Twisted Perfection

know the band will start up in ten minutes.” Macy continued on her way and Della followed quickly behind her.
    “She’s singing at what is basically your engagement party,” Jace said from behind me. I’d forgotten he was standing there.
    “It’s not my engagement party,” I growled.
    “You just got engaged and the whole room is talking about your upcoming wedding. So it’s pretty damn close.”

    “Shut up, Jace.”

Della

    If there was any possible way I could get out of this without quitting I would. I had been singing all my life, in my house. But then that had been to escape my mother and my reality. Not in front of people. I loved to sing and the mirror and hairbrush had been my companions most of my life while I sang to my pretend audience. That had been fantasy.
    I had never been sure my singing was even decent. My mother had loved to hear me sing but she had never been a good judge of anything.
    I had opened my mouth to explain this to the lady who had introduced herself as “Macy Kemp, The Kerrington Club event coordinator” but she hadn’t let me say much. Instead, she informed the kitchen I was being used elsewhere and began dragging me behind her.
    I had expected Woods to stop this insanity when he’d seen us but he hadn’t. He had appeared as confused as I felt but he hadn’t stopped this.
    I looked down at the short, clingy, silver dress I was now wearing. The back was out and the neckline dipped low in the front. I felt bare. In more ways than one.
    “They won’t be looking at you much. They are too busy in their little elitist herds. You just sing so they’ll have music and can dance if they want to,” Macy informed me as she shoved me up the steps toward the skeptical band members. I couldn’t say that I blamed them.
    “You’re our replacement?” one asked with a hiss of annoyance in his voice.
    “At least they’ll be looking at her body and won’t hear how bad we sound,” another grumbled and pulled his guitar strap over his head.
    “What can you sing, sugar?” an older guy with a balding head asked.
    I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t ask for this. I met each of their angry and annoyed glares with one of my own. I’d heard them earlier. They weren’t that good. Who did they think they were treating me like I was here to screw up their lives on purpose? If their lead singer had paid attention to his allergies this wouldn’t have happened.
    I walked past each of them before turning to look at the one who had condescendingly asked me what I could sing. “I can sing anything you throw at me,” I replied then walked out on stage like the diva I was not .
    The familiar tune of Adele’s “Someone Like You,” began to play and I was equally relieved I knew the words and sick at my stomach because the popularity of the song was drawing attention from the guests. I had been hoping to be ignored.
    I joined the piano with the first melancholy lyrics.
    Instead of looking out at the ballroom, I locked eyes with the piano player of the group. The approval in his eyes flashed with excitement and relief as I sang each line.
    Just as I had in my room growing up, I blocked out everything else around me and I got lost in the lyrics and the music. This had been my way of coping with the craziness of my life. I used it now to deal with the reality of my life.

    We moved on to “Ain’t No Other Man”, the Christina Aguilera version. It got the room to wake up some with the fun tune. So far I had managed not to make eye contact with Woods although I knew exactly where he was standing. I could feel his eyes on me.
    “Can you harmonize?” the lead guitar asked me.
    I nodded and he looked back at the other members and nodded.
    Lady Antebellum’s “Just A Kiss” started up.
    We had successfully made it to the bridge when I glanced out over the room to see Woods dancing with a tall elegant blonde. I knew I needed to look away. Seeing him and having an image of him with her on my brain would drive me crazy. But I couldn’t. She smiled up at him and talked as he looked over her shoulder at nothing really. He seemed cold. Nothing like the guy I’d been with.
    This time he must have felt my eyes on him because he turned his head my way and our gazes met. Each word sounded like I was singing to him. I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. But it felt that way. As the song came to an end I tore my eyes off him and swore to myself I wouldn’t look his way again.

    An hour later I’d