Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

How did you do that, Jean-Pierre? How did you get the whole Belladonna symphony out here?

“Take off your blindfold, reine.”

Sniffling like an emotional mess, I pulled off the blindfold. My makeup must’ve been a mess. And it wouldn’t improve anytime soon.

“Oh, Jean-Pierre.” My voice cracked.

We stood on a stage.

I was next to him as he conducted and led the Belladonna symphony through the sonata.

Holy shit. He’s a beast.

I’d seen him conduct, on old YouTube videos but being there, right in his presence, was breathtaking. Those huge arms rocked and swayed, guiding each musician into the proper rhythm of the song.

With his right hand, he twirled the baton, making invisible swirls with the tip. With his guidance, the violins swayed, so seduced by him. Subtly he raised his left hand and maintained the main orchestra’s tempo, caressing the air and tempting the flutes.

So. Fucking. Sexy.

I’d never seen him hotter. And he was in full tuxedo, but still I’d never seen him more gorgeous, more in command and in control.

And he owned, Strauss’s Sonata. One would’ve thought Jean-Pierre had written the piece himself. He made use of the entire upper range of the cello’s notes—leaping toward the lines that put fear in most cellists’ hearts.

They’ve practiced this. There’s no way they would play this good with Jean-Pierre, without weeks and weeks of practice. Maybe months. . .

And it came to me.

His therapy.

I grinned.

Your therapy was practicing for this performance? Okay. I’ll take that.

Jean-Pierre continued through the Sonata. It was in that moment, where I realized there were others on the outskirts of the symphony watching.

His aunts stood around, decked out in sequins and elaborate gowns.

Holy shit!

The guys were on the left. Rafael, Louis, and Giorgio. It had been a while, since they’d all been here. And now they were all coupled up. Through the months, I’d met and loved the women my new cousins had fallen in love with. The women and I had sort of made our own group, forming friendships through the connection of our dangerous men.

I smiled at my girls and shook my head.

How long did you all know about this?!

While Straus’s version of the Sonata had the second act, dark and brooding, Jean-Pierre brightened and shortened it, rushing to the third movement.

That was when I spotted someone on the right. He’d been standing there alone near the oboe players.

Daddy!? Jean-Pierre, you flew my father out?! Oh my God!

I’d called my father. He hadn’t answered. And then, a few times, he’d called at odd hours, leaving short messages. Time passed and we both hadn’t called each other in past months. In the end, I was too much of a coward to explain anything to him. And then, when Aunt Celina’s head came to the house, I put it off. It had been the main point of my doctor and my discussions in therapy.

Daddy’s here. When? Where? How?

Just when I thought I’d cried enough from excitement, I bawled. And that was when I knew. I knew why Jean-Pierre had invited them all.

God. . .I’m so slow.

Jean-Pierre paused from conducting. They symphony continued to play. He grinned as if he heard my statement. As if he knew that I’d just figured out, what he was going to do next.

He lowered to one bended knee and pulled out a small black box.

And the Belladonna Symphony lowered and then slowly faded out.

Breathe, Eden. Breathe.

The baby moved.

Another tear came.

It was all joy.

All happiness.

All heart-consuming emotion.

I whispered yes, before he could get the question out. And so, he never said it, he slipped a heavy ring on my finger. The diamond looked like a tiny boulder.

Jean-Pierre rose to kiss me. I was so happy, I probably would’ve grabbed a priest and married him right there.

But then, my father hurried onto the stage and held me. “It’s good to see you, Eady E.”

I giggled. “Dad, don’t call me that here.”

“Why not?” Dad patted Jean-Pierre’s back. “He already knows your nickname.”

He does. You two have been talking? What’s going on?

“Daddy.” I hugged him hard. It had been so long. I’d wanted to go and visit him, so many times, and he’d found excuses for me to not come. “When did you get here?”

Jean-Pierre and him exchanged looks.

“Oh.” Dad shrugged. “I’ve been around for a while.”

“Meaning?” I quirked my eyebrows at the both of them.

“It’s a long story, for another time. He needed help with something.” He patted Jean-Pierre’s back. “But I gave him my permission about the marriage.”

“It took long enough,” Jean-Pierre muttered.

What was going on?

But we had no time for that as others rushed the stage to congratulate us. All my friends from Belladonna had been there. It was a bittersweet for a moment, as I wished Leo could have been there…or even, Aunt Celina.

The orchestra ended. We all headed off to several lovely, decorated tables feet away from the ocean. Candles and lamps lead the way.