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A door that led to quite a few innocently menacing behaviors.
She felt her cheeks heat.
“Harper Barbara said, ‘Señora Maria Magdalena, your strings look better on my shoes. You can use my laces to practice.’”
The audience gave a collective chuckle.
“I was a bit sassy back then,” she conceded.
“Back then?” Landon uttered under his breath but loud enough for the audience and everyone on stage to hear.
She cocked her head to the side, eyeing her husband as amusement sparkled in his eyes.
“Look at this, LookyLoo! We’ve got a surprise reunion at our Bake or Bust,” Donna crooned, but her southern accent wasn’t quite as pronounced. Indeed, there was something about her voice she recognized.
“You must share how you know each other with the audience and our LookyLoo viewers,” Damien insisted, pulling her attention from Donna as he gestured to the cameras and the packed house before peering into the audience. The man took a few steps forward and appeared to look directly at Madelyn. The nanny matchmaker smoothed her signature scarlet scarf as what looked like a ghost of a grin graced the woman’s lips.
What the heck was this?
Madelyn did seem to know everyone. Maybe she knew Damien and Donna, or perhaps it was nothing. One never knew with the mysterious Ms. Malone.
“Many years ago,” Michel explained, “we played with the Denver Symphony Orchestra.”
“Under the direction of Harper’s grandfather, Reeves Presley,” supplied Yusuf Ali, a gifted cellist from Bahrain.
“And alongside the great harpist and Reeve’s wife, Barbara Presley,” Hans Pedersen, a gifted trombone player, added in a crisp Swedish tongue.
It had been nearly twenty years, but she recognized them like she was still the little girl who used to run a zigzag pattern through the sprawling maze of red-cushioned seats that spread out from the stage like waves of crimson around a grand wooden platform.
“I can’t believe that you’re all in Denver. That’s amazing,” she exclaimed, crossing the stage to embrace them, one by one.
“They came at my request. The teachers at New Beats volunteer their time on a rotating schedule,” Michel explained. “We could use a harpist on our faculty.”
Babs would love that.
“My grandmother is kind of off the grid at a musicians’ retreat in New Mexico and can’t be reached easily, but I’m sure she’d love to catch up once she returns.”
“It seems as if you’ve been busy as well,” Michel Laurent said, taking her left hand into his to get a better look at the giant diamond twinkling under the stage lights.
“About that,” she replied and glanced over her shoulder at Landon.
“No explanation is needed,amore mio,” Maria Magdalena said warmly.
“Maria Magdalena is correct,” Hans agreed. “We have grown grandchildren now. They showed us the footage of your…unique nuptials. We know about your wild Vegas wedding.”
“Gladiators and ballerinas are an eclectic touch,” Yosef remarked with the twitch of a grin.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” she replied as the memories of Landon sliding the platinum band onto her finger made her lightheaded with buzzy happiness.
“I did not have to ask my grandchildren about Harper’s wedding,” Maria Magdalena chided, waving her finger. “I found out about it on my own. I received an email alert from the Landon Paige fan club. Our president, Norma, keeps us up to date on all pertinent Landon Paige news.”
“You’re a fan?” Landon blurted, awe coating the question.
She would never have pegged the haughty-in-the-best-way former first chair violinist as a pop aficionado.
“Heartthrob warfare,” the woman sang, her Italian accent growing thicker as she adopted an adorably comical cadence. “I’m fighting for your love.”
The audience erupted into applause as Maria Magdalena busted out the first line of the pop song.
