I’ve never felt this way before, I admitted. I don’t think I can stop it. Before I knew it, I was telling her the story at the wedding, four years prior. Lydia sat in silence, her eyes growing wider as it progressed. Lydia remembered the story of the mysterious woman I’d danced with. The one that had left me with a chaste kiss, never to see her again.
It was Juliet? You’re sure? Lydia’s face was one of disbelief. She doesn’t remember?
I shook my head, feeling a wave of sadness. If she’d remembered, it would have changed everything between us. It certainly had changed things for me. Lydia sat in shock.
What are you going to do? She asked. Is she going to let you retake the exam?
I don’t know, I replied. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about it much. How I’d jeopardized my entire education because of my rampant emotions. I haven’t talked to her. I feel like I should just transfer schools. Go back to NYU.
Lydia’s face twisted as angrily as Juliet’s had when I had suggested that idea. “You can’t be serious? You can’t throw your career away because of this. You worked too hard to get in. You’re too talented.”
“I can still have a career if I attend NYU,” I replied.
“Emma, stop talking bullshit. We’ll figure this out. Juliet will let you retake your test. If she doesn’t, we’ll go to the Dean. You aren’t quitting. You aren’t leaving. We’ll figure this out.”
By the time Lydia left later that morning for class, I’d promised to show up to school for my lessons the next day. At least it was with Emerson, so it would give me a much needed break before I had another class with Juliet to deal with.
When I pulled into the parking lot the following evening at the Bard, I made sure to get there at an awkward time, being careful not to be seen by unwanted eyes. I made it to the classroom in haste. Once I’d slid behind the doors, I noticed Emerson watching me from the Steinway. As I approached him, he was looking at me curiously. “Are you feeling better?” When he asked, I raised a brow and he continued. “Juliet had said you were ill.”
Of course she’d said I was ill, I hadn’t been to her class in two days now. I gave Emerson a nod, sliding down beside him at the piano. We turned to look at one another. “Good,” he replied. “I hope you’re ready to practice. We have a lot to get through tonight.”
Like most practice with Juliet, Emerson required Hanon exercises. His technique was far superior to Juliet’s, whose gifts certainly rested with the violin. As such, he was careful to correct me with small things, and I found myself forced to focus completely on every warm-up exercise we did.
Finally, we moved into my pieces I’d be performing for the fall recitals the following week. There would be two. A duet with Juliet and a solo piano piece. I’d settled on playing either Metamorphosis or La Campanella on my own. Emerson had me work through La Campanella first, the more difficult of the two.
Just as I’d finished the song for the first time, I noticed her on the far side of the classroom, near the door. How long she’d been standing there watching, I had no idea. When my gaze drifted, I noticed out of the corner of my eye Emerson had turned to look as well. Juliet finally moved from her position, making her way up to the piano, holding her violin case. She’d turned to Emerson, her back towards me. I wondered if she’d done it on purpose. They spoke together briefly before I watched Emerson get to his feet.
Please don’t leave me alone with her, please don’t leave me alone with her. I begged to myself, unable to fathom what would become of me if he did. Emerson collected his things and a knot twisted in my stomach.
“Juliet wants to practice your duets this evening,” Emerson said to me, as he made his way around Juliet to meet my gaze. I swallowed deeply. “We’ll run through your solos next week one last time before the recital.” Somehow, I managed to nod. I watched as he said goodnight to Juliet, giving a curious look to each of us, and then turned to walk across the room and out the door.
It took everything in my power to keep myself breathing once we were alone. Slowly, my head turned back towards Juliet. She was staring me down, her green eyes filled with so much emotion I didn’t know what she was feeling. I pushed breath after breath out of me, wobbling slightly at the piano.
I think I decided what I want to perform, I signed, trying to break the awkwardness between us. It seems like it would be best if—
“Do you think this is a joke, Ms. Harvey?” Juliet stood tall, looking down at me on the piano bench. I looked up at her, unsure of what to say, my mouth hanging slightly open.
“What?” It was the only word that finally escaped me.
“Your education. Do you think it’s some sort of joke?” Juliet repeated herself. Her facial expression had turned angry. Furious even.
“No,” I managed to breathe. Why on Earth would she think that?
“Are you sure?” Juliet drew closer to the piano, setting her instrument down beside her.
What the hell is wrong with you? I signed, frustrated. I don’t think it’s a joke. Why would you even say that?
You don’t seem to value your instructor’s time. Juliet replied, her hands stiff and jerky.
“You mean, I don’t value your time,” I replied, curtly. “I was sick.”
“You made a miraculous recovery, Ms. Harvey,” Juliet retorted.
“I have an excellent immune system.” While I was impressed with my witty retort, Juliet did not seem amused.
“You should have talked to me,” she finally replied, her face growing somewhat softer. There was a hint of concern in her eyes.
It’s hard to talk to someone when they aren’t there, I signed gruffly. When they blow you off and make you someone else’s problem.
I have rehearsals, Juliet shot back. I could tell that she knew she couldn’t convince me that it had been entirely the reason. My life is more than just this school. I’ve given up far too much of myself as it is. I wasn’t quite sure how to take it when she’d signed it. Whether she believed I was a part of that problem too.
I’m sorry you find this all such a waste of your time. I could barely sign it back to her. My entire body fought to choke back tears.
Juliet’s posture changed completely when she looked at me. Her eyes softened, her lips parted just a fraction. She moved in one swift motion to come beside me on the bench. I watched as her hands wrapped around the sides of my face, her fingers weaving into my hair. For a moment, I tried to look away from her, but she pulled my face forward to meet her gaze. Once our eyes met, I couldn’t look away.
“You are never a waste of my time,” Juliet said. I felt her fingers brushing against my cheeks. A long sigh escaped me. It was all I could do not to kiss her. We stood there staring at each other, longingly, for a moment more, before she released me again, sliding from the bench. I watched as she sat down in the seat by the piano, unclasping the snaps of her case and retrieving her Vuillaume. Then she dug through her satchel, pulling out sheet music for each of us. I waited curiously as she came to drop it onto the stand in front of me.
Handel’s Sonata. Just the third movement. Another piece I’d played many times in high school to accompany a variety of string musicians. It wasn’t a very complex song. Beautifully simple, my father would have called it. I was surprised after Juliet’s big speech about valuing my education, she wasn’t more inclined to practice my duet pieces, but I didn’t question her.
Instead of sitting, she stood. By the looks of it, Juliet had already tuned or she hadn’t cared, which was extremely unusual. She looked over at me for a moment, signaling me that she was prepared to begin. I waited patiently as she readied her fingers onto the strings and bounced the bow lightly. A long breath escaped her, and then the melody began.
For all of a few seconds, Juliet lost herself in long drawn out bowing of the song, her whole body folding in and out of the instrument. The rhythmic and predictable piano accompaniment fell alongside it. I knew the song well enough that I only had to briefly glance at the sheet music from ti
me to time. Juliet’s bowing was immaculate. This part of the song was filled with such deep rooted emotion. It was similar to Tristesse in a way, with how longing it felt.
Juliet hadn’t picked this for practice. She hadn’t done it for warm-up exercises or as a consideration of something to play for my fall performances. This piece had been picked to say something to me. Something that she couldn’t say aloud, or write on a piece of paper left at my doorstep. Those long, thought out bowings, the simple glissandos, every legato note she played were all words, sung to me. A melodic apology of some sort or other.
My fingers rumbled across the keys in the soft chords that accompanied her, eyes focused on every movement she made. Every shift in her gaze towards me that might indicate what this strange dance between our instruments meant. Each time we focused on one another again, when our attentions would turn away from our instruments, and I could look into her eyes, another small piece of her message would fall into place for me.
Eventually, I found that I couldn’t play any longer. I simply watched her, every small flutter of notes and long draw of the bow. Her playing must have filled the entire room. She was so lost in what she was saying to me by way of her instrument, she’d forgotten I was even accompanying her. When she finally realized I’d stopped, her eyes fell on mine again.
I wasn’t quite sure if the song had finished. Truthfully, I’d been more focused on the way she had been playing than the notes themselves. The Vuillaume dropped from her shoulder, her hand lightly grasped around its neck. Juliet watched as I stood from the piano, setting her priceless violin on top of the Steinway.
We came together, only a few steps apart, Juliet’s hand resting on the side of the piano. I didn’t have the ability to look anywhere else only at her. My name escaped her lips. “Emma...”
“Oh, God, I need you,” I breathed, falling into her rapidly. Juliet’s back pushed against the nearby wall as I moved into her, her hands wrapping around my face. My mouth drew onto hers. Firmly. Hungrily. A force of energy that had been building for months and months exploded from within me. This kiss wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t simple. It was a flame that had gotten out of control.
Our mouths crashed together, lips finding lips. They were still soft and tender, just like I’d remembered them, but this time they were full of need. I wasn’t focused on their texture. I was focused on their purpose. Their meaning. How every piece of me hungered for them and the way they moved into me. She was as delicious as she was that night in the rain, a faint sweetness unlike anything I’d ever tasted. And she was kissing me back, with just as much intent and desire.
I felt her hands tighten around my head and in my hair as my tongue dragged across her bottom lip in a slow, deliberate motion. I could feel every ridge as it moved, every divot, every small crack. As I finished, her lips parted just slightly and my tongue slid slowly between them, dipping inside of her in a curious sort of way.
My chest jerked a deep breath in, feeling her body swell against mine. I felt myself sliding against her, enjoying her increasingly aroused state. Realizing it was all because of me. Before I had a chance to ponder on it for long, the tips of our tongues met inside of her mouth. Just the feeling caused a long rolling moan to vibrate from the depths of my throat. We shared the sound as we tasted each other, sweeping over teeth and lips, deep within our mouths, in every place we could reach.
My hands found the sides of her face, her neck, her shoulders. They rolled down the subtle curve of her small thin frame and onto her hips. I pushed into her, so there was virtually no space between us. When I did, her fingers gripped tightly into my scalp, holding me there.
When we finally parted to breathe, my lips trailed against her cheek. I tasted each piece of her dewy skin as I worked my way out to her ear. My tongue found the edges of her earlobe as I pulled it lightly between my lips and sucked. She squirmed beneath me, her hands falling onto my shoulders, fingers flexing.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I breathed against her.
The heat from Juliet’s mouth radiated against my skin. “Neither can I,” she replied, when I was looking at her again.
Those words. God, those words. I moved into her, pushing her frantically back into the wall. Our mouths came together again as my hands slid over the front of her body, running over her breasts and onto her stomach in a very carnal, hungry way. This time it was her turn to moan. As she did, I felt her hold me firmly, turning us around in a half-circle, until we’d traded places.
Juliet’s lips curled around my tongue as I slid it between them. When I pulled away, her teeth sunk lightly into my bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth. Another vocalization trailed out of me. We pushed together, both of our bodies burning so intensely that I couldn’t tell us apart.
Then it happened. Juliet’s hands found the sides of the wall and she pulled away from me. I fought her, pushing back. She kept her distance. I was still trapped between her arms, but she was staring at me now. We both panted lightly as those green flecks studied me over.
“Emma.” Her face grew serious, and I could tell by her expression she was stopping us yet again. My body sunk back against the wall. “We have to wait.”
Wait? I couldn’t wait. There was no possible way. Not a second longer. “I can’t,” I breathed. “I can’t do that.”
“Just until the end of the semester,” Juliet said, reaching her hand out to brush hair behind my ear. “Just a few more weeks.”
“Why?” It was all I could manage.
“If we’re going to do this, we have to be careful,” she said simply. “I can’t be playing favorites. Not while you’re still in my class.”
“Who says you’re playing favorites?” I asked, still panting. “I’m not asking you to play favorites.”
Juliet smiled at me then. A bright, unusual smile for her that filled the entire length of her face. “I can hardly keep away from you now. If I took you into my bed...” Oh God, it made my entire body erupt into burning agony when she said those words. I couldn’t stop myself, wrapping my hands tightly around her face and pulling her forward until our mouths made a forceful impact once more. We kissed violently, for a brief few seconds longer, until she placed a hand between us.
“Just a few more weeks,” I could see her panting in between words. Then she said the magic word. The word that would work as exceedingly well on me as it did on her. “Please.”
My body sunk into the wall. I pulled back from her somewhat, my head falling. Juliet’s fingers curled under my chin, tugging it lightly upward until I was looking at her again. She was still smiling, a soft gentle smile. “Okay,” I breathed, and she leaned in to kiss me tenderly once more before we parted.
The moment fled in an instant. Her expression steadied, and her gaze drifted towards the piano and her Vuillaume once more. “Let’s practice,” she said simply, and the two of us moved in unison. Our music would be our passionate embrace. For a short while longer, anyway.
19
Juliet
Vivaldi’s Four Seasons- Spring & Fall
Franz Liszt, La Campanella
Elgar, Salut d'Amour
DAVID GEFFEN HALL BUZZED with the noise of three-thousand people as they settled in for the opening show for the New York Philharmonic winter season. It was predicted to be a full house, and by the sound of it, I didn’t doubt it. Many of my fellow musicians had already made it onto the center of the stage. The strings gathered in a collective circle, waiting for their turn to file into the room.
Tonight, I was on fire. Not just from the adrenaline rush that always captured me in its clutches at every opening performance. My thoughts were drifting to Emma Harvey, who’d been in my embrace only a few short days ago. I wondered if she’d came with Miranda to the show. We hadn’t discussed it. It wasn’t the most reasonable idea for her to do so, but nothing about our relationship was reasonable anymore.
Finally, the strings entered. As first chair violinist, I led the group. A round of
applause trickled through the room as we found our seats. The violas were behind us, followed by the cellists and bassists. I prepared the sheet music on the stand, all of it unnecessary after years of performing the same songs.
I looked out into the crowd. The lights blinded me, but I managed to spot Miranda, Timothy, Andrew, Charlotte and Emerson all in the third row of the theater. Miranda was beaming at me. None of them had participated in this show, too busy with other things. They’d all come to support me. There was no Emma in the row with them. Perhaps it had been best if she wasn’t there. It would have been difficult to maintain my composure around her. I’d barely managed with classes, but we had to. For a few more weeks.
Philip Anderson, the conductor, came to the stage after we’d arrived. Another round of applause echoed throughout the room. Philip settled at the front of the stage, readying himself and his music. My Vuillaume came to rest on my shoulder, fingers flexing over the strings. The Morizot bow readied in my right hand. Every violinist beside me followed my lead.
The show started with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Movements from “Fall”. While it was an overplayed piece, for certain, “Fall” was one of the least recognized portions. The violins came in from the beginning, filling the room with a flurry of notes trickling up the strings into the higher registers. A short while after, the rest of the strings joined in.
I was lost in the melody. The room disappeared around me. When my solo portion came, it spilled out of me. Every note telling a story to the audience I couldn’t express through words. Before I knew it, the orchestra joined in again, and I fell back, blending in with the other strings.
As the show reached intermission, I couldn’t believe how fast it had gone by. Instead of staying behind stage, I used the side entrance, walking out to meet my colleagues in the auditorium. I was interrupted a few times from fans who wanted to shake my hand or ask for an autograph. When I made it to Miranda, she offered me a hug.
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