Before I can respond, Miss Swain moves to the center of the room and taps her crystal glass with a silver spoon. The gentle chiming cuts through the party chatter. Conversations fade as all eyes turn toward our hostess.
"My dear friends," she says, her voice carrying the authority of old money and social confidence. "As many of you know, it's customary at these soirées to invite our guests with musical talent to share their gifts with us. Tonight, we're particularly blessed to have artists from both the classical and contemporary worlds."
Contemporary world? She must mean Cameron.
"Now, who would like to honor us first?"
I'm curious whether Cameron will volunteer. Maybe he'll see it as yet another opportunity to get some feedback on his new version of “Shelter from the Storm.”
"Miss Swain," Mr. Rudin's voice cuts through the quiet, "I recently discovered Miss Thompson has a lovely voice. Perhaps she'd be willing to share it with us?"
Me?!
I turn to see sour-faced Fabiana Farr looking daggers at me. Her lapdog hisses in my direction.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. " I'm not really prepared," I stammer, my voice barely audible. No way do I want to bear Fabiana Farr's wrath.
"Nonsense," Mr. Rudin says smoothly. "I heard you practicing the other day. “The Ballad of Pip” would be perfect for this intimate setting."
Fabiana's posture stiffens visibly. Her champagne glass pauses halfway to her lips. I can feel the weight of her glare like ice against my skin.
There's no graceful way out now. Refusing would be insulting to Miss Swain, awkward for everyone, and potentially damaging to my opera prospects.
"Of course," I say quietly, my heart hammering. "I'd be honored."
My voice starts quiet but grows stronger with each line. The familiar aria grounds me. I let the story take over. The cabin boy's courage, his defiance in the face of death, and the raw emotion that drew both Cameron and Mr. Rudin to this piece when I sang it.
The room has gone completely silent. Even the servers have stopped moving. I can feel Cameron's attention like heat against my skin, though I don't dare look his way.
The final notes ring out in the stillness. For a moment, no one moves.
Then applause erupts—genuine, enthusiastic approval from the gathered guests.
Posey rushes over and hugs my legs. "I'm your biggest fan! Your biggest fan!"
"Extraordinary," someone murmurs near the fireplace. "Absolutely captivating," adds another voice.
Mr. Rudin moves toward me, his face glowing with satisfaction. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement. Miss Thompson has graciously agreed to serve as understudy for our production of Moby Dick. Should circumstances require it, you've just heard our alternate leading lady."
The applause continues, but I catch Fabiana's expression across the room. Her face goes pale, then flushes with unmistakable fury.
Cameron's eyes find mine through the crowd. The pride in his expression makes my chest tight with emotion.
"Brava!" Miss Swain calls out, clearly delighted. "What a treat for all of us!"
Mr. Rudin approaches as the crowd disperses back into conversations. "Well done. You've just made this evening memorable for everyone here."
Then the doorbell rings again.
Miss Swain moves toward the entrance, and through the crowd, I see her opening the door.
Jason.
I watch Miss Swain walk over to greet my nemesis. Then I catch Cameron's eye from across the room. Why is Jason here? What is he planning?
His presence here means nothing.Or does it?
CHAPTER 38
