Sonata (North Security 3)

When you step on a land mine, you hold down the trigger. You can stand there as long as you want. Completely still. That’s how long you stay alive. As soon as you move, the bomb goes off. “Your mother. I knew she was still alive. I thought she’d come for you when your father died.”

A blast of both force and fire. She blinks. “The woman on the train. That was her?”

“We don’t know that.”

Emotions pass over her beautiful face—heartbreak and confusion. Pain and a deep well of betrayal. That the woman who gave birth to her left her to that cold orphanage. That the woman had left her a long time before that. At least my mother escaped a living hell when she abandoned us. Samantha’s mother doesn’t have that excuse. I would kill to spare her this hurt. Ironic that I’m the one who caused it.

She pulls away from me. I catch her wrist. Disillusionment makes her eyes look wide open, broken so that I can see the tender space inside her. “I need to be alone,” she says.

Yes, I understand. I hate it, but I understand. I’ve made an entire life so that I could be alone. If your own mother doesn’t want you, how can you ever believe anyone else would? Safer to hold everyone at arm’s length. Safer to flee the ballroom, tears in your eyes, dark curls flying behind her. It might not make sense to other people, but people who’ve been abandoned this way understand. It cracks the foundation of a person. It leaves a fissure that only deepens with time. I want to go after her, to insist that she accept comfort, to hold her down until she understands that she’s worthy. Love doesn’t really work like that. Nor is my comfort worth much, in the end. It’s the princes of the world who can give her the security she really needs—the wholesome happy ending.

CHAPTER NINE

The piano was originally called the pianoforte because of its ability to play notes both quietly (piano) and loudly (forte). The harpsichords that came before were only able to play softly.

Samantha

Away. I don’t know where I’m running, except away.

When I’m far enough from the buzz of the crowd I turn down a hallway. At the end there are double doors that lead onto a patio. Do I want fresh air? No. There might be people outside.

Instead I duck into a dark room. My back to the wall, I heave deep breaths, struggling not to cry. I don’t want her to have that power over me, this person who did not care enough to stay with me. Liam cares about me. I know that. He must be hurt by the way I left him standing there, but I couldn’t bear the comfort of his embrace another second.

I press a hand to my stomach, where the bodice of the ballgown meets the wide skirts. Good luck. That’s what the ladybug is supposed to mean. I’m not sure the symbolism applies.

Large shadows fill the room I’m in. My eyes adjust. Familiar shadows.

A laugh finds me. Fatalism. Is that what it’s called? Of course I would end up in the music room, of all places. Definitely bad luck, but probably unavoidable. Instruments are the iron fillings, and I’m the magnet. They end up around me, no matter where I go.

It’s a large music room, befitting the large chateau. There’s a violin case next to a stand. The instrument inside is probably of good quality. Some violinists are particular about only playing their own instruments. I’m not usually, but the thought of playing any violin makes me cringe.

There was a grand piano in the ballroom, but there’s an upright here. More modest. I sit down on the bench and run my fingers along the smooth curve of the lid. Do I dare play? I don’t have permission but I can’t really imagine Isa objecting.

Then again, it would be Fransisco who might.

I lift the lid. The white keys gleam in the low light. I touch the ivory lightly, not making a sound. It’s like saying hello to the instrument. The instrument says hello back in indescribable ways, as if it’s giving me permission to play. I’m still not sure I want to. That night, it was more than Liam getting shot. It was the death of a dream. It was the certainty that music would never have its way.

I press down the C at the center. Strong. Clear. Well-tuned, of course.

Another note. There’s a feeling like relief, as if I’ve been holding on to bars above shark-infested waters. And suddenly I’ve let go. I’ll be torn to bits but, in this moment, it feels too good to worry. My mind doesn’t form the music. The music forms me. My fingers have no choice but to follow. The song starts quiet and careful, then grows louder, louder, louder. I sweep my hands across the keys in a complicated crescendo. God. God. My mother was alive this whole time. She didn’t want me. No one wants you. Black and white blur together. I can’t see the keys. A hot tear drops to the back of my hand. Even without my sight I can hit the notes unerringly. The final refrain.

And then silence in the room. I’m no longer alone here.

He crosses the room to stand behind me. “That was beautiful,” he says, his voice low.

Not Liam. Alarm spikes through me before I recognize the voice. Alexander Fox. Did he follow me here? I’m surprised Liam let him. The thought comes only after I realize Liam would have followed me too. I don’t know how I’m sure, except that he knows I’m upset.

He wouldn’t let me come to harm in my grief.

“What was it?” Alexander asks, sitting beside me on the small bench.

I’m immediately aware of his size, his physicality. He isn’t as hard-hewn as Liam, but he’s strong all the same. A stable kind of strength. The sort I could lean on, even though I sit very straight, not touching. “This? Nothing. A little something I made up.”

Or is it? I’ll never be able to trust my own mind. Is it something that I wrote? Is it something my father made me memorize? How depressing to realize that I’m not even safe in my head.

Alexander rests his right hand on the piano. His fingers look very strong compared to my slender ones. Darker, too, as if his skin has tanned from work outdoors instead of playing instruments inside. He plays a few notes that I had done, an echo, a callback. I give him a sideways glance. He has a decent ear, but then they would hardly put him in charge of the concert at Palais Garnier if he didn’t.

I play a few more notes, a continuation. He pauses for only a beat before playing them back to me at a lower scale. It makes me laugh, so I play a more complicated arrangement for a longer beat.