Chapter Thirty-Two
Cluster: a harmonic structure composed of seconds (rather than thirds)
Damian
“Do you have a car?” I ask as I start putting away my cello.
“What?”
I look up to see Charlie still standing by the door, her hands over her mouth, a dazed look on her face.
Straightening up, I strap the velcro around the neck of the cello and close the case, latching it before turning to face Charlie. “A car. With a driver. That’s what you usually do when you travel, right?”
Charlie blinks, her blue eyes coming back into focus. “Right. Yes. I do.”
A knock sounds at the door, pulling both of our attention, but neither of us moves to answer it.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “I can’t believe I did that.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “I can’t either.” I guess I don’t have to worry about her being embarrassed about me, about us, anymore. She just made our relationship known in front of the whole auditorium. Any chance she may have had to slip away unnoticed evaporated the second she bounded down to the front with an arm full of flowers. For me.
Another knock. This time accompanied by a voice. “Damian? Uh, you … left your flowers on stage.” I recognize the voice as Barbara, the orchestra manager.
With a sigh, I realize she won’t go away until I at least talk to her. Gripping Charlie’s arms, I draw her gaze to my face. “Text your driver. Tell him to meet us by the stage door. Once he’s here, we’ll leave, okay?”
She nods. “Right. Of course.”
She pulls out of my grip and gets out her phone, moving to stand by my case so she’ll be blocked by the door when I open it. Which I only do a crack, just enough for my face and left arm to fit through so I can retrieve the flowers. Because that’s what I care about right now.
Barbara cranes her neck, trying to see behind me, but I’m filling the opening so that she can only see above my head. Which, since she’s a good six inches shorter than me, means she can only see the ceiling tiles.
I extend my hand through the opening, and she stares at it. “The flowers?”
“Oh! Right. Of course. Here.” She places the bouquet in my hand, a mix of different colored roses.
“Thanks, Barbara. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay for the reception. I’m sure you understand.”
Her brows pull together, and she gives her head a little shake, her iron gray bob swaying with the movement. “Oh … but the winners are supposed to …”
I give her a sympathetic smile. “I know. And I’m terribly sorry. Please communicate my apologies to the conductor and the other performers, as well as the audience members. Something rather … urgent has come up, and I won’t be able to stay for the rest of the concert.”
“That’s … but—”
“Again, I’m very sorry. Thanks again, Barbara. I’ll be sure to contact the conductor personally once the situation is … resolved.” I give her one last closed-mouth smile and close the door. In her confused face. I feel like a dick, but I don’t have a choice. Charlie can’t stay. She’ll be mobbed. We’ll be mobbed.
Hell, even if she leaves, the people approaching me will be talking to me about her more than my performance. What happened at Marycliff after her identity came out and the spring semester started taught me that much.
We have to leave.
When I turn to Charlie, she has a smirk on her face. Laying the flowers on the built-in vanity, I narrow my eyes at her. “What?”
Her eyes drift down to my crotch. “Something urgent has come up, huh?”
Crossing my arms, I let out a snort.
She opens her mouth to say something else, but her phone vibrates before she can say it, pulling her attention. “My driver’s here.”
When her eyes meet mine again, the humor is gone, her expression serious. “I’m sorry, Damian. I didn’t mean …” She throws her hands up in the air and lets them fall to hit her thighs. “I wasn’t trying to make your life more difficult. I’ve always wanted to avoid that. I just …” She looks away for a second, blinking, then looks me in the eye again. “I was so excited for you. Your performance was so amazing. I wanted to be the one to give you the flowers.”
I close the few steps between us and press a kiss to her mouth. “Don’t apologize. Maybe it’s not ideal, us having to leave like this, but I’m okay with it.”
She smiles at me and opens her mouth, but whatever she’s about to say is cut off by another knock on the door.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter.
But it’s not the orchestra manager or someone trying to get to Charlie. At least not for selfish reasons.
“Ms. James. I’m here,” a deep voice says from the other side of the door.
Charlie clears her throat. “That’s Tony. My driver.”
I pick up the flowers and hand them to Charlie and slip my arm through one of the straps on my case, hoisting it off the floor. At my nod, Charlie opens the door. Dressed in a charcoal suit and white shirt, Tony looks a little younger than my dad, except he’s completely bald and my dad has a full head of hair. He holds the door for Charlie, his sharp gray eyes scanning me as I follow her. He keeps Charlie next to him, leaving me to bring up the rear as he quickly leads the way through the backstage area to the stage door.
Curious heads poke out of the larger dressing rooms where the orchestra members keep their cases and mill around during the intermission as we pass. Conversations stop when they spot us, then exclamations of surprise erupt in our wake, like a weird doppler effect, but no one stops us.
A nondescript gray sedan waits for us right outside the door, parked and running in the loading zone. Tony opens the rear passenger door for Charlie, and shuts it behind her as soon as she climbs in.
I clear my throat, and his piercing eyes meet mine as I make a lame gesture toward the trunk of the car. “Um, can I put my cello in there?”
He nods once, walks to the driver’s side, climbs in and pops the trunk for me. The way he’s been looking at me, I half expect him to drive off before I can get my cello in, much less get in the car myself. But he doesn’t.
A head pops out of the stage door, one of the orchestra members I think, but then I’m in the car, and Tony’s driving before I even get my seatbelt buckled.
Charlie and I exchange glances, but remain silent as Tony drives us back to the hotel. The orchestra had arranged for me to stay with a host family, but when Charlie found out about it, and that my parents and little sister were coming, she reserved rooms for all of us without even asking first, and called me to let me know. It’s the same hotel we stayed in when we were here in March.
When Tony pulls up in front of the back entrance, I get out first, retrieving my cello from the trunk. Tony opens Charlie’s door, staying by her side as he escorts us to the staff elevator and up to Charlie’s room.
My room is on a different floor, but now doesn’t seem to be the time to point that out. Charlie unlocks her door and holds it open. I look from her to Tony and down the hall, but she’s obviously waiting for me to follow her in. As is Tony. With a mental shrug, I step inside, and Tony nods at Charlie as she closes the door.
Setting my cello down, I survey the room. It’s a suite, but the extra wide doorway between the living area and the bedroom doesn’t have a door. The decor is essentially the same as in my room—shades of gray and white for the upholstery with dark wood furniture.
Charlie expels an audible breath, her arms wrapped around herself. “Well. That wasn’t at all how I planned for today to go.”
I give her a crooked smile, my hands in my pockets. “Yeah. Me either.”
Her eyes travel down my body and back up again. “You look really nice,” she says quietly. Closing the distance between us, she trails a hand down my tie. “I like the tie. The little bit of color. It’s a nice touch.”
I have to clear my throat to make sure my voice comes out. “Thanks.” Even so, it still sounds huskier than I meant, because that’s the effect her proximity has on me. Her touch. Her sweet scent. Her voice.
My hands come out of my pockets all on their own and slide around her. She lifts her eyes from my tie, looking me in the face, darting glances between my eyes and my mouth.
I can’t take it anymore, so I kiss her. She opens for me, her tongue meeting mine. My arms tighten around her, crushing her body to mine, finding the hem of her top and slipping my hand underneath. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of the silky feel of her skin. I wish I could feel her every day.