Read Online Apart at the Seams by Marie Bostwick - Free Book Online Page A

singer. At the end of the night, he came to my table and offered to buy me a beer. Of course, I was already totally enamored, but the second Brian opened his mouth, it was all over for me. Few nineteen-year-old girls can resist a gorgeous musician, but a gorgeous musician with a British accent? Forget about it.
    When the club closed, we found a restaurant that served bacon and eggs all night and told each other the stories of our lives. Brian’s was much more interesting than mine. He was twenty-one years old, the second son of a distinguished family. I don’t think he intended to tell me that part, because the minute it came out, he turned red and started fiddling with his silverware.
    â€œIt’s not a big deal,” he said.
    â€œIt sounds kind of glamorous to me.”
    Brian shook his head. “Three hundred years ago, maybe. Now ‘viscount’ is just a title. Comes with no lands or rights but plenty of responsibilities. Well, not responsibilities as much as pressures.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œTo look more important than you are and maintain a lifestyle you really can’t afford, like keeping a big, drafty, impractical house that’s been in the family since the reign of George the Fourth, or sending your sons to Harrow because that’s where we’ve always gone, that kind of thing. Keeping up appearances. It’s ridiculous. My brother, James, will inherit it all someday—title, house, and headaches.”
    â€œAnd that doesn’t bother you?”
    â€œNot a bit. I’m free to do and be whatever I want. Of course, my parents don’t agree. When I told my father I was dropping out of university to compose and play music, he almost had a heart attack.”
    â€œYou mean you wrote those songs?”
    He dipped his head forward. His sleek chestnut hair flopped over his brow.
    â€œMost of them.” He smiled. “The good ones.”
    â€œEven the one about the phone booth? Wow! That was my favorite. That’s so cool! I never knew anyone who made their living writing songs.”
    â€œWell,” he said with a shrug, “I haven’t actually sold any. Not yet. But I own all the songs. And if we ever make it big . . .”
    He let the end of his sentence trail off as he cut bacon into bite-sized pieces. “I’m starting to think it might never happen, not with Warrior Poets. Will doesn’t have much of a voice. Trevor’s a decent enough drummer but only when he’s sober, which isn’t very often. I’m cashing in at the end of the run.”
    â€œWhat will you do then?”
    â€œGo to Italy. I’m going to live on a barge for July and August, just float from place to place, drink wine, eat pasta, write songs, and perform for passengers in the evening. I saw an advert from a tour company, so I sent in a tape and got the job. I’ll stay in the crew quarters. It’ll be tight, but that doesn’t matter.”
    â€œWow. But won’t your parents be mad?”
    He grinned. “What can they do to stop me?”
    Â 
    Brian was more conventional than his rebellious words would have implied. Though he could absolutely have gotten me into bed on that first night, no question about it, we didn’t sleep together for another three weeks. It was my first time, and it was . . . lovely. Beyond lovely.
    In the morning, as soon as I stirred next to him, he pulled me into his arms, brushed the hair away from my face, and asked me to marry him.
    The wedding took place a few days later, at the registry office. The surroundings were dingy and the ceremony was perfunctory, but I couldn’t have been happier. I called my parents to tell them the news and not to bother sending the check for my fall tuition; I was dropping out of Princeton.
    My mother sobbed herself hysterical, and my father unleashed more oaths than I’d ever heard strung together at one time, then slammed down the receiver without