“I know that here.” I tap my head. “My heart hoped for something else.”
Meg watches me for a moment. “And what about the fact that Erik sees you?”
I stare at her, confused.
“That’s right,” she says. “You haven’t seen him out in the world. Remy’s so protective because Erik doesn’t really connect outside his art. It’s unsettling at first.”
She leans back.
“He’ll walk past people without acknowledging them. The only person he truly sees is Remy. He tolerates me. I’m background noise, reminding him about schedules and obligations.” A small smile. “But you? He saw you. And he remembered you.”
Chapter thirty-four
Christianna
As I pull into a parking spot at the opera house, I put the car in park and rest my forehead against the steering wheel.
My therapist says this is progress. Progress hurts. I stay there long enough for the sting behind my eyes to fade.
I can do this. Go in. Rehearse. Pretend they don’t know anything about my life. Avoid them if I have to.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown caller.
“Hello,” I say, already climbing out of the car and opening the trunk for my violin.
Nothing.
I pull the phone from my ear. Heavy breathing. I shake my head and roll my eyes as I disconnect.
The cemetery presses at the edge of my awareness. It always does. Today I keep my eyes forward and walk past without looking. Not yet.
The air is oppressive. Sweat has my clothing clinging to me before I'm five steps from my car.
I pick up the pace, craving the hit of cold air inside.
The door opens.
I look up, ready with a polite smile.
Remy.
My breath catches. My fingers curl into my palm, nails biting down hard enough to remind me where I am. I nod once. Sharp and controlled, then I step past him.
“Christianna, please?” he calls from behind me.
Closing my eyes, I turn to face him.
His face is drawn. It doesn’t look like he slept since Saturday morning. He runs a hand through his hair as he approaches, stopping a respectful distance away.
“I’m so sorry, I was being a paranoid ass because of the Dark Angel.” He glances around. “It’s not an excuse, I want you to know.” He rubs the back of his neck, kneading it. My heart constricts. I want to reach out and reassure him, but letting people be accountable for their actions is healthy. It’s not my job to pacify.
“I’d like to make it up to you. I’m just not sure how.”
I stare at him and debate. “How does Erik have the music?”
He looks startled and then sighs. “Another gift from the Dark Angel.”
