for Congress, the already frantic patter of my heart gains an extra beat. A long time ago, I would have immediately known the reason behind my spike in pulse. Now I have to be more cautious. I’d hate to make a fool of myself.
The mask I’m holding is crushed beyond repair when my eyes lock in on a silhouette of red across the room. The blonde beauty’s hair is pinned off her face, and the tiny freckles that adorn her nose are covered with makeup, but I’d never forget the face of a woman who stands out in a crowded room. She’s too beautiful to forget, and really, really pretty.
I’m reminded it isn’t just Melody and me in the room when Isabelle leans into my side to whisper in my ear, “Is that Melody?”
I try to force some type of confirmation out of my mouth, but with my throat bone-dry from taking in the way Melody’s ballgown hugs the curves of her body, I nod instead. I’ve never been good with words when it comes to Melody. I’m glad to see seven years didn’t cure that neurosis.
The world fades out when Melody’s head suddenly swings my way. Her eyes lock on mine in an instant, her lips curving. Her smile—fuck. Don’t ask me to explain it. I couldn’t possibly put into words how perfect it is. There’s no slight wonkiness to her grin or apprehension weakening it. It’s a blistering smile unlike any of the ones I’ve seen of her in print the past year.
“Hi,” I inconspicuously sign, doubling the wetness in her eyes.
“Hi,” Melody signs back at the same time Isabelle’s elbow lands into my ribs. “Go say hello.”
I glare at Isabelle like she’s insane before shaking my head. I’m barely holding it together as it is, and Melody is on the other side of the room. There’s no way I’m ready for a face-to-face confrontation. Furthermore, she isn’t here alone. I asked Grayson to hack into the hotel’s reservation software during the commute back to my family’s ranch. It didn’t have a Melody Gregg listed. Julian McMahon, though, was there. Regretfully.
My head shake has me stumbling onto another participant ready to board the talk-to-Melody train. Grayson is standing at the side of the ballroom, glaring at me. His designer jeans, fitted shirt, and fancy jacket should make him stick out like a sore thumb in a room full of men in tuxedos, but for some reason, he pulls it off. He fits in with the rock star family this gala was founded for.
When Grayson nudges his head to Melody for the fifth time while mouthing that I’m a soft cock, I give in to his rile.
“Wish me luck,” I mumble under my breath before swooping down to place a peck on Isabelle’s cheek.
After she gives my hand an encouraging squeeze, I weave through the hundreds of gala attendees separating Melody and me. My heart beats out a funky tune with every step I take, as does a vein in Melody’s neck. She watches me cross the room, her lips parted in a smile, her eyes twinkling with moisture. She’s alone which both annoys and appeases me. The main threat to her life is holed up in a hospital room guarded by enough CIA officers he could be mistaken as a national dignitary, but we must stay cautious. Until we can prove the Castros and Bobrovs aren’t working together, alerts will remain high.
“Melody, hi.” The tears in her eyes glide down her cheeks when I stop to stand in front of her. I don’t know if it’s from seeing me in the flesh for the first time in seven years, realizing we still stand at the same height, or how my voice cracked when I said her name during my greeting. If I weren’t aware she’s deaf, I would have gone with the latter. Alas, she can’t hear me any more than I wish I could hear her say my name. “What is wrong? Why are you crying?”
I freeze like a statue when she responds, “Your voice… I can’t… Oh, God, BJ.” She didn’t sign her response. She spoke it.
“Mel…” I can’t speak. I’m too shocked and confident I am dreaming. “You can talk?” When she nods, I add, “And you can hear me?”
When she dips her chin for the second time, I cup her face, certain she’s about to vanish. She was already the girl of my dreams before she could talk, so you can imagine how confident