Twisted Love (Twisted, #1)(92)
Microphone feedback rippled through the air, and the crowd quieted. The fellowship director walked on stage and thanked everyone for attending, she hoped they were having a good time, blah blah blah. I tuned her out, too intent on my search to pay attention.
Where was he?
Alex wasn’t one to hide in the shadows unless he didn’t want to be seen, and I couldn’t think of any reason he’d want to lie low tonight.
“…special performance. Please put your hands together for Alex Volkov!”
This was maddening. Had something—wait, what?
My head snapped up, and my stomach tumbled into freefall.
There he was. Black tuxedo, unreadable expression, his hair gleaming golden brown beneath the lights. There were almost two hundred people in the room, but his eyes found mine immediately.
My pulse thumped with anticipation.
What was he doing onstage?
I got my answer a minute later.
“I realize this is quite a surprise, as a live performance wasn’t in the program tonight,” Alex said. “And if you know me, you know I’m not famous for my patronage of the arts—or my singing skills.” Soft laughter rippled through the crowd, along with a few knowing looks. Alex waited for the chuckles to die down before he continued, his gaze burning into mine. “Whether it’s music, photography, film, or painting, the arts reflect the world around us, and for too long, I only saw the dark side. The seedy underbellies, the ugly truths. Photographs reminded me of moments in time that never lasted. Songs reminded me that words have the power to rip one’s heart out. Why, then, would I care about art when it was so terrible and destructive?” It was a bold statement to make in front of London’s art world, but no one heckled. No one so much as breathed. Alex had us all under the spell of his words. “Then someone came into my life and upended everything I thought I knew. She was everything I wasn’t—pure-hearted, trusting, optimistic. She showed me the beauty that existed in this world, and through her, I learned the power of faith. Joy. Love. But I’m afraid I’ve tainted her with my untruths, and I’m hoping, with all of my heart, that one day she’ll find her way out of the darkness and into the light again.”
The room rang with breathless silence at the end of Alex’s speech. My heart was pounding, pounding so hard I felt it in my throat. My stomach. My toes. I felt it in every inch of me.
Then he opened his mouth again, and my heart stopped altogether. Because the voice that came out and filled the room? It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.
It wasn’t just me, either—everyone stared at Alex with rapt fascination, and I was pretty sure a few of the women straight-up swooned.
I pressed my fist to my mouth as the lyrics flowed over me. It was a song about love and heartbreak. Betrayal and redemption. Regret and forgiveness. Each word tore me apart, as did the fact that Alex sang at all. No matter how much I’d cajoled or begged in the past, it was the one thing he’d refused to do.
Until now.
I understood why he’d refused. Alex didn’t just sing, he sang. With emotion, with beauty, with so much rawness it took my breath away. He bared his soul with each note, and for a man who thought his soul was irrevocably damned, the thought of doing that in front of an audience must’ve been unbearable.
Alex finished to thunderous applause. His gaze lingered on mine for one long moment before he disappeared offstage, and the crowd broke up into excited chatter and gasps.
My feet moved before I could think, but I only made it two steps before Diane stopped me.
“Ava, before you leave, there’s someone I want you to meet,” she said. “The editor of World Geographic is here, and they’re always looking for talented young photographers.”
“I—okay.” I looked around, but I didn’t see Alex anywhere.
“Is everything all right? You seem distracted.” Diane examined me with concern. “You’ve been talking about World Geographic all year. I thought you’d be more excited.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m just a little overwhelmed.” Normally, I would’ve fangirled at the thought of meeting the editor of World Geographic, a travel and culture magazine famous for its stunning photographs and storytelling, but all I could think about was Alex.
“That was quite a performance, huh?” Diane grinned as she led me toward an older man with silver-streaked hair and a thick beard. Laurent Boucher. I recognized him immediately. “If I were twenty years younger…”
I forced a weak laugh.
“Not that it would do me much good. He seemed to only have eyes for you.” She winked at me.
Heat rose on my face, and I mumbled an incoherent response before we reached Laurent.
“Diane, good to see you again.” Laurent’s deep voice rumbled with a charming French accent as he air-kissed her. “You look lovely as always.”
“You’re always such a charmer.” Diane inclined her head toward me. “Laurent, I want you to meet Ava. She’s the fellow I was telling you about.”
“Ah, of course.” Laurent turned his piercing dark eyes on me. “I was talking to Diane about your exhibit earlier this evening. You’re quite talented—young still, and your work could use a little more refinement, but you have extraordinary potential.”
“Thank you, sir.” Between Alex’s performance and praise from Laurent freakin’ Boucher, this whole evening was surreal.