He nods, but I can see the muscle straining in his jaw. I am the boss’s sister. If something were to happen to me, there would be hell to pay. I am not being purposefully stubborn, nor am I wishing to make his job harder. I don’t care how many guards follow me as long as I drive alone to suffer in peace.
Inside my car, I pass through the gates and see the personal guard Mika assigned to me close behind. Kirill is always there watching over me, but seeing him now makes me emotional. I barely see the road through my blurry eyes. Even though he’s mad at me, Mika still cares enough to send his most trusted man to guard me.
Kirill drives ahead of me while three cars follow behind, forming a column to safeguard the precious cargo.
I don’t mind the guards, the heavy protection. I just wish we could have Paris as well. Not the city per se, but the togetherness, the freedom, the anonymity. It was an escape from our lives.
Parking in the allotted spot, I slip inside through the back door.
I pass through the group in a haze, nodding and greeting individuals here and there.
In the beginning, the members sent me glances, trying to figure me out, but after years, I think they believe I am justdifferent. Good or bad, it’s irrelevant. I perform and am out, avoiding the crowds or the cheers and congratulations.
I give everything in me during the concerts, and I need to replenish afterward.
Inside my dressing room, I lock the door, waiting for my agent to retrieve me once it’s time to perform.
A knock seeps through, startling me from my thoughts.
My agent steps inside. “You’re booked out for months,” Ramona says, sounding thrilled.
I nod, not even a smidgeon of excitement jolting my comatose heart.
Not hiding her gleeful expression, she asks, “How was New York? Have you perhaps changed your mind?”
I don’t say no directly. Something tells me that after what transpired between Mika and me, I won’t be strong enough to ignore our connection. I must leave Reno.
She fans herself. “Oh my God, you’re considering it.”
I nod again. The thought of being away from him resembles raw torture, butchering my insides into a pile of dead tissue.
I don’t know how to fix us. The solution to end the agony eludes me.
“You won’t regret it. Just say yes.”
I will regret it. I have two great loves. Piano and Mika. Renouncing one is like going on with just half a heart. But my suffering has always produced masterpieces.
The classical music world reveres me based on that.
I made a name for myself by giving my sorrow an outlet.
“New York would love to have you.”
I offer a noncommittal sound, turning my back to her, needing a moment. “I’ll give you the final answer soon.”
She slips out, and I sink into the armchair by the vanity, staring at my reflection. No sparkle, no color, nothing but destitution masked behind elegantly applied makeup.
I wipe the nude lipstick off my lips with the back of my hand, smudging it. The image reflects my disarrayed inner world before I erase any trace of it. I choose a burgundy lipstick—the dark shade fitting my grieving mood.
When a knock sounds, I stand up, knowing it’s time.
Taking a deep breath, I walk toward the stage. Every step drives my heart to beat an erratic cadence, sharp highs and the deepest lows. It takes incredible skill to stay upright.
Please, be there, Mika,in the shadows. I search for him the moment I reach the piano.
The avalanche of applause greets me, distracting me for a moment. I force a smile, bowing my head slightly.
Do I play for them or just for him. I think it’s the latter, wanting to make him and my brother proud. I don’t care as long as he keeps watching me play. But once I am in New York, then what?
