Listen to Your Heart(45)

“None of us have been saints in this situation. We’re all a big bunch of liars.”

“I know, but I’m beginning to think Luisa Martinez is the most conniving one of all.”

I can’t believe this. “When did you become such a cold-hearted bitch?”

Lynsey’s eyes flash with hurt.

“Right. I’m the cold-hearted bitch.”

“Lyns—”

She walks over to the door. “I’m going back to my office to flip through Deacon’s portfolio. You go right ahead and order those black dresses.”

“The doctor says the memory loss could be temporary,” I mumble.

“It won’t be! I guarantee that particular lapse in memory will be a permanent one.”

Tears swim in my eyes as I stare at my computer screen. How can she be so heartless and cruel?

She’s almost out the door when she stops and turns to face me. Her voice is soft and low.

“God forgive me if I’m wrong, but I’d bet my entire life savings that Mrs. Martinez remembers every single detail of that conversation. She wants this wedding so much that she’s willing to manipulate everyone around her. All of you are letting her get away with it, and my best friend is getting screwed in the process. If that makes me a cold-hearted bitch, then so be it.”

She slams the door as she leaves.





I’m walking around the music room when I notice Eli having trouble with a chord.

“Hey, Eli. Need some help?”

He nods, so I sit down next to him and show him the correct pattern for the B7. It’s a tough one, especially for the hand of a ten-year-old guitarist.

“This sucks,” he says with a groan.

“It’s not the easiest chord. Even for adults.”

With a heavy sigh, he tries again. His frustration surprises me. I know he’s just a kid, but Eli’s usually more patient with himself.

“Caleb, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

He looks over his shoulder to make sure no one’s listening.

“Do you, uh . . . ever get sick of practicing?”

I have a feeling that’s not what he really wants to talk about, but I play along.

“When I was your age, yeah. Practice isn’t a whole lot of fun.”

“So why do it?”

I nod toward his guitar. “May I?”

Eli hands me his instrument and watches closely while I place my fingers on the fret board. I strum the chord, and his eyes light up.

“That’s why you practice. Because someday, you’ll come across a song with that chord, and you’ll be proud of yourself when you can play it.”

He nods thoughtfully and watches my fingers as I shift between chords.

“Caleb?”

“Yeah?”

“You really like Aunt Skye, right?”

“I love her.”

“I don’t really understand how love’s supposed to work.”

Maybe his frustration isn’t about the chord after all. Maybe it’s a girl.

“I’m not really an expert on love, either. I just know how happy your aunt makes me.”

“My parents used to love each other. Now all they do is fight.”

Not a girl.

“Sometimes that happens with adults.”

“They fall out of love?”

With a nod, I give him a sympathetic smile and hand him his guitar. He half-heartedly works on the chord. I feel bad for the kid. Obviously he needs to talk about this, but I don’t know much about his parents’ situation. Maybe I should text Skye.

“Do they fall out of love with their kids, too?”

The boy’s voice is just a whisper, but the pain is undeniable.

“Your parents love you, Eli.”

He shrugs. “Dad works all the time.”

“You miss him.”

He shrugs again. It’s a typical kid response, but it kills me that he’s feeling this way.

“We could do something. Go to a movie, maybe.”

“That’d be cool. It’s not the same, though.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Eli keeps working on the chord while I check on some of the other students. I’m helping one of my girls with her violin when I feel someone watching me. Looking up, I smile when I see Skye standing in the doorway, peeking in through the glass window.

The last few days have been a weird combination of heaven and hell. We’ve spent every night together, and waking up with Skye is the happiest moment of my day. I hate the no-sex condition of our sleepovers—and I suspect she hates it, too—but I’m okay with it because I know it’s important to her. It’s when we’re apart that the reality of our situation comes crashing down, and I’ve come to realize that I’m not the same man I was just a few months ago.

I don’t want to marry Juliana. Not even for the sake of her mother’s happiness.

I was fine with it . . . before. Before Skye. Before I fell in love. But things are different now, and I don’t want to say wedding vows—no matter how fake they might be—to anyone but Skye.

She’s it for me. I knew it from the first moment I laid eyes on her. We still have a lot to learn about each other and this gigantic mess to clean up before we can even think about marriage, but I want it. I’ve wanted it since the day I saw her standing in that wedding dress. I don’t want to see anyone else walking down the aisle to meet me at the altar.