Flicka recognized the guy from the cafe they had stopped by for a coffee a few mornings before. “Seriously? The barista? Come on, Pierre. I need you out there. People are noticing your absence. Keep it in your pants for a few hours.”
She shut the door and walked away.
Strangling him would have been too much effort. She might have broken a nail, and she didn’t have time to refresh her manicure before they left for Monaco that night.
Alwaysland
Flicka von Hannover
Alwaysland
is not a love song.
At the small lunch serving as Wulfram’s wedding reception in Paris, Flicka introduced her old music friend Georgiana to her old school chum Alexandre and then worked the room, heading off conflict before it started.
It wasn’t easy. These people’s ancestors started wars that killed millions of soldiers over petty insults. They were all assholes.
There was a small break in the micromanaging when Georgiana and Alexandre performed one of his songs, “Alwaysland.”
Georgie’s piano work was flawless. Her performance was incredible, especially considering that she’d had perhaps an hour to work on the piece.
Flicka could tell that she had been working on her technique and music all those years since they had last seen each other. Yes, Flicka had graduated from the most prestigious music conservatory in the world, but Georgie’s playing was more personal. Some people might say it was idiosyncratic, but Flicka was lost in Georgie’s phrasing and expression while she played.
And Alexandre sang, of course.
Flicka snapped her pretty, shiny suit of armor shut around herself, but she listened.
Alexandre sang:
Or did you walk out on me, on our hopes and our dreams,
When I couldn’t break through it to you?
Because while I live,
Because while I breathe,
Because while my heart beats in my body,
I will love you like we live
in Alwaysland.
Everyone else seemed to think it was a love song, but it wasn’t. Flicka could hear the longing and pain in it. Her heart thumped every time he sang it. Her eyes wanted to get drippy, but she didn’t let them, of course.
When she glanced over at Wulfram and Rae, Dieter was standing with them. Wulfie and Rae were talking as if the three of them had been locked in conversation, but Dieter wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying.
He was listening to the music.
And he was looking at her.
His dove gray eyes were carefully neutral, as always, but he didn’t look away from her, even though he should have been watching the windows and doors.
I will love you like we live in Alwaysland.
Flicka turned back to watch Alexandre and Georgie, her heart straining because she wanted to be on the piano, she wanted to feel the music flowing through her, and because the song always caught hold of her like nothing else did.
That change in the music to a minor key, the G-minor chord that filled the final syllable of the last word with longing, destroyed her every damn time.
