A Wicked Song (Brilliance Trilogy 2) - Page 58
“Any child of ours wouldn’t have to hide. I wouldn’t allow that.”
Our child.
The words do funny things to my belly.
“They’d be my ancestry, Kace. We can’t change the risk that comes with that.”
“But we can. And we will.” He doesn’t give me time to debate. He sits up and takes me with him. “I want to play something for you.” A few minutes later, we’re back to sharing his clothes. He’s in his pants. I’m in his shirt, sitting on the piano bench and he’s holding his violin. “The song your father and I wrote together that I have never played for anyone.”
His bow begins to move and the magic of his skill and his instrument fills the air. My hand balls at my chest where emotions well. I swear I am instantly back in that field of daisies with my father, the bow in my own hand. I shut my eyes and listen to the song that is a mix of delicacy and fierceness, the same mix of delicacy and fierceness my father called our family. It’s magical and unbidden, tears leak from my eyes and water my cheeks. I can feel my father in the music. I can feel Kace. I can feel my family, my history, my loves and losses, my laughter, and joy.
When the song is over, I’m standing in front of Kace when he lowers his instrument and his bow. I step to him and wrap my arms around him, tilting my chin up to look at him. “No one plays a Stradivarius the way you play a Stradivarius. I understand what my father meant. You are one with the instrument, a part of it, a part of us. You are the one true daisy in the wind.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The next morning, I wake to Kace’s violin, and with a smile on my face, slippers on my feet, and a pink silk robe to my knees, I head downstairs. Kace is shirtless in sweatpants and for a few minutes, I just stand on the stairs, leaning over the banister, drinking in the sight of his tattooed muscular body, his gorgeous everything, really, while luxuriating in his music. He never looks up, but I know he knows I’m here.
A few minutes later, I head to the kitchen and make coffee. When the pot is done, he joins me and it feels like the making of a routine. Of course, I won’t be here forever, but for now, it’s wonderful.
“Some women would have a problem with me playing in the mornings,” he says accepting the cup of steaming brew I offer him.
“Smart women would kill to watch you half-naked playing that violin. And I consider myself quite smart right about now. I love it.”
His eyes burn. “You love it?”
“I do,” I say freely, sipping my coffee. “Very much, Kace.”
“I’m glad you do.”
We sit at the island and review the pictures of the Fetzer violin on my MacBook, both of us studying them in great detail. “It looks good, Kace. It really does.”
“I’ll talk to Nix.” He grabs his phone and makes the call. A few minutes later, he says, “The lead came to him from a friend of a friend because they knew I was his client. He can’t vouch for our seller, but he’ll help Walker look into him. I’m shooting Blake a text.” He keys in the message and sets his phone down. “We couldn’t even think about going for a few weeks. Not with the California events coming up. Can you buy us time?”
“He wants this violin to go to you, Kace. He wants the perfect buyer which I’m trying not to think of as convenient. Or too good to be true. You are Kace August. And bottom line: we just need to tell him when we’ll be there.”
“We’re getting Walker involved. In the meantime, ask when in November or December he can see us.”
“Okay.” I type a message to the attorney who sent me the photos. “Done.” I close my computer and sip my coffee.
“Do you have a passport?”
“Believe it or not I do. My mother believed we needed an escape route out of the country. I know it’s not a logical move for a woman who wouldn’t even get a driver’s license, but it was nevertheless just what she did.”
“Then we’re set for Italy and Paris.”
“I can’t believe I might really do this.”
“But you are,” he says.
“Maybe,” I say, and I don’t miss the wistful quality in my voice. “It would be crazy to see my home again but painful. Good and bad memories. You know?”
“I do know. You know I know. I was in Greece when I found out about my sister. I’ve never been back.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“The charity work you do must be hard at times. It must drudge up painful memories of her.”
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