Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Would you like a photo, sir?” Wolfgang questioned, lifting his phone.
“Have you lost your mind?” Iskandar asked him, and he was truly curious.
I never thought the day would come when I would see Iskandar as normal, but the day had arrived. Because I really did not understand the rest of the people around us who were shaking with excitement.
“When did you become part of this Wyntor Nation?” I finally asked him.
He grinned sheepishly. “I was driving the princ—your sister, and she requested I play her music. I know all the songs on her album, The Watch of the Nightingales—that one really got me. Her songs are full of symbolism. A Parliament of Owls, The Conspiracy of Lemurs, Lion’s Pride, The Parade of Elephants, and The Brace of Mallards.” He listed all of the albums or songs, pointing to his hands. “The last song on it she titled ‘WyntorsBird.’ It sounds odd, and she never mentions any of the animals outside of the title, but you sort of understand who she is comparing to them. It is like a code, and you have to figure out how they relate.”
“I do not understand a word he is saying, do you?” I questioned Iskandar.
He shook his head. “I stopped listening after he said I know all the songs, sir.”
I snickered. Iskandar grew funnier by the second. Shaking my head again, I looked to the stage where her name on the screen twisted and turned in different colors of lights. The air filled with excitement. Taking my phone, I raised it and took a picture.
“You too, sir?” Iskandar questioned, clearly regretting having allowed this outing. He was stressed enough, scanning the area around me every time someone leaned forward.
“Do not mind me. I am only tormenting my sister,” I replied, sending the photo to Eliza, grinning as I knew she would curse me for days because of this. Slowly, the lights began to dim, and all the cheering and the screening started.
Maybe it was because I did not care about musicians like that, but it was all so foreign. However, the fact that her fans were all consumed by their own emotions made it much easier for me to blend in, even with just the glasses and a hat. When the lights on the stage rose, there she stood in a long, flowing black dress, her hair pulled back off her face, and an entire orchestra behind her.
“Odette!”
“We love you!”
“Wooo!”
I hunched over at the manic screaming behind my head. Everyone, except for Iskandar and me, was on their feet...everyone, including my secretary.
At least I will finally hear what all the fuss is about. However, Odette stood there, gripping the microphone—a little longer than I guessed was normal.
“Is her microphone on?” I heard someone ask behind me.
But I was close enough that I could see the panic on her face, despite how hard she tried to hide it.
Rising to my feet, I called out her name, too—well, sort of.
My mind was a mess.
My hands were shaking.
My hair was up because I had ruined the stylist’s efforts by running my hands through my curls and having to lie down to calm my nerves backstage.
My stomach was completely in knots, and I wanted to run.
I didn’t feel like I could sing.
It happened to me each and every time.
It was like, somehow, I convinced myself all the musical ability in me was gone. That the last song I sang was the end of me.
On top of all of my insecurities and fears were Yvonne’s words from yesterday and the epic madness that was my mother and father’s relationship. What was the truth? Should I believe Yvonne that it was much more complicated than my mother made it seem to be? Even so? How deep were those wounds? I couldn’t ask her last night. I didn’t have the guts to.
“You’re on in two, Odette,” the voice in my earpiece said, not at all helping me.
I nodded, pushing it farther into my ear.
I could see the crowds through the curtains and felt sicker.
I can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
Why am I doing this?
My voice and music haven’t been doing well, not to mention I haven’t even been able to record as much as I’d like.
I can’t do this.
My eyes started to blur, and my nerves got worse.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Odette Wyntor!” the announcer said, and the lights on stage all fell on top of me.
I held on to the microphone because I needed it to keep me from falling, and now that the lights were on me, and everyone could see me, I felt worse. I was mad at myself for being like this. Why was I such a coward? I can’t run. But I can’t sing...
“Cinderella!”
There, in the front row, in thick-rimmed, black glasses and a baseball hat was Gale. He grinned up at me, waving.