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Then on the right, a black door with a number four on it opens and Deacon pops his head out. “In here.” He gestures. “I hope you came ready to sing.”

“What happened to you?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Aurora says she’s got her energy back, now she’s in the second trimester, and says she wants to make sure we’ve done New York as a couple before the baby arrives.”

I nod. “That makes sense. When I think of adult New York experiences, karaoke is right at the top of my list,” I say, sarcastically.

He grins like he doesn’t give a shit what I think, and I follow him into the soundproofed room.

Inside, the room is completely black. There’s a small stage where Aurora is singing “I Will Always Love You” to her audience, who are sitting on the benches in front of the stage. I use the term singing to describe what’s happening onstage in the loosest sense. Aurora definitely doesn’t have the voice of an angel. In fact, I’m pretty sure the devil is unimpressed right now, but she’s lit up by the stage lights and she’s committed. I have to admire her for that.

“Deacon, I love you,” Aurora yells as the door shuts behind us.

“I love you too,” he yells back, without the aid of a microphone.

“Really, what happened to you?” I mumble, as we head over to the back row of the benches.

I’m still reeling from Deacon’s personality transplant when I see Ryder Westbury and his wife, Scarlett, in front of me. He turns, recognizes me, and shakes my hand.

“Ryder!” I say, surprised to see an English duke at a karaoke spot. Frankly, I’m surprised to find myself here.

In the corner of the room, there’re a couple of women by the bar. I recognize Poppy, Avril’s sister. She sat opposite me at Deacon’s engagement party. Avril must be here too, right? But I glance around the room and can’t see her.

Damn it.

Maybe she’s on a date. Whoever he is, he’s a lucky man.

“I’m going to get a drink,” I say to Deacon, as he gazes up at the stage to his warbling soon-to-be wife.

He nods but doesn’t even turn to look at me. I head to the bar. “Do you have a martini?” I ask the barman.

He turns his head and cups his ear.

“Martini?” I ask him.

He gives me a thumbs-up and rummages behind the bar. Then, grinning, he holds up a canned cocktail.

I love a martini. But I would rather drink dog urine than what he’s offering me.

“I’ll take a beer,” I say.

The barman cups his hand around his ear again, and I sigh.

“Beer. Please.”

Another thumbs up, more rummaging, and finally he thrusts a cold beer bottle at me.

I turn and my gaze finds her right away, like I’ve some kind of human homing beacon or something.

Avril.

The woman who feels so good in my arms, in my bed, over my kitchen counter.

She’s standing next to Deacon, grinning up at Aurora, who’s just finishing up her rendition of Dolly Parton’s finest tune.

Avril hollers and cheers like she’s at a Beyonce concert as Aurora takes a bow.

“Who’s next?” Aurora asks, holding out the microphone. “Ryder?”