Applause swelled through the theater as Florence Welch stepped onto the stage, her emerald silk gown sweeping beneath the lights.At Natalia’s cue, Cassie rose from her chair and crossed to center stage, violin tucked beneath her chin as the orchestra softened around them.
The first pull of the bow across strings—
vocals rising a moment later.
As the song wound toward its end, the final notes of the vocals carrying above the fading sweep of the orchestra, silence slowly settled over Carnegie—
—right before erupting into applause.
Cheers and whistles broke out, building together until one sharp, piercing whistle sliced through the noise.
Then came the shout behind it.
“That’s my fuckin’ girl!”
Chapter Thirty
BythetimeNasharrived in Manhattan, rain had already drowned the city in darkness.Not darkness like back home, where night swallowed everything except the moon and the occasional lightning bug.This was city dark—glass and steel burning against the clouds, shop windows bleaching the wet sidewalks bright enough it barely felt like nighttime at all.
The cab ride alone had been a goddamn experience.Traffic clogged every street they turned onto, people slipping between cars, structures rising so high they blocked out half the world.Everywhere he looked, signs blazed through the rain and steam curled up from grates in the street like the whole damn city was overheating beneath the cold.
Not his scene—not by a long shot—but he couldn’t deny the energy of it either.
As the cab rolled to a stop on Seventh Avenue, Nash pulled out his wallet and tapped his card against the screen mounted behind the driver’s seat.Then he was stepping onto the sidewalk, Carnegie Hall rising above him in pale stone and tall arched windows.Red banners snapped sharply in the wind overhead while black SUVs idled along the curb dropping people off one after another—women in long coats and heels, men in tailored jackets and scarves.
Nash glanced down at himself.Dark jeans.Black boots.White button-down beneath his black leather jacket—the nicest one he owned, usually reserved for funerals and court appearances.He’d even had Margie trim his beard before he left.It was about as cleaned up as he knew how to get.
Standing there now, suddenly it didn’t feel like enough.
Just then a gust of frigid wind cut straight through his jacket, shoving him toward the entrance.Up the wide stone steps, through the brass-handled doors, into a glowing gold lobby where chandeliers hung overhead and ushers in red jackets guided people toward sweeping staircases disappearing deeper into the building.
“Ticket, sir?”
Nash unlocked his phone and pulled up the confirmation email.The usher scanned it with a polite nod.
“Third tier, row H.Right up those stairs.”
Taking the glossy program from the usher, he followed the crowd up, feeling bigger and rougher with every step.When he finally stepped into the auditorium, he stopped short.
Massive didn’t even begin to cover it.
Gold balconies curved upward beneath enormous crystal chandeliers while rows of deep red velvet seats spilled out below toward the stage.The shiny wood gleamed beneath the crystal light, reflections catching everywhere he looked.
A man carrying two champagne glasses slipped past him with a quiet “Excuse me,” and Nash resumed moving, quickly finding his row and taking his seat between an older woman adjusting a pair of tiny binoculars and two sharply dressed men, heads bowed together over a shared program.
Down below, the orchestra was taking the stage.
Musicians dressed entirely in black crossed between music stands carrying violins, cellos, and brass instruments Nash couldn’t name.Some sat immediately while others tuned, sharp uneven notes rising through the hall as more audience members settled into their seats.
Then Cassie stepped onto the stage.
Even seated halfway to the damn ceiling, Nash knew her instantly.
The shape of her.The sway of her hips beneath the black gown.Dark hair tucked sleek behind her ears.The way she carried her fiddle—holding the instrument lightly by the neck in one hand, bow tucked between her fingers in the other.
She crossed toward a chair near the front, settling beside her stand to straighten the sheet music there, completely at ease in a place that had Nash feeling like he’d accidentally wandered onto another fucking planet.
Then the house lights dimmed, and the talk around him fell quiet.The conductor stepped onto the stage—a woman in a black tuxedo, slender white baton in hand—and applause rolled through the hall.
