“Come in!” Sophie called with a smile.
Professor Grigoryan poked his head around the tiny backstage dressing room. “Your parents are— oh. Sophie, I know that a professor shouldn’t compliment his students on their appearance, but on this occasion, may I offer a remark?”
“Yes, of course!” Sophie stepped back as her professor, and dare she say her mentor and friend, clasped his hands together in rapture.
“You look like something ethereal. An angel of fire!”
“I get it from my mother,” Sophie smirked slightly and squeezed his hand. “I’m ready.”
“Ten minutes until curtain. Your family is hovering by the stage and they refuse to take their seats until they see you.” Grigoryan smiled indulgently. “Can you spare them a minute?”
“Always.” Sophie followed him from the cramped space patting her cello as she passed. Its glossy honey-brown wood gleamed in the yellow light, ready to shine.
Just like her.
“Did you say my family or a florist?” Sophie laughed as she stepped into the dark recesses behind the stage.
“Hmm, maybe both?” he hissed, chuckling.
“Princess!” Her father rushed forward, elbowing Jesse out of the way. It wasn’t a mean gesture, simply enthusiastic. Jesse saw her every day. Her parents saw her every month, now that they’d started braving the tollway and finding little towns to meet in along the way.
“Sam! Do not pick her up!” Her mother, looking gorgeous in clingy peach silk, strode forward and stopped him. She batted him lightly on the elbow with an enormous bouquet of pink roses.
“You’ll muss her dress, Mr. Usman.” Grace stood regally between Mr. Minegold and Jesse, her blue dress highlighting the blue in her eyes. “Sophie, darling, you are a picture! A firebird!”
“Ah, she makes music already.” Uncle Jakob managed to squeeze in and buss her cheek as he presented her with a long spray of lilies and iris. “I hear someone’s heart singing.” He nudged Jesse forward.
“Hey, Beautiful.” Jesse waited until Mr. Usman stepped back from his daughter. He pretended to scowl at his daughter’s suitor, but he couldn’t keep his smile hidden for long. “Ali, take a picture of the kids.”
“Oh! Oh, I never got to take prom pictures! This is perfect!”
“Mom, don’t cry. Your mascara will go everywhere.” Sophie rolled her eyes as she took Jesse’s arm.
“For you.” He gave her a dozen red roses. In the center was one perfect white bud, just starting to open.
They posed for pictures, including this or that combination of relatives. Uncle Darrell and Aunt Izzy were texting from their seats, saying that the house lights in the small Antonia CampusAuditorium were going down. Professor Grigoryan hurried to the conductor’s podium.
Sophie watched her beautiful family tear themselves away, one by one, promising to be waiting for her after the concert when they would all go out to dinner at Marie’s, Antonia’s finest restaurant.
At last, only Jesse was left by her side. “I have to put the flowers with my case,” she whispered.
“Yes, Madam Spring Soloist. You did it, Babe. You blew the competition out of the water.”
“You helped.” He had. He’d listened to her for countless hours, never complaining, even if he heard the same ten measures over and over again until it was perfect. “You helped me get on that stage, to even audition.”
“You help me. So much.”
“You give me so much.” She looked at the roses one more time. The white bloom in the center of the bouquet seemed to be twinkling at her.
“Oh— I—” Jesse tried to take the bouquet back. “This was supposed to be for after the show.”
Sophie slipped her finger against the soft ivory petals and found her finger hitting metal. “Jesse?” Her fingertip slid over—then through. A ring.
A simple ring with diamond and ruby chips around the band. “It’s a promise ring. It’s not— I’m not asking you to do anything but promise that you’ll still be my Night Queen. That is, until you’d like to be something else.” He bit his lip nervously.
“Always. I’ll always be your girl. Your Queen. Whatever you want me to be as long as we’re together.” Sophie let him work the ring onto her right hand. It fit her slender finger perfectly.
“I love you, Soph.”
