The Glamorous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 3

  “What?” Kynley asked.

  “You sighed.”

  Had she? She hadn’t meant to; at least not out loud. “Nothing,” she whispered to Sebastian.

  He gave her a skeptical look, but said nothing more. Kynley fixed a smile on her face and turned to watch Erin take her vows.

  The reception was off the main gallery, and instead of the usual floral centerpieces, every table held a soaring blown glass sculpture. Overhead lights were aimed at the sculptures to paint a kaleidoscope of colors on the white tablecloths. After the dinner, most of the Camp Wallakee girls took to the dance floor with their husbands and fiancés while Kynley wandered around the room, checking out the artwork and avoiding Sebastian and her two bodyguards, who were hanging out in the background.

  “The glass is beautiful, huh?” Kynley turned as Erin’s brother came to stand beside her next to the four-tier wedding cake, also graced by its own blown glass topper. “Matt makes them,” he said, indicating the sculpture. “He has a glass studio in Pennsylvania.” He was near enough she could smell his cologne, a woody scent, mixed with the fresh smell of soap and the slight tang of dry cleaning chemicals that were probably coming from his tux. “I’m Dalton, by the way,” he said. “Erin’s brother.”

  “Kynley Salvatici.” She held out her hand, her bracelets jangling, and when he took it in his, a shiver went all the way from her fingertips to the top of her head.

  “I saw you with the rest of the group.” His eyes darted to the two tables in front of the stage, where the Camp Wallakee girls had been seated. “I assume you’re a camp friend?”

  “Yes.” Kynley smiled, memories of those days crashing over her. “I think Erin and I were the only ones at camp who knew every song from Grease … and insisted on singing them all, whether the girls wanted us to or not.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “That sounds like Erin. Did you also use your hairbrush as a microphone?”

  “Or my toothbrush, a pencil, even a stick in an emergency if we were out hiking and ‘Summer Nights’ absolutely had to be sung at that moment.”

  Dalton threw back his head and laughed, a deep, rich sound that was so unaffected and natural, Kynley couldn’t help laughing along with him. For a moment, the impulse to reach out and lay her hand on his arm was so strong she almost couldn’t resist.

  Then her eyes caught Sebastian’s measuring stare over Dalton’s shoulder, and she drew back. “Pennsylvania, then? Is that where Matt and Erin are going to live?”

  “They’re not sure.” Dalton shrugged. “His studio is there, but they’re trying to get in with some art galleries in New York. He might have his own exhibit—.” Dalton broke off to glance curiously to her right, and Kynley turned to see a young couple approaching them hesitantly.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” the girl said. “But could we have your autograph, please?” Her eyes shone with excitement as she held out the dinner menu from the reception.

  Early in her career, Kynley had vowed to never take her fans for granted. Not even at her friend’s wedding in the middle of a conversation with a hot guy who made her knees tremble. “Sure,” she replied, smiling warmly. “I don’t have a pen on me, though.”

  Dalton’s eyebrows swooped together in confusion. “I’ve got one,” he said, reaching into the breast pocket of his suitcoat and pulling out a ballpoint pen. Their fingers brushed as she took it, sending another shiver of tingles shooting up her arm.

  “Who should I make this out to?” she asked quickly, trying to focus on the couple.

  “To Jessie and Austin,” the girl said, then spelled the names for her. Kynley quickly wrote a short message and scrawled her autograph on the menu, acutely aware of Dalton’s gaze.

  “Thank you so much!” Austin breathed when she handed the menu back. “We’re huge fans. We were at your Tulsa concert in April and we loved it.”

  “I’m so glad you enjoyed the show.” Kynley nodded toward the phone he held. “Want to take a picture?”

  “Seriously?” Jessie said enthusiastically. “That would be awesome, if it’s not too much trouble. We don’t mean to intrude.”

  “No problem,” Kynley said. “Dalton, do you mind?”

  “Sure.” He took Austin’s phone while Kynley motioned them to come to either side of her and wrapped her arms around their shoulders. Dalton snapped several photos of the three of them, then handed the phone back.

  After a few more words of thanks, the couple left, their heads together over the phone as they scrolled through the pictures.

  Sebastian had hung back during the exchange, but now he headed toward them, his scowl clearly betraying his displeasure. At what? Probably because he hadn’t been consulted first on whether fans were allowed to approach her at the reception.

  She so did not want to get into it with him right now.

  “Do you want to dance?” Without waiting for a reply, Kynley grabbed Dalton’s hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, where the band played a slow song.

  “Gee, when you put it that way,” Dalton said with a grin. “I’m not sure your boyfriend approves, though.” He tossed a look at Sebastian, who had moved back toward the edge of the room and was giving her the stink eye.

  Dalton’s hand at her waist was warm and she could feel the pressure of his fingertips through the fabric of her dress. The fingers of his other hand laced through hers, leading her into the dance and sending her pulse climbing another notch.

  “He’s my manager, not my boyfriend,” Kynley said.

  There was a pause, then understanding lit his eyes. “I’m such an idiot. You’re with Jilted Storm, right?”

  He knew their name. She tried to ignore the little dart of pleasure that shot through her. “Yeah.”

  Dalton flushed. “Sorry. Erin’s told me about you, but I didn’t put it together.”

  Kynley laughed. “Why would you?”

  “I mostly listen to music, not watch videos, so I didn’t recognize you at first,” Dalton said earnestly. “But I love your music. When you do the Fry scream in ‘Eternal Longing’ …” He sighed and rolled his eyes happily. “Love it.”

  Kynley gave him a quizzical look. “Sounds like you really know your stuff. Are you a musician?”

  “No. Well … not anymore. I used to be.”

  “Why not anymore?”

  “I decided to become a respectable citizen,” he said lightly, but she saw a hint of pain flash through his eyes.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” she asked.

  “Right?” Dalton nodded. She waited, but he did not elaborate, so they danced for a while in silence.

  Kynley’s mind spun. Erin’s brother was a musician, and at least a casual fan. Why hadn’t Erin told her? Okay, they hadn’t exactly been great at keeping in touch, but you’d think it would have come up in the occasional emails they’d shared over the years. But then, Erin had been busy with her career and, obviously, falling in love. She cast a look toward the center of the dance floor, where Matt and Erin were wrapped in each other’s arms. The look of pure joy on her friend’s face sent another dart of longing through Kynley.

  “So, Jilted Storm,” Dalton said, pulling her attention away from the newlyweds. “Cool name. How’d you come up with it?”

  She opened her mouth to give him the real answer—she’d been dumped in high school by Trent Nicholls, and in the ensuing emotional chaos, she’d found she had a talent for writing poetry. Very bad poetry, but therapeutic nonetheless. She’d spent hours, days even, venting her pain by scribbling poems in an old notebook.

  Of course, Trent wasn’t worth it, but seventeen-year-old Kynley didn’t realize what a loser he was. She only knew that she’d found solace in writing down her feelings. And when, a few years later, she’d unearthed the notebook of bad poetry and started reworking them, then setting some of the better ones to music, the whole experience had coalesced into the creation of Jilted Storm. The band’s name seemed fitting, given its origins.

  Sh
e was about to admit all that to Dalton, but he grinned at her with a quizzical quirk to his lips. She’d taken too long to reply and now she felt silly, like she should have come up with something more edgy and interesting.

  “I’ll give you three guesses,” she said.

  His eyes lit up at the challenge. “You grew up in Tornado Alley and during one storm, they almost canceled school, then didn’t, which upset you so much you vowed to take revenge by starting a successful rock band.”

  Kynley laughed. “No. But that’s pretty good, I’m impressed.”

  “Well, that is the most obvious explanation. I guess you’d probably be more creative,” Dalton said, an easy grin spreading over his face. “Okay, give me a minute.”

  Over his shoulder, Kynley met Sebastian’s stare. She could practically hear his voice in her head, demanding an explanation for why she was dancing with this man and why she seemed to be having so much fun.

  “You love Carrie Underwood and it’s a homage to ‘Blown Away’?” Dalton guessed.

  “Nope. Though maybe I should give you more guesses; these are getting good.”

  “No, this is my last one. I have to make it count.” They danced for a little while in silence while his forehead wrinkled in thought. “Okay, I’ve got it,” he announced. “It was actually supposed to be Tilted Storm, because … reasons. But you picked a bad font for your logo and it looked like a ‘J’ instead of a ‘T’, and you’re chill enough that you went with it. That’s it, right?”

  Kynley laughed. “That is totally going to be my new origin story.”

  “So what is it really?” His eyes softened.

  She almost hated to tell him and break this spell of the daydream he had so effortlessly wound around them. “It’s really not that great. Head over heels for a loser of a guy who ended up dumping me and it made me mad.”

  Dalton smiled and he nodded sagely. “No, it’s good. It’s relatable, it’s got staying power, rolls easily off the tongue. Nice work.”

  “Oh, thank you. I’m so glad you approve.”

  “Yes, well, my approval is not given often, so …”

  “I’ll count myself lucky?”

  “Something like that.” His voice dropped a bit and his arms tightened, pulling her a little closer. “Though I feel like the lucky one right now.”

  Kynley had felt butterflies many times before. Every time she waited backstage and listened to the crowd, chanting her name—their restless energy like a living thing that reached out to pull her along—a jolt of excitement raced through her body, making her limbs tingle. Whenever they’d wrap on the recording of a new song or the shooting of a new video, twin butterflies of anticipation and dread lodged in her chest. Anticipation to release their creation to the world, and a fair amount of dread because, what if the world didn’t like it? Her life was so often played out in the adrenaline rushes and crashes that accompanied performing and fame that she often took them for granted.

  But this was a new kind of butterfly. This one formed through a simple connection, by looking into Dalton’s eyes and seeing a spark that she knew was answered in her own gaze. These butterflies weren’t the same shooting, adrenaline-fed breed she knew so well. These were all-encompassing—growing from the inside out, rather than the other way around. They didn’t pull their energy from a crowd; they were the energy, coming from within and flowing through her as soft and warm as honey, filling her to the core.

  She took a shaky breath as one song ended and another began and Dalton made no move to let go of her. Kynley shot another look at Sebastian. How many songs had they danced to? She’d lost track, but knew Sebastian would think it was too many.

  “So … what’s the deal with your manager?” Dalton asked, following her look. “He seems kind of intense.”

  “He means well, but he can be a little controlling. He even brought along security for me.” She rolled her eyes. “As if I didn’t already feel conspicuous.”

  Dalton’s face reflected worry and he looked around the room. “Do you need security? And am I ten seconds away from being tackled from behind by a big dude because I’m holding you too close? You’d warn me first, right?”

  The butterflies fluttered a little faster. “Only one warning,” she agreed. “Then all bets are off.”

  His reply was lost as the music stopped abruptly. Kynley forgot about her silly security detail as they turned toward the stage, where the drummer was helping Erin climb the steps.

  “Oh yes!” Dalton whispered. He gave her waist a brief squeeze before letting go to pull his phone from his pocket and open the camera.

  “What’s going on?” Kynley asked.

  His eyes twinkled. “Watch.”

  Erin stepped confidently to the microphone and adjusted it to her level. The room grew quiet as the reception guests faced her expectantly. At Kynley’s side, Dalton muffled his laughter.

  Erin took a deep breath and began singing a capella. She had a terrific voice, well trained and definitely tailored to Broadway. But this song? Kynley pressed her fingers to her lips to stifle her own laughter as she recognized the song and what it meant.

  Camp Wallakee, Camp Wallakee,

  A special place for you and me.

  Where strangers meet and friendships grow,

  With campers young and campers old.

  A puzzled murmur ran through the crowd, drowned out by the shouts of laughter springing from the Camp Wallakee table, which were quickly hushed so as not to miss anything. Flashing them a smile, Erin continued.

  Amid your trees and by your shores,

  Lasting friendships will be forged.

  As we all learn the tenets of

  Faith and loyalty and love.

  And when we’re grown and on our own,

  You’ll be our guiding light.

  We’ll not forget the lessons learned

  Around the fire bright.

  Camp Wallakee, Camp Wallakee,

  Forever in our memory.

  A pause, then Erin tossed her head, sent the camp table a huge grin, and let the bird calls rip.

  Kee-kee-kee-kee-kee-caw-caw!

  Chicken arms. She did the chicken arms. This was the penalty of the Billionaire Bride Pact, taken all those years ago at camp. Any girl who did not end up marrying a rich man had to sing the Camp Wallakee song at their reception.

  Matt was on his way, though still very far from rich. But Erin didn’t look like she cared. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself. She stepped back from the microphone and gave the assembled guests a beaming smile, but didn’t speak. Part of the penalty was the bride couldn’t offer any explanation for the ridiculous song.

  Kynley wiped at her tears of laughter and joined the Wallakee table in cheers and loud applause. The rest of the guests chimed in rather half-heartedly, but their enthusiasm picked up when Matt leapt onto the stage, wrapped Erin in a huge hug, and bent her backward for a movie poster–style kiss.

  “Excellent!” Dalton said, and as the kiss ended, he clicked off the video recorder and lowered the phone. “The internet is going to love this.”

  Now that the excitement was over, Kynley felt the absence of his touch. It seemed so natural he should reach for her again and wrap his hand around hers. Her butterflies whispered as the urge to touch him sent an ache spiraling through her.

  She held herself back. “I need a copy of that video,” she said instead.

  “Yup, what’s your number?” Dalton’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she gave him her private cell number. “There, sent,” he announced, and she imagined her phone, silenced and stuffed in her purse at the Camp Wallakee table, lighting up with his text. Funny how such a little thing as having his number could give her such a thrill of satisfaction.

  On the stage, Erin stepped again to the microphone. “Okay, now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself—” She glanced at the Wallakee girls. “… which, you’re welcome—I need to ask a favor of someone special.” She scanned the crowd until her eyes reste
d on Dalton and Kynley. “Big brother, will you play?”

  Kynley felt Dalton gave a little jolt as he locked eyes with Erin. Something unspoken passed between them, and he nodded. “Give me a second.” He turned to Kynley, offering her his arm. “Can I take you back to your table?”

  Her fingers pressed against his firm bicep, warm beneath the fabric of his jacket as he escorted her to her seat, then stepped to the front of the room. He didn’t take the stairs, but leapt gracefully onto the front of the stage and wrapped his arms around his sister. They shared some whispered words, and then Erin tiptoed to kiss Dalton’s cheek and let Matt lead her to the dance floor. One of the stage hands came forward with a red Gibson, which Kynley hadn’t noticed before. Erin must have had it waiting behind the backdrop.

  Dalton looped the guitar strap around his neck and adjusted the microphone. “Thanks a lot, Erin,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting this, but you obviously know I’d do anything for you.”

  From the cocoon of Matt’s arms, Erin blew him a kiss.

  Dalton hit a few chords, then began strumming softly, picking out a melody in a minor chord. As he finished the intro, he raised his head and began to sing. His voice was deep and rich, flowing smoothly over the lyrics, fingers flying over the guitar as he accompanied himself. It was a song Kynley knew, but she’d never heard anyone sing “What a Wonderful World” with such heart.

  When he finished, Dalton raised one hand in acknowledgement of the applause as the band leader came forward and said a few words to him. He grinned and stepped back to join the band formation, playing along as they started their next set.

  Kynley was surprised. He’d made it sound like his music days were long past, but he looked comfortable up there, playing without music, matching the band’s style perfectly.

  “Is this his old band?” she asked Lindsey, who sat at the table scrolling through the photos she’d taken of the reception.

  “I have no idea.” Lindsey shrugged. “I didn’t even know he played. Do you mind if I put some of these pictures of you on Facebook?”