Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“Well, don’t throw up on a Stradivarius or you’ll probably lose your violin license.”
“I can’t put it down. Like honestly, it’s been hours. I can’t let go of it.”
“Of course you can’t let go of it. It’s your baby now. What are you just going to put it back in its case? How will it know how much you love it?” She’s teasing me, in the way where she fully understands why I can’t let go of it.
I’m in my bedroom now, and I gently nudge the door shut so I can say what’s on my mind. “Actually, the violin is more than a birthday present. It’s a goodbye present.”
A pause. “What does that mean?”
Grief lances my heart, but I try for a matter-of-fact tone. “I guess it means I’m not going to see Liam again after I leave for the tour. That’s probably for the best. It’s not like we’re family.”
“Wow,” she says, falling silent again.
“Wow what?”
“That’s both incredibly generous and incredibly cold.”
“No, it’s—” My throat tightens. “He doesn’t owe me anything. He certainly didn’t owe me this violin. It shows how much he understands me. How much he cares for me.”
“Yes,” she says drily. “So much that he doesn’t want to see you again.”
Tears prick my eyes like hot pokers. “He’s always been a realist.”
“He’s always been an asshole,” she says with a sigh. “But you love him.”
Yes, but not the way she means. Not as a father. I love him as more than that—as my everything. “You don’t keep in touch with Edward,” I say, trying to sound reasonable. We had that in common, guardians who cared for us out of obligation rather than familial love.
“Because I didn’t love Edward. And he didn’t love me.”
“There. You see? Exactly like me and Liam.”
“It’s the exact opposite of you and Liam, Samantha. You love him. And he feels something for you. Why do you think I called him an asshole?”
“Because he wanted me to go to high school instead of tour professionally?”
“No, he was probably right about that. I thought he was an asshole because he keeps his distance from you instead of saying how he really feels.”
My body tightens as I remember his hands on my thighs, his tongue on my clit. “What if the way he feels about me isn’t appropriate for a guardian to his ward?”
“He isn’t a regular guardian,” she says gently. “And you aren’t a regular ward. So why should your feelings be the same as other people?”
“Beatrix, whatever happened between you and Edward?” He was her father’s business partner. When both her parents died, he became the trustee of the considerable wealth she inherited. The only thing I know is that they had a falling out about her husband.
“He wanted to marry me,” she admits. “Not in the sweet ‘I love you’ way. More like a ‘you can’t leave the penthouse so you’ll make a nice attic wife for me’ way.”
“Oh, Bea. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was embarrassed. Ashamed, really. I didn’t have a regular life going to high school. You know I couldn’t even leave the hotel for years, until I met Hugo.”
“Edward didn’t take it well?”
“No, and there’s something else, something I found out about his past. It doesn’t matter now except to say that he’s not a good man.”
My heart clenches. “I’m sorry.”
“I know we have this in common, and I’m grateful to call you my friend. But our situations are completely different. Even before I knew the truth about Edward, I knew I couldn’t marry him. That I would never love him—not as a husband or as a guardian.”
She’s right. Our situations aren’t the same at all. If Liam North were to ask me to marry him, I would give up everything to say yes. The tour, a music career. Traveling the world. I’m excited about it, but it pales in comparison to the man one floor down. Of course, he would never ask me to marry him. He doesn’t even want to see me again. I stroke the smooth wood of the Stradivarius, which may be all I ever have of Liam North.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The world’s fastest violinist played “The Flight of the Bumblebee” averaging fifteen notes per second.
SAMANTHA
Laney insists on taking me to the local café, where we have tea and chocolate croissants while discussing the latest Outlander episode. Josh drives us there, even securing the back exit before he lets us come inside. I give him a strange look. He’s often been responsible for driving us around, the most overqualified chauffeur in the world, but this seems extreme.
In answer he gives me a wink and takes his latte outside.
I glance back at Laney, who’s trying to hide her grin. And the notch of worry between her eyes is gone. “Do you have good news?” I demand, already suspecting as much.