Page 123 of Insta Bride
I tuned into Sydney’s favorite FM radio station as instructed. I didn’t care about overnight car accidents or political scandals. I didn’t even care about the European football results.
“Have you been following Australian Love Story?” Candi asked her on-air co-host.
“Hasn’t everyone. Benjamin and Kenzie for my vote.” Kurt deadpanned. I sometimes wished radio shows could be original. Not everyone wanted to listen to a couple who sounded like—a couple. Give me friction and real differences of opinion.
“Have you heard the latest?”
“What? Kye Branson wrapped around another starlet?”
“According to my sources, those are all fakes or old news.”
“You really think a guy can change?”
“I’m even voting on it. According to my sources, Kye Branson is head over heels in love with his wife and just wants a chance for her to hear him out.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“How about you believe this?” Candi’s voice trailed off as the music started.
Thump, thump, thump, Elena, thump, thump, thump, Elena.
The words were mine.
The voice could have been mine—but it had been distorted by the loop machine until even the production company couldn’t fault me. The unmistakeable voice of Xavier Galis filled the room, other than when my voice said her name.
We know a girl, called Elena
We know a guy who loves her
We know a girl, who’s hurting
We know a guy who’s desperately wanting
To call Elena
To talk to, to explain to, Elena
We know a girl, called Elena
We know a guy who loves Elena
The lyrics were cheesy and wouldn’t stand the test of time in anyone’s imagination, but if Dev was standing next to me, I’d have signed over my apartment, car and future children.
He’d done me a solid.
Instead of a chorus, he’d looped my words, my voice.
I choose Elena.
I don’t care about the money, I choose Elena
Dev had taken a dozen words and looped them around until they formed the beating of the music and the heart.
Less than two minutes.
The song had been created in days, and took less than two minutes to play. Would it be enough.
“Oh, man, you’ve sold me.” Kurt enthused his fake sincerity over the air waves. “Don’t tell me Kye Branson wrote a song for his wife?”