Sonata (North Security 3)

“So where do you work now?” I force myself to ask.

Blue eyes study me as if he knows the dark direction of my thoughts. When he speaks I know it’s more a kindness than a conversation. “I have another confession to make. My family is one of those overly rich, undertalented people who own some of the best instruments. It’s why they pushed me to play the cello. They wanted a prodigy. Instead they got me.”

Sympathy tightens my throat. There had been many stage moms and dads when I performed as a child prodigy. They had pointed to me as the example. You don’t want this for them, I wanted to shout. Better to be normal. Better to be happy. Not that it mattered. They couldn’t manufacture prodigy-like skill any more than I could pretend I knew what to do a on playground. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“Ah, don’t apologize. My father accepted it soon enough. Mom took a little bit longer, but she wants me to be happy. And they’re rich enough that they can sponsor prodigies every year. I took over the family business, managing our investments in the music world. Including with the Palais Garnier.”

“It’s privately owned?”

“No, but they lease the space to our production company. In other words, we carry the risk if a performance should flop. The Paris Opera gets paid either way.”

“Well,” I say with a nervous laugh. “We’ll try not to flop then.”

Of course, that probably means I’ll have to play the violin. Yes, that’s almost certainly going to be required for any sort of concert. Acid burns my stomach. If only we had stayed in Nantes another week. Another month. Another year. I never wanted to return to the real world.

Liam

She looks like a princess in the center of the ballroom. And the fucker holding her? He looks like a prince. I can’t ignore who that makes me in this story. The villain. The one who wants to drag her down to the basement where no one can touch her. Only me.

The veneer of respectability wears thin. I’m bursting with primal impulse, with violent lust. I want to howl at the goddamn moon. Instead I cross the ballroom and tap his shoulder.

“May I cut in?” I ask, with regular words. Congratulations, I tell myself, mocking the impulse that brought me here, you didn’t snarl or snap at the other male trying to mate her.

He looks reluctant, but there’s no way for him to politely refuse. That’s his first mistake, favoring politeness over this woman. She’s worth rudeness. She’s worth everything.

Then she’s in my arms, and I sweep her away.

Her brown eyes examine me. “You know how to waltz?”

I glance down at my tux, my shined shoes, the neat steps that lead her through the dance. “I know how to do many things that make me fit into places like this.”

“Places like a fancy ball? Or places that aren’t battlefields?”

Damn her for seeing more than she should. “I told you how I was raised.”

“Bullshit.”

A hesitation in my step. I don’t trip, but it’s a close thing. I can count the number of times she’s used swear words on one hand, most of them when Josh tried to teach her to swear. “Pardon?”

“I called bullshit. You came from a place infested with fleas, but that’s not who you’ve been for years. For decades. So why do you use that as an excuse?” Dark lashes drop to pale white cheeks. “Unless you think that I’m nothing more than I was. Unless I’m still the girl in that orphanage.”

“You were only there for two weeks.” The words are out before I can stop them. Too much history. Too much guilt. The ordinary amount of guilt is heavy enough, the weight of wanting to fuck her pretty red lips when I should be protecting her.

Her gaze meets mine. “You never told me why.”

“Why I adopted you?”

“Why you waited two weeks to do it.”

Hell. The ballroom becomes a minefield. If I take a wrong step, she’s the one who blows up. “I wasn’t sure what would happen to you. I thought someone else might take custody of you.”

She seems to accept that without further question. Relief is a faint vibration. I won’t know it fully until the song ends. “And then you realized no one else was coming.”

Sadness colors her words. Maybe embarrassment. Better those feelings than if she knew the truth. “I knew I could never be a decent guardian for you, that I could never provide a real family. You were so young. So strong. I had to try anyway.”

“Because you killed my father. And almost killed me.”

I glance at the couple dancing near us. Thankfully they haven’t heard. It wouldn’t be ideal for my rogue actions as a former US agent to be broadcast to French society. Her safety is the primary concern. More than the fact that I want to fuck her.