Lindy clears her throat, pulling me back to reality.
“You two are adorable, you know that?” She winks at Kyle, like they share some kind of secret.
Kyle grins back at her. I love seeing him like this—happy, at ease, opening up.
“They do make a cute couple,” Kate says, reaching over to pour merlot into her glass.
“A toast,” Lindy says, raising her glass. “To new friends and new love.”
Love?For a moment I think she’s talking about her and Kate, but they aren’t new love, are they? I glance to Kyle who smiles and touches his glass to mine.
I clink glasses with the others, still mulling over the love comment. Are my feelings so easy to read? Because I sure as fuck feel something special for Kyle. And Kyle? How does he feel about me?
“I’m so glad I met you all,” Kyle says. “I’ve had an amazing time.”
“Me too,” I say, giving him a soft smile. “Best decision I ever made, coming on this ship.”
His eyes linger on mine and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—that we could have the beginning of something special. I want to say something but for now, I simply drink in the sight of him, memorising every detail. The faint freckles on his nose, the unruly curl falling over his forehead, the way he smiles. I want to remember it all. No matter what happens when we leave this ship, I’ll always have this perfect memory of us.
As the night wears on, the fact this is the last night of the cruise weighs heavily on me. I know I can’t let Kyle go without at least giving him a hint of how I feel. An idea forms as I look at the baby grand piano in the corner.
I drain my wine and rise from my seat.
Kyle looks up at me. “Where are you going?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly.
I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Just wait right here. There’s something I need to do.”
I throw him a smile, then take a deep breath and cross the room, making my way towards the piano. The pianist looks up as I approach, eyebrows raised when he sees me. I lean in, my voice low, and make my request. “I was wondering if I could borrow the piano for just one song?”
The guy laughs. “I think I’d be booted out by an angry mob if I was to deny them the opportunity of hearing Zelman sing,” he says as he rises from the bench and gestures for me to take his place.
I settle onto the leather seat, my fingers hovering over the keys, prepared to lay my soul bare. I speak softly into the microphone, my eyes finding Kyle’s across the room. “This song is for someone very special to me. It’s called ‘Making Memories of Us’ by Keith Urban.”
After a steadying breath, I begin to play. I don’t usually do covers and this song is different to my usual stuff. I stumble over the opening notes, but then settle into my groove, pouring all my emotions into the song. It’s a song that speaks of love, and being the best person you can be. Through the words I pledge the better parts of myself to him. The song is a stark contrast to my usual high-energy rock performances, but it feels right. Kyle loves country music and this song is for him.
As I continue to sing, the room becomes quieter, the sound of conversation fading. As the final notes of the song fade away, the room erupts into applause, but my eyes never leave Kyle’s. Then he smiles, a smile so bright and beautiful that it takes my breath away, a smile that tells me everything I need to know—that he’ll treasure the memories of us too.
As the clapping dies down, I rise and make my way back to the booth. Kyle takes my hand in his and leans in close. “That was incredible,” he says. “You have such a gift, such a way of connecting with people through your music. There’s so much emotion behind your words.”
You’re the only one I wanted to feel the emotion behind this song.
Over the other side of the table, Kate and Linda have tears in their eyes.
“He’s right, you know,” Linda says, “that was beautiful.”
Kyle squeezes my fingers. “I mean it, Axel. You were born for this sort of performance. Such an amazing way to share your talent with the world.”
His words strike a chord that I’ve ignored for far too long. My career has grown beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve chased the bright lights and the big stages, but at what cost? Have I lost touch with the very thing that made me fall in love with music in the first place?
“It felt special,” I say, a lump forming in my throat.
“You’re a great musician and a wonderful person,” he says. “Just remember that.”
Later that night, we head back to my suite and my king-size bed.
There’s a change to the way I touch him and he touches me. We exchange soft kisses and whisper words of endearment. He worships my body, and I bask under the warmth of his attention. Everything fades away, and all that matters is the feel of his body against mine, his arms enveloping me in a protective cocoon. Tomorrow, we’ll disembark and go our separate ways, but for now, I make the most of every special moment.
Chapter Seventeen
