems to gather herself to face me gives away the emotion surging under the surface.

  Good. I’m being swept out to sea by the storm raging inside me, nothing to hold onto. It’s fitting that she should experience even a fraction of what I’m feeling right now.

  She smooths down her skirt. The skirt I lifted just over an hour ago, bending her over the bed and taking her from behind when we made a quick stop in our room to “freshen up” between the ceremony and the reception.

  I’ve been fucking a popstar.

  A broken laugh escapes me at the absurd thought.

  I’ve never thought about making love to Charlie in those terms before. But now that I know she’s been deceiving me all along? What else could it have been?

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  She flinches at my low, angry voice. It’s taking everything in me not to shout. I want to reach inside myself and wrench all my questions out to fling at her one by one like knives. Knives that cut me as much as her. Because I know that each answer will destroy me even more.

  “Yes.” Her answer is soft, almost inaudible over the music and conversation surrounding us.

  This time my bark of laughter is bitter and sarcastic. “When?”

  She meets my gaze, her eyes dark pools of blue regret. “Next week.”

  I nod, wiping a hand over my mouth and looking away. I can’t stay in here anymore. Turning, I start toward the door. I have to get out of here.

  “Damian.” Charlie’s heels tap a syncopated rhythm over the wooden floor as she trots to catch up with me. “Damian. Wait. Where are you going? Can we talk about this? Please?”

  The please is delivered on a desperate sob. And the real pain in her voice is enough to stop me in my tracks. I nod once, swallowing. “Yes. But not in here. I can’t … Not here.”

  She nods and puts her hand on the crook of my elbow, but I pull away again. Dropping her hand, she takes a tiny step back. “Sorry. I just … there’s a walking path off the patio. I thought we could go there.”

  With a nod, I gesture for her to lead the way, the realization hitting me that she’s been here before. That’s why she knows about that. God, I’m an idiot.

  “Did you get a kick out of me not knowing who you were? Go home and laugh with your friends about it? Who else knows? Lauren? Obviously Gabby and Jonathan know. What about my roommates? Do they know too? Were you all just laughing at me?”

  She whirls around at my first question, her hands gripping my arms no matter how I
try to pull away. “God, no! No! Never! Don’t think that!” She gives me a little shake with each denial, her eyes blazing. Then she realizes what she’s doing and lets me go, her fingers popping open and releasing me as she takes a step back. With her eyes closed, she takes a deep breath, smoothing her hands down her skirt again.

  “Lauren’s the only one at Marycliff who knows. Well, the only student. The Dean knows, and I’m sure a few other people in the university’s executive offices. But not even the music department faculty know the truth.”

  We haven’t gotten far. We’re in the hallway outside the ballroom, just far enough away that the sounds are muted and no one’s around.

  I cross my arms. “Who’s Charlotte Baxter?”

  “I am.”

  I raise an eyebrow, and she straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin.

  “I am. My legal name is Charlotte Daphne Baxter. Charlotte James is my stage name. It was supposed to give me a layer of anonymity so that I could still have a normal life off stage when I was a kid.” She shrugs and looks away, her posture relaxing as her arms fold across her torso, one hand rubbing above the opposite elbow. “That lasted only until I got my first hit single. Then I was too recognizable. It didn’t matter what I called myself. Everyone knew who I was anyway.”

  Nodding, I accept that. My little sister’s a big fan. I remember when she became obsessed with Charlotte James as a kid. She was everywhere. Still is. Until recently. Because she’s been slumming with me, apparently.

  “Why?”

  Her eyes reconnect with mine. “Why what?”

  I make a broad, encompassing gesture with my hand. “All of it. Why come to Marycliff? Why date me? Why the subterfuge? Why not tell me the truth? What else have you lied to me about?”

  “Nothing.” She steps forward and grabs my hand. “Damian, you have to believe me. I haven’t lied to you about anything.”

  “Except who you are. That seems like a pretty big thing, no?”

  She shakes her head hard, her eyes filling with tears, her lips forming the word No but no sound coming out. She sucks in a breath, a tear leaving a glimmering track on her cheek. So perfect, so beautiful, even in distress.

  “No, Damian. I left out a detail. I didn’t lie.”

  I laugh then. A real laugh. “A detail? You call being one of the biggest popstars in the world a detail?”

  She drops my hand and takes a step back. “It’s …” She looks around, as though inspiration for a winning explanation will come from the walls. Her gaze meets mine again, her face composed, her hands still and folded in front of her, the picture of polite and presentable. “I want to say that it’s not that big of a deal, but clearly it is to you.” She gestures at me, and it looks so polished, so practiced. And it hits me that she’s using her experiences handling unwanted attention to deal with me.

  My diaphragm freezes, and I can’t breathe. This. All of this. Is an act. But how much of what I know is real? And how much is this—this facade?

  I shake my head, taking a step back. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Yes.” She takes a step toward me again, her hands reaching out, but they drop when I hold my hands up, palms out. But she continues, eyes determined, voice urgent. “Yes, you do. I’m Charlie. I’m the girl who loves you. Everything you know about me is true.”

  “No.” My voice is dead sounding. “No. I don’t think I know anything about you. I don’t know what’s real and what’s an act. I can’t …” I look away, past her, at the open ballroom doors where sounds of music and laughter spill out, a sharp contrast to the detonation of everything I thought I knew about my relationship happening right now.

  “We came for a wedding. For our friends. Well, your friends. Gabby’s my friend. Or was my friend. I don’t feel like I know her all that much either, right now. Apparently you know her better than me. Which is”—I shake my head again, slowly—“extremely weird. I don’t know what to do with that piece of information.”

  “It’s not …” Tears shimmer over her blue eyes, but she looks up and blinks them away. Her gaze is clear when it lands on me again. Further proof that she’s a masterful actress as well as whatever else she may be. Pop princess. Superstar.

  “I met Gabby through Jonathan. Jonathan and his brothers were on tour with me when Brash had their big hit. Do you remember that?”

  I nod, more out of ingrained politeness than actual answer, but she continues.

  “Right. We became friends. There was some stunt where our moms decided it would be good publicity for both of us if we were dating, so they had us go out. But Jonathan was always more like the big brother I never had. We never had any kind of chemistry. And we stayed friends, even after their star faded and mine continued to rise.” She blinks a few more times and swallows hard. “I’ve hung out with them together a handful of times, more since Gabby joined Jonathan’s tour. And we’ve talked on the phone quite a bit, especially when I was applying to Marycliff. Gabby introduced me to Lauren, helped me prepare my audition for the music department, and came house shopping with Lauren and me after I got accepted.”

  I jerk at that. “Shopping? You own that house?”

  She gives the barest nod, as though she’s loathe to admit that. “Yes,” she whispers. “It seemed like the easiest thing to do.” A shrug, a hand lifted in a gesture almost like helplessness. “I can afford it, so …”

  “Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand. She’s talking about buying a house out of convenience. I can’t even fathom what that’s like.

  Taking another step back, I shake my head again. “I can’t do this right now. I need to think. I need some time.”

  This time she grabs my hand again. “Please, Damian. Please don’t end this. I love you.”

  I wrench my hand away. “Do you? Because keeping a huge secret like this isn’t the kind of thing you’d do to someone you love.” I jab my finger into my chest. “I fell in love with you. Or at least whatever version of you that you’ve been playing the last few months. But this? The you that guy in there dated to get a leg up in his career? I have no idea who that girl is. And honestly? I’m not sure I want to. I can’t—” I hold my hands up again. “I’ve been completely honest and open with you. I’ve taken you to meet my family. You’ve heard all my embarrassing stories. You know my entire sexual history. You know everything about me. I barely know anything about you, about your history. And it turns out, I know even less than I thought. You’re a vault, Charlie. Or should I call you Charlotte?” She starts shaking her head, but I don’t give her a chance to respond. “That just proves my point, though. I don’t even know which name people call you. I don’t know anything about you.”

  “People I care about call me Charlie,” she whispers.

  “Maybe I should call you Charlotte, then,” I respond, my voice barely louder than hers. “Because you don’t care enough about me to tell me the truth. I’m not sure you really care about me at all.”

  At her stricken look, I want to call the words back as soon as they’re out of my mouth. But I can’t unsay them.

  I open my mouth to say something—anything. But no words come. I don’t know how to follow that up. So I close it again, clearing my throat and looking away.

  “Well,” she says, her voice steady now, almost normal.

  If I didn’t know her better, I’d think it was normal. But do I really know her better?

  “I’ll give you time. Since that’s what you said you need.” With that, she turns and heads back to the ballroom.

  I stare after her for a moment, astonished that she’s going back to the party. And then I see her smile at someone in greeting, acting like nothing’s wrong.

  My heart cracks. Audibly. A popping sound in my ears.

  I blink a few times as she vanishes back into the room full of people, staring at the space she just occupied. Watching as others move into the void. And it seems fitting. Symbolic.

  But I don’t know if anyone will ever fill the v
oid she’s left inside me.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Broken chord: a chord in which the notes are played successively rather than all at once

  Charlie

  Two hours later, I raise my hand to knock at the door to our hotel room. I hesitate, considering my options. But I don’t have a choice. I didn’t bring my key card to the wedding or the reception. I don’t have pockets, and it seemed silly to carry a purse. Especially when Damian had his key in his pocket.

  What if he’s not here?

  The unwelcome thought flits through my mind. I guess if he doesn’t answer I can go use the phone by the elevator to call security to come let me into my room.

  I hope he answers, though. The last two hours have been excruciating. Once Sam let on who I was, more people started recognizing me. I did my best to pretend like everything is fine, even though I really just wanted to crawl into a dark corner and cry.

  But everyone wanted to talk to me, find out where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing since this summer. I mostly gave out generic nonanswers—my specialty. Everyone’s curiosity makes it clear that my months of blissful anonymity are over. I have no idea what this will mean for continuing my degree. At this point, all I care about is what it will mean for Damian and me.

  Straightening my spine, I knock three times. Not too softly, but not demanding entry either.

  And I wait.

  After a few seconds that stretch from here to eternity, the door cracks open, and Damian’s face appears. He blinks at me a few times.

  I swallow and smooth my hands down my skirt, a nervous habit that I force myself to stop, clenching my hands into fists at my side. “The reception is winding down. Jonathan and Gabby have left. I wondered if after two hours you’re ready to talk to me.”

  He props the door open with his shoulder and crosses his arms. He’s not wearing his glasses, so his red-rimmed eyes are extra obvious. “I’m not sure what else there is to say.” His voice is gruff, hoarse.

  “I thought you might want to ask questions.” I came up with this plan between dodging questions from well-meaning acquaintances and self-serving opportunists looking to sell me out to the tabloids in exchange for more coverage. I also hid amongst the wedding party. Jonathan, Gabby, and Lauren, plus Jonathan and Gabby’s siblings, made for an effective smokescreen when the questions got to be too much. They also allowed me to formulate what to do to try to fix this.