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Rylan shook his head. “Staying with Bree.”
“Good answer.”
“I need to thank everyone for coming,” Bree said. “The proceeds from this show are going to charity, and the total amount raised will be posted on the gallery website in the morning.”
She could see Rylan assessing the situation. Although the choir and drummers were in position at the far end of the gallery, there was a small stage near the entrance to Arty Sans. A microphone and overhead spotlight had been set up there, together with a podium. Since Bree never used written notes, the podium remained empty.
“Okay.” He nodded. “I’ll stand to one side of you.”
“He wouldn’t make a public move.” She turned worried eyes to his face. “Would he?”
“I don’t think so.” He placed a hand on her arm, sending electric shocks along her nerve endings. “It’s not his style.” Looking down at where his fingers connected with her bare flesh, he quickly withdrew his touch. “Sorry.”
Bree knew his intention had been to comfort her, but she didn’t know how they would get past this. Because even though they were no longer together, their need to touch each other was instinctual, as simple and as primal as breathing. And she didn’t believe it would fade with time.
She sighed. This was not the place for an in-depth analysis of her feelings toward Rylan. She spoke to Kasey, who organized for the choir to take a break while the guests gathered around the stage.
Holding up her long skirts, Bree gripped the microphone and stepped under the glare of the single spotlight. She had done this several times now and, although she was naturally a reserved person, she found it got easier each time.
Smiling at her mom and dad, who were looking at her with a glow of pride, she started with a simple thank-you. “To all of the artists who have made this such a stunning visual celebration. We have so much talent in the African American community, and it is my pleasure and honor to be able to share it with you.”
As she spoke, she felt something drop onto the top of her head. It could have been an insect, or a small piece of plaster from the ceiling. Possibly a spot of water. Bree shook her head slightly and continued, listing the people who had helped make the show a success.
The next time it happened—a definite plop onto her hair—she shifted position, trying to avoid the irritation that was distracting her. Even so, if she moved too far from the spotlight, she wouldn’t be visible to the people at the back of the room.
“...and, of course, my amazing assistant, Kasey Spencer, without whom I would not be able to function...”
This time it was three heavy droplets in quick succession, one of which ran down from her hair and onto the back of her neck. Bree raised a hand to brush the liquid away, looking up at the ceiling at the same time to see if she could locate the source of the nuisance. As she did, everything slowed.
Because her face was tilted up, she saw the ceiling tile above the spotlight move, then fall away. The liquid that poured like a river out of the gap was thick and dark, its smell sickly and overpowering. It covered her head and shoulders, running down her arms and dripping into a puddle at her feet. She must look like something from a horror movie.
Bree froze, unable to move or even breathe. She was vaguely aware of the shocked faces of the guests, of her mom’s mouth opening, ready to scream, of Trey charging toward her. But it was Rylan who reached her first. It was only when he wrapped his jacket around her and pulled his shirt over his head to wipe the sticky mess from her face that the trembling started. She staggered into his arms, her mind whirling, her heart beating a new, uneven rhythm.
“It’s chocolate.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her from the stage. “Just chocolate.”
Chapter 9
Just chocolate.
Rylan’s fists clenched every time he thought of it. He saw the thick dark liquid pouring through the opening in the ceiling onto Bree’s upturned face. Until the sweet, sickly smell had hit him, he’d thought it was worse. He’d believed for an instant that his beautiful Bree was being doused in blood.
He shook his head, clearing it of the fury that threatened to consume him. What was the point of wanting to rush out and take a swing at an invisible opponent? He had to stay calm and confront this rationally. Bree needed his skill and experience on her side. His emotions would have to stay locked away.
