Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
But she doesn’t ask. A barrier blankets the space between us. Sasha would need a wrecking ball and divine intervention to bring it down because I’m not ready to share my past. That would be admitting to her how much I care about her.
Too damn much.
She hums the melody of the bells. “If you pay attention, everything has its own cadence. Its own music. These float between four octaves. D2 through D6. It’s breathtaking.” She sighs. “I wish I had my cello.”
Sasha looks lost in her own world—of bells, whistling notes, and humming—when I wrap my hand around the nape of her neck, curling around her throat.
“Do that again.” My voice sounds harsh, but I need to hear it.
Need to relive the past. Need to remind myself why my work is important.
Her eyes fly open, and she’s met with me, hovering mere inches in front of her face.
“Do what again?”
“That melody.”
She hums the bells’ song. The notes vibrate against my palm. My eyes shut, forehead coming down to meet hers. Words tumble from my mouth, and I don’t even have the energy to fight it.
“When my dad kicked me out, I struggled to find food.”
She doesn’t stop humming. The melody seeps between us as I share more than I’ve ever shared before, and Sasha never once interrupts me. She does as I asked, and later, I’ll dissect whether that has something to do with me opening up.
“There was a street with a dozen restaurants, and each week, when the bells started ringing, the owners and staff would congregate in one place for a meeting, leaving the stores unattended. I would take advantage of that fact.”
My hand loosens around the column of her neck. “Often, it was the only time I would eat.”
Her breath hitches, and I feel a tear drop from her chin onto my hand.
The first true sign Sasha cares. For me.
33
SASHA
His words play on an endless loop in my mind, and my heart aches at the thought.
The only times he ate was when he would sneak into stores and steal food. Now all the times he was concerned with my eating make sense. He went hungry, and he doesn’t want me to.
This is a weak spot. A loose brick in his façade.
The thing is, where in the past I might have wanted to exploit this, I don’t want to now.
I’ve seen brief glimpses of Gideon Byrne, and I know there is more to him than the persona of a ruthless boss.
And I never could have admitted it or imagined it before, but I want to know everything there is about him. And not for my survival, but because I’m interested in him.
Which is a good thing since I just let him finger me in Lincoln Center.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yep, just peachy,” I respond as I follow him toward the door to the restaurant. The smell of the city still lingers in my nose as Gideon swings it open, and we step inside.
It’s beautiful. Elegant but quaint. It’s dim, the lights low and sensuous. The walls are a deep shade of blue, like the depths of a deep ocean.
Gideon takes my hand, and butterflies take flight at the contact. As we move through the room, shadows of light dance across my face.
“You don’t look okay.” The desire to tell him I was okay, but now I’m not because I remember his touch filters through me. The way he played my body as if I were the cello.
“Are you warm?” he asks.
Great, now I’m blushing.
“Just parched,” I answer, placing my hands on my lap and fiddling with the hem of my dress. Gideon nods before raising his hand to signal for the server. “I can’t believe you rented out this whole place for us.”
“I know you were bored…” His voice is playful, and it makes me smile.
I quirk a brow at him. “Well, there’s bored, and then there’s renting out a whole restaurant. And don’t get me started on Lincoln Center.”
“No, please”—he grins—“let’s talk about that.” My cheeks warm as I wait for him to mention the enormous elephant in the room. But he doesn’t. “Why can’t you perform in public? You mentioned your brother, but you never gave a reason.”
I take a deep breath. “I was on stage, and I was searching the crowd. The only person I had was Roman. It was my turn to play. I had the cello between my legs and the bow lifted, but as I searched the crowd, I couldn’t find him. Even after my parents died, I had never felt this alone. I felt naked in front of the crowd. And when I lifted my bow, my shaky hand jerked, and a screech rang through the air. The crowd of my peers, of everyone at the school, they all laughed. I closed my eyes, and then I remember the feeling of tears running down my cheeks.”