The Protege

“But you came back.” I’ll never forget the sight of her in the Mayhew, a vision with auburn hair, clutching the cello that I’d watched her grow into.

Isabeau smiles. “I came back.” She props her chin on my chest, thinking. “Laszlo? What are we going to tell people once they start finding out about us?”

I feel my face harden and in that moment I hate every person in the world who isn’t Isabeau. Why can’t they just leave us alone? I can feel them pushing at the boundaries of our happiness, eager to spoil it.

She strokes my bristly cheek thoughtfully. “People might think terrible things about you. I hate the thought that this could damage your career.”

It’s sweet of her to be concerned for me but I’m more worried about her. It’s not new to me, worrying about Isabeau. The worry has become an old friend nestled deep in my heart, right next to my love for her. As long as she’s not hurt by any of this I don’t give a damn what people say about me.

But she could be hurt. She could be hurt badly.

The year she turned seventeen I started having terrible dreams, about Isabeau turning to me with loathing in her eyes and telling me she wished she’d never met me. I seemed to have the dreams every other month and they became more frequent as her eighteenth birthday approached. I feel that witching hour dread fill my heart now, because my feelings for her could still hurt her.

I’m silent for a long time, thinking about her questions, not wanting to pierce the happiness of this moment but also needing to prepare her for the worst.

“Isabeau. It’s not a case that people might think bad things about me, or us. Some people will. I want you to be prepared for that. That there might be a cost for us, being together.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Isabeau

Now

I stay all night in his bed, sleeping in Laszlo’s arms. I wake several times and see him in the dim light, his handsome face softened by sleep and the bristles on his chin making him look like a rough angel. I close my eyes with a smile on my face and fall back asleep.

At ten minutes to six he kisses me awake so I can go back to my own room before too many people start to stir. We agreed that while we’re finishing the tour we should try and keep our relationship quiet. But I can’t go right away, not when he’s right there and we’re both naked. I draw his hands up to my breasts and his gentle, chaste kisses swiftly become deep and heated. I feel his hard length against my thigh and I pull him closer, opening my legs beneath him. I gaze up at him, scratching my nails through his beard, unafraid. Happier than I think I’ve ever been. He fumbles for a condom and then eases himself into me, and it’s even more delicious this morning, feeling his weight upon me and the incredible heat from his body. His movements are languid, one large hand on my inner thigh, pressing me open. We watch each other as we make love, our mouths very close together, panting breaths mingling, and as I come he groans good girl in my ear. He pounds me hard, watching his thick cock sliding in and out of me and then looking up into my eyes. His brows draw together as he comes, his eyes tightly closed and my nails buried in his back.

I press my face against his chest, breathing him in. I don’t want to go but I know I have to, and I finally manage to extricate myself from his arms and the tangled bedsheets. Before I open the door Laszlo catches me in his arms and kisses me. “Think about what we talked about last night. Take your time. There’s all the time in the world to decide what you want, sweetheart.”

I nuzzle his beard with the tip of my nose. “Yes, daddy. What about you, though, and what you want?”

He smiles down at me. “Just you, baby. That’s all I want. And whatever you give me will make me a happy man.”

Everything doesn’t encompass what I want to give Laszlo. I wish there was more than everything.

There are just a few staff in the corridors as I make my way back to my own room. I let myself in, my head full of memories of last night. I remember how different it was the first time we kissed, the fleeing and the tears. The cold and lonely days that followed. The email from the agent asking me to audition…

My back against my door, I frown. I haven’t thought about that in years: the day after the concert an agent who’d been at the showcase emailed me about representation. Amid all the heartache and confusion I put off replying and put it off some more, until I just never replied.