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Lola squeezed Hallie’s shoulder. “I know you’ll be great.”
Tess gave her a sideways hug. “We’ll be cheering for you!”
Then they left with the babies, and Hallie was alone. She heard the club’s host announce, “And let’s have a big Blue Hour welcome for debut artist... Hallie Hatfield!”
She’d left the Moretti name behind. The glamorous bride celebrated in the fashion blogs, the woman who’d brought the famous Cristiano Moretti to his knees—that obviously wasn’t her. She was just Hallie, plain and simple.
Trembling, she went out on stage, in front of the house band. Beneath the spotlight, she couldn’t see anyone in the audience, not even Tess or Lola or the babies. She gulped. She wasn’t sure she could do this.
Then...
Closing her eyes, she focused on the music. The songs her mother and father had once sung to her, and her grandparents before.
Hallie’s lips parted, and against her will she saw Cristiano’s face. She sang directly to the man she loved. The man she’d lost.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sang of longing and heartbreak and regret. When she finally sang her last note, silence fell across the club.
Opening her eyes, Hallie looked out into the darkness beyond the spotlight. Had everyone left? Had they hated her songs and just gone home?
Then she heard it, sweeping across the club like a low roll of thunder.
A rush of applause built to shouts and cheers, lifting her sad heart. She smiled, overwhelmed with gratitude. She hadn’t failed the audience who’d come to hear her, but still she felt sad.
“Thank you,” she choked out. Wiping her tears, she stepped back from the microphone. As she turned away, she heard one man’s voice above the rest.
“Hallie.”
There was a collective intake of breath across the club. Turning back, she narrowed her eyes, trying to see who was calling to her. It sounded like...but it couldn’t be...
The spotlight moved, and she saw him.
Her husband stood in the middle of the crowded jazz club, amid all the tables, his dark suit more rumpled than she’d ever seen it.
“Cristiano?” she breathed.
His dark eyes cut through her soul. Turning to the crowd, he held out his arm toward her. “Hallie is my wife.” He spread his arms wide. “Have you ever heard such a voice?”
The audience applauded and hooted, stomping their feet. But Hallie had eyes only for him.
“What are you doing here?”
Cristiano’s voice carried across the room as he turned to face her. “I don’t need you, Hallie.”
She sucked in her breath.
“At least that’s what I told myself.” He started walking past the crowded tables, toward the stage. “The truth was, I was afraid to need you.” He stopped in front of the stage, staring up at her. “Because I was dead inside.”
The club was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.
“But you brought me to life.” Cristiano smiled at her, his dark eyes shining. “It was your voice that caused the first crack in the wall around my heart. The first time I heard you sing. Do you remember?”
She nodded, a lump in her throat. How could she forget?
“I saw you, so vibrant and sexy and alive, and I knew from that moment that I had to have you. But it wasn’t just your incredible voice that drew me. Not even your beautiful face and body. It was your soul, Hallie,” he whispered. “Your heart.”
By now, camera phones had appeared at every table, lighting up the club like candle flames, recording the moment as the famous billionaire Cristiano Moretti went onstage to join his wife.
“No.” She struggled to speak. “I can’t believe it.”
