“Ah. Heidi, is it?” My voice turned thick with spite.
“Yeah. She’s great.”
I launched an eyebrow into orbit. “Until she isn’t, right?”
He locked his lips together tight, no doubt working hard to cage a biting retort. An awkward silence hung in the air.
“I signed the papers.”
“Did you want an award?”
He folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow.
More silence.
“Well, I guess that’s it then,” he said.
“I guess so.”
He stared at me, and I’d be damned if I broke eye contact first. With a final nod, he spun on his heel and walked away.
I let go of my breath, and my shoulders slumped. I waved at the bartender for another drink, and thankfully he delivered in record time. I picked up the brandy and diet with a shaking hand and sucked half of it down in one gulp, trying to wash away the bitterness and doubt resurrected by the chance encounter.
I’d trusted Rob once, believed the façade, and look what happened. Was I doomed to repeat history? Was this thing with Elias just part of some sick pattern I’d learned to play on repeat?
There goes Lena again, setting herself up to be abandoned.
My stomach heaved, and I covered my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Good evening, Sea Pines. Welcome to South Beach.”
A deep voice boomed through the night over the PA, driving my attention toward the stage and out of my downward spiral.
“Welcome, vacationers. Welcome, tennis fans. Welcome, locals!”
A couple of loud whoops sounded from behind me atop sporadic clapping.
“We want to get this night started out right. So, here to kick things off is a local favorite—Elias Georgiou.”
The tourists politely clapped, but the locals whooped even louder. A group of enthusiastic women at a table near the front squealed and clapped their hands overhead.
A pang of jealousy reverberated through my chest. Seeing my ex had dampened my mood and made me question my faith in Elias. His personality didn’t have the same undercurrent of fake as Rob, but I’d been fooled before, and now doubt invaded my trust.
He climbed the steps to the stage, acoustic guitar slung across his shoulder. He wore a black Grateful Dead t-shirt that hugged his broad chest and thick biceps atop faded jeans that hung low on his narrow hips. He leaned into the mic. “Hey. I’m Elias.” More whoops from the crowd. “Hope you’re having a good night.”
Damn, he was so charming and engaging, and he hadn’t even started singing.
“Sit back, relax, and enjoy.” He flashed his crooked Hollywood smile, and the ladies in the front squealed with delight.
A fresh wave of unease rippled through me. I rolled my shoulders, determined not to let my encounter with Rob ruin my night.
Elias’s voice floated on the warm night air like an enchantment, dancing across the distance to entwine me in its magical embrace. The world fell away—the doubt, my ex, Elias’s fan club—and only his song remained, caressing my soul until it wanted nothing more than to adore him.
His performance ended as quickly as it began, the sudden absence of his music creating a vacuum. I stood, the pull of his voice drawing me toward him for more. But I wasn’t the only one he’d bewitched. The packed marina erupted with applause and cheers—another standing ovation—and I lost Elias when he stepped down from the stage and into the crowd.
I slapped a twenty on the bar and like a magnet drifted mindlessly toward its pole, the echo of his notes on my soul compelling me forward. I needed to hear his voice again and bask in its energy.
The crowd packed in tight trying to get closer to the stage. I squeezed through, creating a path for myself between eager fans until I could see him.
