ALEX
Candace Samantha Whitmore is a beautiful woman—but she can’t sing to save her life. She stands on stage, belting out a song that’s not even recognizable, putting her whole heart into it.
I sit at a desk in front of the stage with my hand pressed over my mouth to hide my horror.
She finally finishes on a high note that warbles between flat and sharp, extending her hands theatrically—smiling like a true prima donna.
At least she has that part down.
Beside me, Frederick claps like it was the single-most enthralling performance he’s ever seen.
“Brava!” he calls, rising to his feet.
She beams at him, breathing hard. “You really liked it, Frederick?”
He presses a hand to his chest. “You stole my heart.”
Laughing, she averts her eyes, pretending to blush. But the only pink in her cheeks is the product of rouge, and if Frederick’s stories have even a thread of truth to them, she’s not that innocent.
“Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?” I mutter to him, earning a grin.
Candace smooths her long brunette hair and then turns to me, breathless with nerves. “And what about you, Mr. Devereaux? What did you think?”
“I…” I force a smile, desperately trying to think of an answer that won’t cost me Charles’s money. “Why…I’ve never heard anything like it.”
Her nervous expression freezes as she processes my answer. When I give her a tentative smile, she begins to nod, suddenly becoming radiant when she decides it must have been a compliment.
Standing in the bright lamplights, the woman steals my breath. It’s a shame stray dogs howl closer to pitch than she sings—it really is. She’d make a stunning lead.
And just imagine the tickets we’d sell if we put the darling of Davon on stage…
I study her, wondering if there is any way. But how?
“We have a few more auditions to get through,” I tell her. “But I should be able to give you an answer by the end of the week.”
Candace clasps her hands together at her chest. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Devereaux. Singing on this stage… It was simply exhilarating.”
I nod, hiding my crushing disappointment.
Frederick hurries to the side stairs, offering her his hand. She descends, looking like a queen of the stage, a graceful swan. Absolutely perfect.
Of all the bad luck.
Frederick escorts Candace into the foyer, taking her to Charles’s waiting carriage, and I press my forehead to the desk and groan.
“Pretty girl,” Penelope says, pulling out the seat beside me and claiming it. She’s one of the theater’s regular chorus girls, and she has a good ear for raw talent. “But she can’t hold a note.”
“Her Favoran is good, though. Does she have any potential?”
Penelope laughs, lighting fire to the last of my hope.
I roll my head to the side to look at her. “Do you think people will notice she can’t sing?”
“I think they might.” Penelope snatches a paper-wrapped peppermint from the crystal bowl at the edge of the desk. “If you’re determined to have her on stage, you could give her a new voice.”
“A new voice?” I sit up, snatching the peppermint.
She gives me a droll look and takes another. “You know what I mean.”