Dark Redemption - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,55

kind of Allison.

Dante, Lincoln, and Richard emerge from the other side of the house with placid and entranced looks on their faces. Richard looks just as unbothered as he was earlier, clearly used to making impressions on impressionable people.

"You should see this guy's garage," Dante gushes. "I mean, the cars that he has in there? 1964 Ferrari 250 LM, 1994 McLaren F1 LM, 1961 Ferrari 250 GT SWB California Spider. I'm just blown away."

"You know, you get old enough, you start to collect things."

"I want to grow up to be just like you," Dante says, and we all laugh.

Richard offers to make us a round of drinks and pulls out a pre-made charcuterie board filled with fruit, hummus, pita chips, crab legs, caviar, and an assortment of other delicacies.

"Let's go out on the patio," he says. "We can get to know each other a little bit."

I'm tempted to leave, but Dante and Allison clearly want to stay. Lincoln looks only a little bit uncomfortable. I stay behind to grab the glasses and Lincoln approaches me.

"Did she say anything about last night?"

"No. I mean, yes, she told me that you two met at The Redemption," I say under my breath.

"Please, please, please don't tell Marguerite."

I freeze, holding the glasses and the ice cold Icelandic water under my arm, chilling myself to the bone. "Okay. Yeah, I guess I won't."

"She wouldn't be able to handle that kind of news right now, and I'm already having some problems with my work schedule. I just... I didn't mean to hurt her."

"Listen," I say, taking a step toward him, "I can tell you that I won't tell her anything, but don't act like this is her fault at all or has anything to do with anything but you and your shit."

Walking away from him, I know that I could have handled that a little bit better, but I've always hated cheaters. They rub me the wrong way. The lies and the deception, what's the fucking point? You want to be with someone, you don't want to be with someone, tell the truth.

Out on the patio, the five of us sit down at his luxurious dining room table and look out at the empty beach right up front. The patio is strategically placed slightly behind a wall of glass, giving it a little bit of shelter from the harsh Atlantic winds. The glass is spotless and it's almost as if it's not there at all.

“So, what is it that you do for a living, Richard?" Dante asks. "This is quite a home you have here."

"It is my pride and joy. It's where I go to relax, forget about the world. Not like my place in Manhattan."

He smiles at Allison who beams in his direction.

"I'm a musician. Composer," he says with a slight nod and a shrug, casual and very unassuming.

"Wait, are you Richard Reeves?" I ask, suddenly remembering seeing something about him online.

"The one and only."

I raise my eyebrows and my mouth falls slightly ajar. "You write music for movies, right?" I ask.

He nods. “I score films, yes. I also write a lot of songs, pop songs. The former gets a little bit less fanfare, but the money's good," he says in an understatement of a lifetime.

"What kind of songs? For who?" Allison asks.

"Madonna, Lady Gaga, Kelly Clarkson. Wrote a bunch for Whitney Houston. Dolly Parton and I collaborate a lot."

"Wow.” I smile.

Allison leans back into the plush pillows of the wicker chair and holds her cosmopolitan up to her lips, giving him a sultry look. He looks at her almost the same way, and I sense a connection I haven't seen, well, in a long time.

Something about Allison's hard, no-nonsense demeanor melts away and another person that I know well emerges: the one that wears sweats around the apartment, eats ice cream late at night, and drinks a little bit too much Grey Goose while watching The Voice.

I ask Richard more about his music and I notice the way that his eyes light up when he talks about it. He invites us all back inside so he can play us a little bit on the piano, taking a seat on his cliffside teak sectional.

When Richard places his hands on the keys, he becomes someone else. He closes his eyes and begins to play. His fingers are effervescent, moving with the music. He even sways a little.

The song begins slowly and builds and builds until it reaches a climax. He pounds at the keys but ever