Flicka meant the piano, of course. Just seeing Georgiana again made her hands itch for the piano. She hadn’t played inweeks.
She missed it, even the incessant scales and finger exercises, and she missed it a lot.
Georgie nodded. “Every day. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
Stupid jealousy rose in Flicka. No matter. Nothing to be done about it except re-organize her time. Today, sometime, she would find a piano and work.
In the meantime, she told Georgie,“Play for me.”
Hearing Georgiana play would cement them together and lock Georgie back into her life.
Music had always bound them together. Music bound Flicka to everything.
Beyond Georgie, Flicka saw Dieter look around the room, check the windows, and then brush his gaze across her.
He had never looked at her so often before.
Even when they’d been involved with each other, at events, Dieter had been so careful about her security and decorum. There, he had kept his eyes everywhere but on her.
All except for that one last night.
That night, the one that had ended their relationship and broken Flicka’s heart, Dieter had watched her all night long.
In The Closet
Flicka von Hannover
Strike Two
Flicka paced around the reception in the hotel as the guests ate the brunch and cake and drank the champagne, making sure everyone was having a splendid time.
Her brother Wulfram and his bride, Rae, seemed happy. She rarely saw that slow, real smile reach Wulfram’s dark blue eyes, and he looked serene and pleased every time she happened to glance over at him.
Good.He deserved a nice wedding, even if it had been a bit impromptu.
She glanced over at him again because she always kept an eye on Wulfram when they were together, which wasn’t often anymore. Planning her own wedding and negotiating the marriage details like the prenuptial agreement, over and above her usual charity and social commitments, had kept her very,verybusy for a year.
Now, surely the wedding busyness would abate and leave her some time to work on her piano. She was still in her mid-twenties. She might compete at The Leeds again next year if she could muster enough time to practice.
The meeting room was crowded with the two hundred or so guests, and it looked more crowded due to the richly colored tablecloths and flower arrangements. The dark red, Delft blue, and purple consumed the space much more than if she’d chosen something light like soft yellows and pale greens, but a small reception was exactly the place to enjoy the riot of saturated color and bright, shocking white. That part was quite perfect.
However, Flicka was missing her husbandagain.Several of his school friends had asked after him, wanting to have a conversation at one of these rare social occasions where people of their class could sit and chat.
Too much of the time, especially at charity events or arts functions, they were on display and had to perform their roles. That left little time for real communication.
So, she was hunting for her husbandagain.
After Wulfram’s wedding at the office of the mayor of Paris, she’d meant to talk to Pierre. In the car, she’d only managed to ensure that he’d seen his schedule and that he was all right before her phone had begun ringing itself stupid with phone call after phone call from the concierges. At the reception, he’d played the perfect husband, sitting with Flicka while they ate, talking with their friends, greeting Georgie with just a little flirt when Flicka had dumped her at the table before she had to flit off again, and so everything was fine in Flicka’s opinion.
They had a modern, sophisticated marriage. They had negotiated arrangements.
In theory, Flicka had the same negotiated privileges, though she didn’t feel comfortable thinking about them too much. She wasn’t old-fashioned. Certainly not. She was as worldly and practical as Pierre about such things.
She just didn’t—
—Have time.
That was it.
