But he doesn’tfeelneedlessly violent.
The cars ahead of us start moving, and Adam lets out a soft growl as he hits the pedal. I tense when I see the light ahead is yellow, but Adam speeds up. We’re only halfway through the intersection when the light turns red.
I’m used to it, but it doesn’t make it any less nervewracking. I clutch my seatbelt so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I wantto protest, to beg him to drive more carefully, but I know that would only set him off more.
By the time we get to the restaurant, my heart is racing, and I wish we hadn’t gone anywhere at all. I wish we’d stayed home to enjoy the fruit salad, so I could appreciate the roses and the sweet gesture there.
But he arranged this, too, and I’ll get to see a real cellist in action.
The restaurant is nicer than what we usually go to, and it isn’t often that we do anything in public together. Adam smiles at the hostess, and never once touches me as she leads us to our table.
I angle myself so I can view the stage better. The cellist is already setting up. Her instrument looks gorgeous, nothing like my beat up old thing.
“This is what I needed,” Adam says. “A nice night out, away from all the bullshit.”
I nod in agreement. “It’s really pretty in here,” I say. “I bet the food is fantastic.”
One glance down at the menu tells me it had better be good, because the prices are far out of my price range.
They’re usually out of Adam’s, too, and I don’t know how to feel about the fact that he’s splurging like this for me.
The waiter comes by for our order, and Adam gets the fish entree for both of us as well as a fancy appetizer. He even orders a bottle of wine.
I don’t mention that he shouldn’t drink if he’s going to drive us home.
He can handle his alcohol. And if I drink too, there will be less for Adam to consume.
The cellist begins playing while we wait for our appetizers.
I close my eyes and let the music flow over me. I’m always the most content when I listen to music, and the cello has alwaysbeen my favorite instrument. It settles some of my anxiety, and I even begin to smile as the piece continues.
“Wow. She’s good. The best I’ve heard,” Adam says, cutting into my thoughts.
My smile stays pasted on my lips as I reply, “Yeah.”
I wish Adam would listen to me play.
I wish he would tell me I’m the best, or at least that I’m talented.
Ilya had.
Why do my thoughts keep drifting back to a man I barely know? He’d complimented me, and he’d kissed me, and he’d done something special and sweet for me… but I know he has to have a dark side, too.
He’s probably worse than Adam, my mind tries to supply, but I can’t bring myself to believe it.
Our food arrives, and the cellist moves on to another piece. Adam nods along to the music.
“Guess there’s a reason she’s a pro. Her playing makes yours sound like cats in heat,” Adam says as he cuts into his fish.
The smile that had been lingering on my lips drops. The people at the club had seemed to enjoy my performance. Their applause hadn’t felt polite or rote. But I guess I interpreted it wrong.
“I’ll practice more,” I tell him even though I already practice for hours each day, losing myself in the music so I don’t have to face the constant feeling that there’s somethingwrongwith me.
“Is there a point?” Adam asks. “Some people are born with talent, others aren’t. It’s not something you can will into existence.”
“The people at—” I begin to say, only to realize halfway through my words that reminding him of that night isn’t a good idea, especially in public. I stare down at my own food, my appetite gone. “You’re probably right.”
But I won’t stop.
