Karin was three inches away from me and I wanted to flee.
As soon as I was under the cover, she slid over toward me.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
Another stab of guilt. Because the truth was, I hadn’t missed her at all. Then I froze, because she put her lips to my neck and a hand on my stomach.
“Gregory, why won’t you touch me? You’re my husband. I’m so sorry ... I’m sorry I lied. Forgive me.”
Jesus. Forgive her? If she only knew what she was saying.
“Kiss me,” she said, and then her lips came into contact with mine. I responded because what the fuck else was I supposed to do? But it was the most uncomfortable kiss of my life. She moved closer, and her right hand worked its way down my stomach until she was touching my penis, and God help me, but of course it responded instantly, even though the rest of my body was rigid, uncomfortable.
Her kisses became almost frantic, and the next thing I knew, she’d brought her lips to my neck again, as she raised to her knees, her fingernails raking lines in my ribs.
“I want you, Gregory. Please.”
Her pleading made me want to run away and hide. To sneak under the bed. My stomach was in knots as she frantically pulled at my underwear. I winced and closed my eyes, because she touched me again, but I’d collapsed, flaccid, completely impotent.
My body had revolted, announcing in no uncertain terms what my confused mind hadn’t made clear. No. Fucking. Way.
She froze. Then turned away, flinging herself to the far edge of the bed with her back to me.
I stared at the ceiling. Humiliated. Nauseous.
She shook with the beginning of a sob then whispered, “Do you really hate me that much?”
I couldn’t answer. Instead, I lay there, silently, alone, as my wife cried herself to sleep.
Savannah
“Savannah, that’s an A-flat.”
“Huh?” I whispered, turning to Nathan.
“It’s an A-flat.” He took his pencil and helpfully circled the offending note for me. “You’ve missed it like every other time we’ve gone over that line. There’s a key change in measure thirty-six.”
Sighing, I grabbed his pencil from his hand and put a star over the key change. “Well, what the hell? This is a march for Christ’s sake, who writes this many key changes into a march?”
Tim elbowed me from the other side.
“What?” I snapped. He just nodded toward Joseph McIntosh, staring down at me from his conductor’s stand expectantly.
“I said, Ms. Marshall, that I want the flutes to ease up on the staccato on that run of eight notes starting at thirty-six. The way he’s written them is too choppy. Still accent them, just not so forcefully. And, in the correct key, please.”
My cheeks heated as my eyes drifted over toward Gregory. I rarely messed up, and I was waiting for him to shoot me a condescending gaze, as if my messing up was somehow a billboard that the two of us were having sex in our private time. He just nodded and mouthed: you’re fine.
The past few weeks had been a whirlwind. Gregory and I were granted the gift of privacy a few hours a week due to practicing our duet. We’d played the Assobio piece a few times and worked a few other pieces into the rotation. I savored the hours we spent practicing. Playing. Immersing ourselves in the craft that initially attracted us to each other.
It was a turn on to watch him practice. To work note runs over and over, studying them behind his furrowed brow. When he stopped, satisfied that he’d worked over the measures enough, he’d look in my eyes, and I could never stop myself from setting my flute down and grabbing him into a kiss. He always kissed me back with greater intensity than I’d seen him use to study the notes on the page. So much so that one time in Houston, we got so carried away in the practice room that we’d taken each other’s clothes off before taking stock of our surroundings. Thankfully, no one caught us.
Caught.
I hated that what we were doing was something that someone could “catch.” There would be no release from that.
We rarely talked about the future. Or even the present. Karin … his wife … had come out to visit him for two days. A visit that ended inconclusively for them. And left me hanging, twisting in the wind. He’d told me nothing of their discussion when she was here. But sometimes I could see it in his eyes. The stress and confusion and anger, and occasionally, deep melancholy.
At first, I’d been concerned that his desire to be with me for the summer was purely driven by physical need. The more time we spent together, however, the less that was a concern. He loved me. That was evident in the soft growl that came from his throat as he softly bit my earlobe, and the way he watched me as I moaned beneath him. It was the way he always stood at the end of the song and slid his fingers around the back of my neck before kissing me and telling me how beautifully I’d played, and how beautiful I was. It was the look in his eyes when he said it. They always widened slightly, as if he was trying to remind himself that this was real. We were there, in that space, just loving each other.
I still didn’t let us say that to each other.
Love.
That was my limit. My singular request in this wildly irresponsible situation. I loved him, madly. And I know he loved me, too. I just knew myself well enough to know that I couldn’t hear him tell me that every time we were together and be able to keep my head on straight. He was married. And, at the end of this tour, he was going home to his life and I would go home to mine. We would always have the memories of the summer we toured together.
And that would be that.
“Where’d you go?” Nathan elbowed me as we stood by ourselves in the elevator of the Downtown Lexington Hilton.
“Huh?” I cleared my throat and glanced up at him, finding him scrutinizing my every move. I hesitated over the 7, which was Gregory’s floor. Nathan knew I was on the ninth floor. Reluctantly, I tapped the 9 with my knuckle and leaned against the wall of the elevator car.
“Today. That shit with the key change.”
“It was just one key change, Nathan. Jesus. Sorry.” I rolled my eyes and stared at the descending numbers on top of the elevator doors.
“It’s not just today, Savannah. You’ve been wicked focused in performances, but it’s like during rehearsals you’re somewhere else. You’re off. Something’s going on. What is it?”
Shit.
I’d taken Nathan’s possession of a Y-chromosome for granted in hopes that he’d never find out about Gregory and me. Certainly, I’d thought, as long as I showed up and did my job, no one would notice that what I was really doing was barely holding on to reality. Tightly.
“It’s nothing, really.” I shrugged and offered a half-assed smile.
“Is this about that article on your mom?”
“How’d you know about that?” I hadn’t mentioned it to Nathan, or anyone. Not even Gregory. Somehow, I cynically thought bringing up an affair my mother had would sour ours.
Nathan shrugged as the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the ninth floor, where Nathan’s room was, too. He followed me off and continued. “Everyone knows, Savannah. Cynthia Reynolds plays for the Boston Lyric Opera. She knew about the alleged scandal.” Nathan playfully mimed air quotes as his eyes bulged mockingly.
“So, what, she ran around and told everyone about my mom and Malcolm?”
Nathan had followed me to my room and as I slid my key into the slot, he shook his head.
“No … not about your mom and Malcolm. About the stuff about you.”
Ignoring the green light by the handle telling me I could enter, I dropped my hand and looked at him. “What the hell are you talking about? That article was about my mom and Malcolm and their—”
Nathan grabbed my key from me and opened my door. “Did you read it? The whole thing?”
I shook my head, my pulse picking up speed. “I skimmed the thing, saw their picture, I know the rest.”
“You have a copy?” he asked as the h
otel room door locked loudly behind us.
“Unfortunately.” I reached into my suitcase and pulled out the Opera News magazine, which was rolled into a tight tube. I don’t know why I kept it.
Nathan took it from my hands and flipped through to the article, turning the page once more before handing it back to me, his finger on a section of the story I hadn’t read. Watching his eyes, which seemed to darken slightly, I took the worn periodical from his hand and looked to the section he’d pointed out.
An anonymous source reports to Opera News that Carulli’s daughter, Savannah Marshall, was admitted to the New England Conservatory after Vita Carulli gave a substantial gift to the school’s endowment. According to school records Marshall did not complete her studies at the conservatory. Marshall currently plays for the Bolshoi Ballet.
My cheeks were a thousand degrees as my nerves buzzed with rage. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I yelled.
He seemed startled. “Jesus, Savannah, I thought you read the whole thing. I know things with your mom have been shitty, and I figured this was why.”
“It is why … I … shit, I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “I have to … just … I have to go.” Clutching the magazine in my fist, I headed out of the room and back to the elevators.
“Where are you going?”
“I just need a minute, Nathan. To call her.” The lie came more easily than I was comfortable with, but it came all the same.
“Sorry, I thought that was the reason you were so …” Nathan trailed off and ran a hand through his hair.
“What,” I snapped. “Focused? You thought I was out there every night trying to prove myself? Wait … do you believe that’s why I got in?”
“Jesus, no. You’re better than I am. You know that. I’d never think anything like that about you, Savannah, you know that.”
Just then the elevator doors opened and I rushed inside.
“We’ll talk later,” I mumbled as the doors closed. I didn’t want to fight with Nathan. I knew he didn’t believe those things that were written. What I didn’t know, however, was who might.
But I did know who I could start with.
I gripped the magazine tighter as I knocked on the door to room 744, causing the glossy pages to squeak against my fingers. Gregory opened with a sexy grin on his face, which quickly disappeared.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, stepping back to grant me entrance.
I smacked the magazine against his chest. “This.”
The door closed slowly as Gregory stared between me and Opera News.
“Page ten.” I paced back and forth across the window, resisting the urge to throw something.
A few seconds in, Gregory looked up. “Your parents are divorced?” he whispered. I hadn’t told him.
I nodded. “That’s not why I’m here. Read on.”
Within the span of sixty seconds, his jaw dropped and his eyes shot to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I shouted as I snatched the magazine out of his hand.
“What are you talking about?”
“That you were all apparently bribed to let me into the conservatory.”
Gregory’s nostrils flared as he took a rough breath. “First of all, Savannah, I’ve never been bribed in my life. I’d never participate in such a thing. And if that’s what you came in here to accuse me of, then you can leave and come back when you have your head on.”
“Explain it, then. Explain who would say something like that.”
“Have you talked to your mother? Seems she should be the one you smack with that magazine.”
“So she did it, then?” My head was spinning as I thought of that day. The day I received my acceptance letter. Everything I’d spent my life working toward was wrapped up in one word: Congratulations. Now, it was about to be destroyed by one word: Donation.
“I have no way of knowing who gave what money to where. Nor do I care.”
“I care,” I snapped as I walked toward him, meeting him toe-to-toe as my vision blurred with tears. “I care, Gregory. I care that everything I worked for means shit if this is true. You were at my audition. Just tell me. Did you even score me or was it already determined that I was a shoo-in because of this? Is that why you were such a dick to me when I had you in class? Because I was the spoiled brat whose mother bought her way into the conservatory?” I was speaking so fast I had to stop and catch my breath, just as Gregory caught my shoulders.
“Listen.” He leaned down slightly so we were eye-to-eye. “I wasn’t a dick to you, Savannah. And, if I was, it was unconscious because I was trying to avoid dealing with my feelings for you. I’m sorry for that. I’ve been sorry for that. That aside, you’re not a spoiled brat and you were not a shoo-in. Any time I’ve heard rumors of things like that happening have been after we’ve already declined someone’s admission. You were in before you walked off the stage, but not because of some bribe.”
“What?” I wiped under my eyes but didn’t try to pull away. His grip on my shoulders calmed me.
His voice softened significantly. “Until that point it had been years since I’d heard a high school student of any instrument play with such skill. You were in before the last note from your flute silenced in the auditorium that day. I didn’t care what the others had to say. And, I had no idea who your mother was. I didn’t know if you had the money to come, but I was prepared to do anything to make sure that you got into that school. Because of your talent, Savannah. Because you deserved it. Because you earned it.”
My lip involuntarily quivered as I took in the sincerity of his eyes. The truth. I opened my mouth to say something, but he stopped me.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your parents?”
“It’s not important. It’s not part of the deal here, Gregory. We don’t … share things like that.” I’d wanted to tell him. Badly. But relying on him for emotional support seemed risky given the rest of the summer was likely to fly by and I’d be left with open wounds he was unable to tend to.
“Sit,” Gregory commanded as he led me to the bed. I silently obeyed. He took my hands in his and continued. “It is important. You’re important. I know our time together is limited, but your thoughts and feelings still matter. They happen, and they matter. I want to know what’s going on with you.”
I sighed, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I looked him in the eyes. “You understand, though, why I might not want to discuss my parents’ marriage breaking up because of an affair?”
His lips parted but he had no words. What could he say? He just nodded and swallowed hard.
I grazed my thumb across his knuckles and tried to change the subject. “Who would say that stuff about me, then? Even if my mom did try to get me in, and believe me, we’ll have the discussion, who would say something to the magazine?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But I can try to find out. I have my suspicions.”
“You’d do that for me?” I looked away from his strong hands and met his eyes. I knew there was no way he’d be able to find out, but his allegiance to me meant more. But then my mind ran to the question of his suspicions. Did he think Karin had something to do with this? And why hadn’t he talked about what happened when she flew out?
“Savannah,” he sighed, stroking his fingers down the side of my face. “You know I’d do absolutely anything for you. I’m so madly in l–”
“Don’t.” I stopped him by putting my finger over his lips. “Don’t say it.”
His lips opened again and, for a second, I thought he was going to argue with me. To say that he loved me. I would have come apart then. Demanded things I had no business demanding. Instead he closed them again around the tip of my finger and quickly traced it with the tip of his tongue. His eyes closed as he moaned softly.
I caught my breath at the intensity of the swift movement and brought my hand to his chest as I rested my forehead against his. His lips searched for mine immediately, as if whenever they were
an inch apart they had to be together. Gregory’s bottom lip skimmed the hyperaware skin of my top lip. Normally I’d playfully tease him. Turn my head to the side or duck my chin in the cat-and-mouse game our mouths liked to play.
Not this time.
Clenching the cotton of his shirt I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth as he took in a sharp, quick breath. In one movement his mouth was open and our tongues were working together as feverishly as my hands worked to undress him. Gregory shifted up the bed and grabbed onto my hips as I straddled him, pulling off my shirt as he looked on approvingly.
Leaning forward with my hands on the bed, I let my hair skim across his chest and shoulders.
“I’d do anything for you, too, Gregory,” I whispered as I brushed my lips along his jawline. “Absolutely anything.”
Gregory
Savannah’s cheek rested on the hot skin of my chest, her warm breath circling my skin and making me feel like I was home. With one arm tucked under my head, I let the fingers on my other hand trail through her hair and down her back. Her hair had grown several more inches in the years since I’d last seen her. Lying here now, her blonde waves were scattered across my chest and over her shoulders, damp with the sweat we’d just worked up. She’d been quiet for almost two minutes before I spoke.
“Hey.” I kissed the top of her head as she lifted it to look at me. “I need some water. Do you want some?”
She nodded as she lifted her head and shoulders so I could unwrap myself from her. I hated doing that. Everything was colder when I wasn’t touching her. I quickly pulled two bottles of water from the mini-fridge and slid back into bed.
“Thanks,” she whispered, opening the bottle and taking a sip before screwing the cap back on and setting it on the bed next to her.
Sitting with my back against the headboard, I opened my arm so she could curl up against me again. As she lowered her head to my shoulder, she let out a slow sigh.
“You okay?”
She nodded, but didn’t look up. I’d have believed her if I didn’t feel the slight shrug of her shoulders.
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