Concerto (North Security 2)

“Then how do you think of me?”

My greatest pride and my deepest regret. And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I kept her tied here in the middle of nowhere. If I trapped her in the closet with me while I watched her slowly starve. “You saved me,” I say simply, unable to lie about this.

Surprise flashes through those pretty brown eyes. “It was the other way around.”

“Ah, no, Samantha. I was nothing when you came to me. A man with a death wish. A business that kept me from drinking myself into a stupor every night. When you came to me, it gave me something to live for. Something to believe in.”

Enemy fire. Missiles. Ambush. There are things I could handle on the fly, but only one thing could strike fear into my heart—and that’s the hope in her eyes. “Then you love me?”

I squeeze her knee and stand up, removing myself from her gaze. “Samantha. I’m sorry. You deserve a family who loves you, but that’s not me. I’m not capable of the emotion.”

Her eyes glisten with tears before she looks down. “You’re wrong.”

“And you have unbearably low standards. I only look like a good father because your own was such a bastard. When you go out into the world, you’ll understand. You want to come back after the tour? Fine. I’ll leave your room the way it is. What do I need it for, anyway? It will keep its pink walls and its white ruffles. And if you tour the world for a year and a half and still want the emptiness that’s waiting here for you, you’re welcome to have it.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Composer Franz Liszt received so many requests for locks of his hair that he bought a dog and sent fur clippings instead.

SAMANTHA

I give Liam the silent treatment the rest of the week. It makes me feel like a child, but I can’t help it. He has all the power in this relationship. All the secrets. Beatrix wasn’t completely wrong. He’s really a bastard sometimes.

He’s also the closest thing I have to family.

It wasn’t only him. All three of the North brothers took me in.

Josh taught me how to throw knives even though Liam nearly killed him for it. I’m weirdly good at them. Turns out the upper body strength and nimble fingers you cultivate playing violin translates well to six inches of stainless steel.

I can hit the painted targets almost as well as a soldier.

It was the youngest North brother who drove to the convenience store to buy maxi pads because I started bleeding when Liam was on an overnight trip. It was my first period. Even if Daddy had been alive, I don’t know how he would have handled that. Probably one of his aides would have taught me. Instead Elijah knocked at the bathroom door, grim-faced as he answered my questions—how long would it last and why did it happen.

Probably I should be grateful to have them. So grateful that I don’t ask any more questions, but I can’t let go of my past. I can’t forget the guarded look in Liam’s eyes when I asked him about my father. What’s he hiding?

It’s easy to keep up the silent treatment, because everyone’s busy with the wedding. Rows of white chairs replace tractor tires. Flowers overflow rustic wood containers. The entire lawn transforms from a high-impact obstacle course to a romantic lawn in a matter of days. These are soldiers. They perform their mission with precision and fearlessness, even if it involves canapes instead of sniper rifles.

Of course,

there probably are sniper rifles hidden around the property. I’ve played the violin in the room beside Liam’s office every day for the past six years. I can hear him even when he thinks I’m focused on the strings. He would see the wedding as an opening, something that an enemy could exploit. There would be even more defenses in place today.

Liam is the best man, looking austere and remote in his tuxedo, standing with Hassan at the makeshift altar. There are faint shadows under his green eyes, the only hint that he did anything other than sleep. They’re interesting, those shadows, because of how rare they are.

This is a man who doesn’t show signs of weakness.

It might be daunting to some brides, the preponderance of stern, muscled men filling the white folding chairs. Jane teaches kindergarten at the local elementary school. Nothing scares her. That’s what she told me the first time we met, and it looks like it’s true. She’s beaming in her white dress with lace that cups her bodice and flares out to a wide skirt.

Hassan swallows hard as she steps out of the tent, his eyes glittering.

Play whatever you want, she told me. I’m sure it will be beautiful.

So I play the song I would want if I were to get married, the one I’ve imagined walking down the aisle to, even though I’d never admit it out loud. Pachelbel composed “Canon in D” to play with three violins and a bass continuo, but I love it even more with a single lilting strain. My Nicolo Amati violin is small and proud. It prefers to play solo. That’s where it really sings.

My troubled gaze finds Liam. He’s watching me, those green eyes sharp in the sunlight. He owns the land we’re standing on, acres and acres of it. He owns the company that employs almost everyone here. He’s a leader and a soldier and a confidant to the men beside him.

And he’s my guardian. He wouldn’t hurt me. I have to believe in that, because without that I don’t know what I’d think. I don’t know who I could trust.

I try to imbue the words into the bow, into the strings—I trust you, I trust you. But I’m afraid they aren’t completely true. I love him. I need him, but I don’t necessarily trust him. Maybe it’s part of growing up to realize that they aren’t the same thing—and I’m forced to look away.