Dark Dream (Love in Illyria Book 1) Page 2

  He forced back the first instinct. He wanted her on his team, for her voice and to make his daughter happy, but something in his depths warned him to hold back.

  Seconds were ticking away. The more the song went on, the more his mind urged him to grab the chance to have her on his team, and the louder blared the alarm from his subconscious.

  His heart sped up like he'd been running for miles. His hair stood on ends. All his skin tingled. His entire body felt energized and alive and he felt torn apart by conflicting desires. Time seemed to stand still as his hands hovered over the button. He dreadfully wanted to press it and just as terribly wanted it to be over.

  The jarring buzz of another button startled him. He looked to his left, past Lauren and Ryann, and saw that on the far side of the row, Carter's Yes was lit up.

  His hand went to the button, but it was as if it was protected by a force field. Something held him back. Her voice went up, conquering the room, going past the frenetic applauses and cheers from the audience.

  The song was fading away, and a heartbeat before it ended, he pressed the button. He sunk deeply into his chair, and closed his eyes tightly, unwilling to see her again. The curtain was rising against his wishes and he had to compose himself. He had to be coherent. He was going to have another duel with Carter about a contestant they both wanted.

  Fortunately, Lauren took the lead, and talked to the girl. On the far side of the row of chairs, Carter's body language screamed tension. Carter always fought hard for the contestants he wanted, and this time he looked ravenous.

  "What's your name?" Lauren asked.

  "Vy."

  Her voice plucked a chord somewhere near his heart. He wanted to close his eyes and keep listening to her for hours.

  "You belong on my team," Carter said standing up. "Your voice was made for rock, and we can rock this world together. I have the experience you need and I can guide you to win this competition."

  She looked at Carter with a shade of uncertainty. He could tell that she was flattered by his words and his all too visible enthusiasm. He had to find his own voice, and make an effort to win her over. The hardest part was to conceal the tremor in his voice when she looked at him.

  "You have an exceptional voice, and you did justice to a very difficult song," he said. "Your technique is good and I can help you get even better. It would be my honor to work with you."

  He barely managed to say all that without tripping over his tongue. He fell into her eyes again. The same energy bounced back and forth between them as it had happened the first time he saw her.

  Carter's voice snapped her out of the trance.

  "What you just sang was a bold choice," Carter said. "It showed the power and vastness of your voice. It was unconventional. It was a crazy, brilliant, inspired choice. The kind of inspiration singers like me have. I understand people like you, Vy. I. Understand. You."

  He wanted to argue, to take her away from Carter. He wanted to fight for her, but he could sense the taint in his interest. It wasn't just her voice he wanted. He wanted more. And he knew first hand how easy it was for someone in his position to take advantage of a young person's respect and admiration. To take advantage of their trust.

  "Do you want to ask them anything?" Lauren asked.

  Vy shook her head. She looked from Carter to him but before he could feel the connection again, she closed her eyes.

  "Who do you choose, Vy?" Lauren asked.

  She opened her eyes, but stared resolutely at the floor.

  "Tim Carter," she said.

  She spared him a glance while Carter jumped out of his chair and ran to her.

  He looked after her as she left the stage. He was oddly relieved that he lost her. The regret that blistered inside his heart had little to do with music.

  Chapter 3

  Andrew

  Ryann Ford was the Captain he had least in common with. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and although his voice wasn't impressive, Ford used it well, choosing to sing only songs that worked for him. He was a powerful creative force behind many popular singers and bands.

  "Exhausting, isn't it?" Ford asked sitting in the makeup chair.

  Andrew nodded and sat in the next chair, while the makeup people started to remove the layers of powder and concealer from their faces.

  "Does it get easier?" he asked.

  "Are you kidding?" Ford said. "This is the fun part."

  Andrew pursed his lips. He hadn't had fun that day. He wasn't a softie and one of the reasons he had been brought on the show was to replace the previous guy who had been the most cerebral and musically erudite of the four. Carter was about showmanship, Lauren was about emotion and Ford was the biggest draw for the younger audience. Andrew knew he was cast as the scary, serious guy.

  For the most part, he hadn't been bothered for not choosing singers he didn't feel were good enough, didn't have enough to offer to the audience and, most of all, singers whose voices he didn't feel he could hone to perfection in the weeks he had at his disposal.

  "It didn't feel like fun today," he said.

  "It will be better tomorrow," Ford said. "There are so many talented people who come here, you will feel better about only choosing the ones you feel have the most to offer the audience."

  That was surprisingly close to his own view of the process.

  "They told me about all the good stuff when I got this job. What's the worst part?"

  Ford looked into the middle distance, and Andrew wondered if he had heard him.

  "When you have to make choices inside your team. The next few months are brutal. The semifinal and the final are hard, but then it's your people against people you don't know. Until then, you go into the House, work with them day after day. You see them strive. You see them grow. And they trust you. But every time for three rounds, you have to choose which one goes on and which stays. You start with sixteen people and you go into the semifinal with two of them."

  He knew the rules, but he hadn't thought too much about the fact that he would have to eliminate fourteen people he trained. When he accepted this position, the divorce was too fresh to think about anything other than he needed to bury himself in work. His kid loved Sing, so this way he was going to be in her life even if she would be an ocean away.

  He had never imagined Ryann Ford serious. His music, even when his songs talked about loss and betrayal, didn't seem to have much depth. But the man had.

  "Then why do you come back?" he asked. "Year after year."

  He knew it couldn't just be the money. Andrew had been in the industry for too long. He had a very good idea about the numbers Ryann Ford pulled. Ford made a lot more money on his own projects than what IBC was paying him.

  "It's worth it," Ford said. "It's a challenge to make ourselves choose the best of the best. Besides, you don't have to lose contact with the people you cut from your team. I still work with people I met here five years ago. We all work with them after the season ends."

  His mind jumped to the girl he lost. Maybe he could work with her once the season was over.

  "My daughter absolutely adore you," Andrew said.

  Ford accepted the change of subject with a smile that erased his previous solemn expression.

  "You should bring her over one of these days."

  His heart lurched. He couldn't tell Ryann about the divorce. A month had passed since the papers were final and only the immediate family knew about it. Even if the makeup people weren't there. He still couldn't accept it himself.

  "She's in America now," he said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. It was the July, so it was easy to assume she spent her summer holiday in America. "But I could send her a selfie with you."

  "Sure thing. America has Disneyland but Illyria has Ryann Ford."

  Andrew chuckled as he took out his phone. Ryann's easy-going manner helped him relax. Maybe he could learn something from this young man. He was subject to the same pressure as him, if not more. Ryann Ford's rapid rise
to fame at a young age probably left him needing to work hard to prove himself worthy of the adulation of the fans. His own time as a teenage star had left him with deep scars. Almost two decades later, he still bore the marks those years had left on his soul.

  "I'm going to use that," he said.

  "It's royalty free."

  Ryann put his head next to Andrew's and they made faces for the camera.

  "Thanks a lot," he said, shaking Ryann's hand. "She'll love it. An autograph from you, and I'm all set for Christmas presents this year."

  He was looking at Ryann when the door opened and he caught the flicker in the young man's eyes. It was lightning fast, but the pupillary response to Lauren's entry was unmistakable. Desire. Ryann's carefree expression didn't show any trace of that, but he was sure he'd seen it. So, Ryann Ford had a secret of his own. At best, Ryann had a crush on Lauren. At worst, given how long they had worked together, it was an enduring secret love.

  Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe his own past experience gave a simple physiological reaction a complicated explanation. After all, Lauren DeSalle was a beautiful woman and it was natural for any man to be attracted to her. If all signs of instant attraction meant falling in love, he was on a slippery path with a certain contestant he had lost that day.

  Vy

  Vy bit the corner of her croissant and swallowed it almost without chewing. Right. She had to tell them. Sebastian was out on his morning jog but he'd be back and she didn't want him present at the scene. Her brother would side with her and she didn't want to get him in trouble. Sooner or later, Sebastian got in trouble anyway. She took a sip of espresso. Her father made the best espresso in the whole world. She was going to miss it.

  "I have something to tell you," she said.

  The unusual edge of nervousness in her voice caught their attention. Across the table, her father looked up from his paper. Her mother closed the book she'd been reading. They both looked at her expectantly.

  "Last week I auditioned for Sing and I was accepted."

  "Excuse me?" her mother said.

  Vy darted a look at her father. Paul Cesara's brows forehead wrinkled in concentration. Her father never reacted impulsively. Her action went against everything he wanted for her, yet he took the time to weigh things before speaking.

  "I told you I was going to audition this year," she said.

  "Yes, Viola, you've been talking about this show since you were ten years old," her mother said frowning.

  How could Adeline St. Croix Cesara, the human rights advocate who spent her time feeding countries in the third world and standing up for the freedom of speech understand that her only daughter wanted to do something as frivolous as singing? Better get it over with.

  "Training starts on August 1," she said. "I'll move into IBC's Sing House. I signed the contract with them yesterday."

  "That was very irresponsible of you, Viola," her mother said shaking her head.

  "We've been understanding about this hobby of yours," her father said. "But now you jeopardize your future to be on this... television show."

  The understated disdain in his tone stung. Paul Cesara, the respected lawyer and Salona alumnus, had every reason to be thoroughly disappointed in her. She knew her parents' values and she respected them enough to grit her teeth and hold back the bitterness. Music was not a hobby. Music was her life.

  She hung her head, and let them go on, knowing that there was nothing they could do to stop her at that point. She didn't like to hurt them, but she had made her choice. The only reason she hadn't auditioned on previous seasons of Sing was that as a minor, she needed her parents' written consent. She had turned eighteen eight months earlier, too late to be on Sing IX, but nothing held her back that year.

  "I'm sorry you feel this way," she said.

  Her mother looked away, and Vy wished she hadn't seen the tears in her eyes.

  "We can't stop you," her father said. "But I am going to pay the first installment of your tuition. If you leave the show before October 1, you can still go to university."

  "I don't think that's a good idea."

  Even one installment of the yearly tuition was probably more than she could pay them back out of her savings.

  "Viola, be realistic," her mother said. "You spent the last four years in the best prep-school in the country, getting ready for your Law studies at Salona. People who go on that show have studied music every day for years. Some of them are already professional singers."

  It looked like her mother had paid attention. To be fair, she and Sebastian had staked a claim on the biggest TV in the house for those three hours each Friday when Sing was on. Fourteen Fridays, without exception, for nine years. Their parents probably knew more about Sing than most people. And since her father's law firm handled TC, the Waves and Ryann Ford's production house, he must have known even more than her mother about the music world.

  "I know you're used to winning," her father said. "It's no shame to lose when you're against someone so much better prepared than you. When you're out, Salona will be there for you."

  What if they were right? What if she was going there only to make a fool of herself in front of millions of people? Her shoulders slumped a little.

  "Okay, dad. Pay the first installment, and we'll see."

  Chapter 4

  Vy

  The taxi took her from the Northern quarter, across Orsino central, all the way to the dusty industrial district south of the Capital. She got out in front of the pavilion which had been the contestants' waiting room during the auditions.

  When she stepped into the lobby, a young woman greeted her from behind a desk. A sign in front of her said she was Kate Redding, Production Assistant. Vy signed her name on the entrance sheet.

  "Welcome to Sing, Miss Cesara!" Kate said, and gave her the presentation package.

  "Thank you. And it's Vy."

  Kate smiled and stood up with a roll of self-adhesive labels in her hand.

  "Please leave your luggage here," Kate said, writing a number on the label she put on Vy's suitcase. "It will be brought to your room."

  Kate looked around. "The others are outside?"

  "The others?" Vy asked.

  "The rest of your luggage," Kate said.

  Vy shook her head. "No. This is it."

  "Oh. Ok then. You can go in now. Mr. Dean's briefing will start in about fifteen minutes."

  The people filling the room had the same purpose as her. On December 22, almost five months from that day, only one out of the sixty-four contestants will have that dream come true.

  Han Solo's line rose in her mind. Never tell me the odds. She'd watched Star Wars with Alice and Sebastian many times, but this was the first time she understood this line. The odds didn't matter. She would give the best of her.

  Badly muffled giggling to her left drew her out of her thoughts. Two girls who looked like they had stepped out of a fashion magazine were concealing their sniggers and mean words behind their hands looking at a boy with blue hair. He looked a little like Sebastian, minus the cocky attitude. Her brother rocked black fingernails and eyeliner, but he would have never laughed at someone who didn't.

  The guy looked around for another place where he could sit, but the only empty seats were around him. The red in his cheeks ruined the goth look even more. Vy marched over and to him, disrupting the two super models' line of sight.

  "Hi," she said. "Is this seat taken?"

  The boy looked up at her. "N-no."

  "I'm Vy."

  He stared at her outstretched hand like it might explode in his face, but when he shook it his grip was firm, albeit a little clammy.

  "Marvin," he said.

  She dropped her backpack next to his.

  "Where are you from?"

  "Larissa," he said.

  "Cool. I love those ricotta pancakes you guys have. We tried to make them at home, but… epic fail."

  "I can show you how they're made, if you want," he said. "If we're all
owed to cook here."

  "That would be awesome." Her stomach growled. "Wait, I get to eat some, right? You're not just going to show me how to make them?"

  Marvin nodded hurriedly. "Of course. I meant I'll make some for you, and you can see how."

  "I'll do my best to assist you. I haven't set a kitchen on fire in many, many years."

  He relaxed a little, but then tensed again.

  "That was a joke, right?" he asked.

  "Sure. Let's go with that."

  By the time Robinson Dean started talking, Marvin was smiling. Vy's mind wandered a few times during the twenty minutes presentation.

  "In your folder, you will find the card key with the number of the room you were assigned. Practice starts tomorrow, according to the schedule and what the Captains decide when they come to the House tonight. You have this evening free to settle down. My colleagues will accompany you. Good luck, everyone!"

  It wasn't Braveheart, but the speech got a round of applause. Everyone seemed excited to get started on this new adventure. Some were giddy, others, like Marvin, merely anxious.

  She hanged back as the room cleared, and Marvin waited with her. He was chewing the inside of his cheek but before she could say something to distract him, they heard Robinson Dean at the back of the room.

  "Please wait here, miss Taylor. Someone will be here with the wheelchair to take you to the House."

  "Really, it's not necessary," the girl said.

  Dean looked at her sternly, and she flopped back in her chair. She put her two crutches across her lap and her bright smile dimmed.

  "Hey, I'm Vy. What's your name?"

  "Helen," she said.

  "Nice to meet you. This is Marvin. Do you want to come with us to the House?"

  The girl's eyebrows shot up and her eyes sparkled again. "I'd love that! They mean well, but it's a bit much."

  The three of them were about a hundred feet away when they heard rattling of wheels and someone out of breath calling after them.

  "Heeey! Wait up!"

  A guy wearing the Sing vest was pushing a wheelchair.