“I’m sorry, Indie.” An exasperated sigh followed his apology, and I knew he didn’t mean it. These were just words recited to placate me. “I had important work to get out of the way so I can give tonight my full attention.”
I cut Dad a cold look. “You mean Violet.”
“What?”
“You had important work to get out of the way so you could giveVioletyour full attention,” I said, trying to sound neutral andinformative, but I was too angry. My accusation shone through, and Dad’s features hardened.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he whispered so the security guard at the door couldn’t hear us, “but I don’t want your bad attitude ruining tonight for your sister, is that clear?”
His words pressed heavily on my heart, and the sudden urge to laugh bubbled up my throat. It was the wrong reaction given the situation, but I felt like I’d lost control of my emotions. “Five minutes,” I said, swallowing back my bizarre, inappropriate laughter. “You couldn’t spare five minutes to talk with me.”
“Indigo,” he said, frowning down at me. “We have all evening together.”
But between the actual screening and rubbing elbows with Hollywood’s elite, I knew he’d be too busy for me. Like he always was. “Whatever, Dad,” I said, throat tight, and I walked away before the stinging in my eyes could turn into tears.
He called after me, but I didn’t turn around to answer him. I made my way up a set of stairs covered in tacky movie theater carpet and emerged into one of New Orleans’s historic cities of the dead, a hat tip to the show’s setting. An ironwork gate guarded the entrance of the lobby, decorative and rusty with age. Sun-bleached tombs, ornate mausoleums, and stone statues lined the edges of the room, while votive candles flickered from atop cocktail tables.
At least fifty people were milling around the cemetery. I knew a lot of them from their involvement withIN, but I wasn’t in the mood to socialize. Instead, I took advantage of the free snack bar, grabbing a soda and box of Dots before finding a secluded tableto hole up at. The next half hour was spent avoiding humans and waiting for Xander to arrive. I was subtly trying to pick gumdrop from my teeth when a sharp voice sounded behind me.
“Indie, there you are.”
Somehow, despite choosing a table with a direct view of guests arriving off the red carpet, I’d missed Xander’s entrance, and he’d managed to sneak up on me. I let out an involuntary breath at the sight of him—elegant, black tux; shaggy hair slicked back to magazine perfection; green eyes glinting from behind a pair of brow-line glasses. He looked like a cross between James Bond and Q, dashing and nerdy at the same time. A sudden urge to throw myself at him swept through me. Then finally, I registered the twisted expression on his face, and it iced the desire stirring in my stomach.
“Ah, hi.” I glanced around for the rest of the Heartbreakers but didn’t see them anywhere. “Everything okay?”
Xander’s eyes fluttered closed, and he slowly drew in his breath. “Sorry,” he said, the edge in his voice softening. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”
“Okay?” I replied, still unsure what was going on. “Did something happen?”
At first, I thought Xander would paste on a smile and pretend everything was fine, but then he shook his head. “I know tonight is about your sister.” His tone was low with a hint of desperation. “But do you maybe want to get out of here?”
Still hurt from the conversation with my dad, I snatched up my clutch and took his hand. “There’s nothing I’d like to do more.”
* * *
Outside the theater, Xander extracted his phone from the breast pocket of his jacket and shot off a text. Countless questions danced on the tip of my tongue, but I bit down on them with every ounce of patience I could muster.
“So,” I said, searching for a safe subject. Until he was ready to open up, small talk would have to suffice. “How was the rest of your weekend?”
On Saturday, after Xander’s friends rejoined us and finished their food, we attended the concert Stella wanted to see. The Sensible Grenade turned out to be a hardcore punk band consisting of three grouchy-looking dudes covered in piercings. There was lots of angry screaming, stomping around the stage, and raging against the establishment. The music wasn’t my cup of tea, but watching Stella enjoy herself was entertainment enough. She jumped up and down, headbanged along with the lead singer, and shouted all the lyrics at the top of her lungs.
To each her own, I guessed.
When the show finally ended, I was ready to drop from exhaustion. Oliver had passes for everyone to meet the band backstage, but it had been a long day, and I decided to bow out. After I gave the guys instructions on how to remove their prosthetics and thanked them for their help, Xander walked me to my car.
“Drive safe,” he’d told me as I unlocked my door. “If you get sleepy, call me. We can talk until you make it home.”
“Don’t worry. There’s no way I’m going to fall asleep. This ringing will keep me awake the entire way,” I said, stuffing a finger in my ear and trying to wiggle away the pain. “But thanks for the offer.”
He nodded. “See you on Tuesday?”
“Yup.” I slid behind the wheel, keys jingling in my hand. “But you have to promise to sit with me during the premiere so we can laugh at all the corny lines together.”
“Even if I’m in the scene?”
I grinned. “Especially then.”
Now, I cast a sideways glance at Xander. His hands were jammed into his front pockets, and as I watched, he tipped his head back to stare up at the sky.
