She shakes her head, though not in disagreement. More like she’s dismayed at herself. “Maybe it’s like an addiction. Like crack. We’d beg, borrow, or steal to keep doing it.”
An addiction. That does explain the way I felt about my violin.
It also explains why I’ve been so afraid to start again. I never learned how to play in moderation. Rain or shine. Cold or hot. No matter what, I played and played. The world around me could have fallen apart. The world around me did fall apart. Which means that if I start playing again, I’ll lose myself. I feel like I’ve been holding my sanity with my bare hands. What happens when I pick up the violin instead?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A test chamber at Orfield Laboratories has 3.3-foot-thick fiberglass acoustic wedges, double walls of insulated steel, and foot-thick concrete. It is 99.99% sound absorbent. The founder challenges people to see how long they can stay in the room. The record is 45 minutes.
Liam
Friday morning there’s a knock at the sitting room. I open it, expecting to find Frans. We made plans to scout the Tuileries before I take Samantha there. It’s unlikely anyone will prepare to ambush us in such an open space, but I don’t want to take the chance.
Alexander Fox. That’s who stands at the door.
Technically, Samantha’s door. My eyes narrow. “Yes?”
A frown. He doesn’t like that I’m answering her door. That’s fine, since I don’t like that he’s knocking on it. “I came to speak to Samantha.”
“About what?”
“About the concert.”
“I’ll see if she’s available.” I close the door. The fact that I take pleasure in doing so is completely coincidental. No one has unfettered access to her. Except me.
She’s doing the staring thing with her violin again.
I push it aside to sit down in front of her. Her brown eyes focus on me. “Hi.”
“Hello. Alexander Fox came to see you.”
She looks around the room as if expecting to see him in a chair. I try not to let it bother me, the way she disconnects from the world. It’s part of the healing process. Or is it part of the staying-hurt process? It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.
“What did he want?”
“To talk to you about the concert.”
She sighs. “He wants to know what I’m going to play.”
“Tell him to wait.”
“These things are usually decided way in advance. That way the orchestra can prepare. As it is Romeo and Bethany have had to make arrangements without me.”
“Tell him to wait.”
Another glance around the room. “Well, I can try. Assuming he comes back.”
“I think he’s at the door.”
A wide-eyed look. “Right now?”
“Probably.”
“Why didn’t you say that?”
“This way he has practice waiting.”
An exasperated sigh. She mutters something about men, which is probably generous. I can only imagine if she knew what thoughts went through my head. He conspired to take her away from me. He offered to hide her from me. The fact that he thought he protected her is the only thing that keeps me from throwing a punch.