Overture

by Skye Warren

  “It’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me. More than I ever imagined.” And then it doesn’t matter how much I long to hold Lady Tennant or play everything I’ve learned with her—I have to set her gently into the case. That’s where my carefulness ends.

  I launch myself at Liam, throwing my arms around his neck and squeezing. There’s moisture where my cheek touches his hard jaw, and I know he’ll be embarrassed by my wild show of gratitude. He’s never liked me being overly emotional, so I’ve tried so hard to be like him.

  When I pull back, his green eyes shine with what can only be tears. It’s enough to make my breath catch. Maybe he isn’t as stoic as he wants me to think.

  Maybe we’re more alike than I ever knew.

  In the moments that follow I become aware that I’m clinging to him like I’m drowning and he’s my last chance of survival. Sensation blooms in my chest, my belly, and lower, to where my legs are half wrapped around him. He releases me gently, and I slide down his body to the floor.

  “I’m old enough,” I whisper, because it means he doesn’t have to hold himself back from me. He doesn’t have to feel bad about the erection I can feel cradled between our bodies.

  He looks more torn than ever, shame hard in his eyes, his mouth a firm line. “The violin, Samantha. It was more than a birthday present. It’s a goodbye.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  In comparison to many other instruments, the piano is relatively new. It was invented in 1698 by Bartolomeo Cristofori in Italy.

  SAMANTHA

  Bea calls me that afternoon, launching into an a cappella rendition of “Happy Birthday” with her husky, show tunes voice as soon as I say hello.

  I grin at her on FaceTime. “You should give up the whole piano thing,” I tell her. “Or at the very least become the next Adele.”

  “We’ll call that plan B,” she says, laughing.

  “You won’t believe what happened this morning.”

  “Ooh, something fun, I hope.”

  “I still can’t even believe it, and I was there.” I’ve got Lady Tennant in my lap, stroking the wood. I haven’t been able to let go of it, actually. When I’m not playing it, I’m holding it.

  “Now you’re just teasing me. What happened?”

  “Liam got me a Strad,” I tell her, unable to hold back the squeal. A professional violinist may go through a few violins in their lifetime, on the quest to find the perfect one. Other times it comes to you early.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “The Lady Tennant.” It’s incredible to be able to share this with another musician. She’s not a violinist, but she understands the power of a premier instrument—especially one with history.

  “The Lady Tennant?” she says, sounding awed.

  “He bought it. Outright. And then gave it to me. Honestly I might throw up.”

  “Well, don’t throw up on a Stradivarius or you’ll probably lose your violin license.”

  “I can’t put it down. Like honestly, it’s been hours. I can’t let go of it.”

  “Of course you can’t let go of it. It’s your baby now. What are you just going to put it back in its case? How will it know how much you love it?” She’s teasing me, in the way where she fully understands why I can’t let go of it.

  I’m in my bedroom now, and I gently nudge the door shut so I can say what’s on my mind. “Actually, the violin is more than a birthday present. It’s a goodbye present.”

  A pause. “What does that mean?”

  Grief lances my heart, but I try for a matter-of-fact tone. “I guess it means I’m not going to see Liam again after I leave for the tour. That’s probably for the best. It’s not like we’re family.”

  “Wow,” she says, falling silent again.

  “Wow what?”

  “That’s both incredibly generous and incredibly cold.”

  “No, it’s—” My throat tightens. “He doesn’t owe me anything. He certainly didn’t owe me this violin. It shows how much he understands me. How much he cares for me.”

  “Yes,” she says drily. “So much that he doesn’t want to see you again.”

  Tears prick my eyes like hot pokers. “He’s always been a realist.”

  “He’s always been an asshole,” she says with a sigh. “But you love him.”

  Yes, but not the way she means. Not as a father. I love him as more than that—as my everything. “You don’t keep in touch with Edward,” I say, trying to sound reasonable. We had that in common, guardians who cared for us out of obligation rather than familial love.

  “Because I didn’t love Edward. And he didn’t love me.”

  “There. You see? Exactly like me and Liam.”

  “It’s the exact opposite of you and Liam, Samantha. You love him. And he feels something for you. Why do you think I called him an asshole?”

  “Because he wanted me to go to high school instead of tour professionally?”

  “No, he was probably right about that. I thought he was an asshole because he keeps his distance from you instead of saying how he really feels.”

  My body tightens as I remember his hands on my thighs, his tongue on my clit. “What if the way he feels about me isn’t appropriate for a guardian to his ward?”

  “He isn’t a regular guardian,” she says gently. “And you aren’t a regular ward. So why should your feelings be the same as other people?”

  “Beatrix, whatever happened between you and Edward?” He was her father’s business partner. When both her parents died, he became the trustee of the considerable wealth she inherited. The only thing I know is that they had a falling out about her husband.

  “He wanted to marry me,” she admits. “Not in the sweet ‘I love you’ way. More like a ‘you can’t leave the penthouse so you’ll make a nice attic wife for me’ way.”

  “Oh, Bea. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was embarrassed. Ashamed, really. I didn’t have a regular life going to high school. You know I couldn’t even leave the hotel for years, until I met Hugo.”

  “Edward didn’t take it well?”

  “No, and there’s something else, something I found out about his past. It doesn’t matter now except to say that he’s not a good man.”

  My heart clenches. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know we have this in common, and I’m grateful to call you my friend. But our situations are completely different. Even before I knew the truth about Edward, I knew I couldn’t marry him. That I would never love him—not as a husband or as a guardian.”

  She’s right. Our situations aren’t the same at all. If Liam North were to ask me to marry him, I would give up everything to say yes. The tour, a music career. Traveling the world. I’m excited about it, but it pales in comparison to the man one floor down. Of course, he would never ask me to marry him. He doesn’t even want to see me again. I stroke the smooth wood of the Stradivarius, which may be all I ever have of Liam North.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The world’s fastest violinist played “The Flight of the Bumblebee” averaging fifteen notes per second.

  SAMANTHA

  Laney insists on taking me to the local café, where we have tea and chocolate croissants while discussing the latest Outlander episode. Josh drives us there, even securing the back exit before he lets us come inside. I give him a strange look. He’s often been responsible for driving us around, the most overqualified chauffeur in the world, but this seems extreme.

  In answer he gives me a wink and takes his latte outside.

  I glance back at Laney, who’s trying to hide her grin. And the notch of worry between her eyes is gone. “Do you have good news?” I demand, already suspecting as much.

  A grin. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but…my mom got back last night. She’s exhausted but absolutely all in one piece. I checked. Two arms. Two legs. One nose. It’s all there.”

  I give her a quick hug. “I’m so glad. But wait. Why were you not supposed to tell me?”

>   She rolls her eyes. “Because Elijah came back with her, and he’s all like, ‘I got Samantha a snow globe from the Kremlin and you can’t tell her I’m here until I give it to her.’”

  A bemused laugh escapes me. None of that sounds true. “Whatever.”

  “The important thing is that everyone is home. Nothing dangerous ever happens in Kingston.”

  I stick out my tongue at her. “Way to tempt fate.”

  An unrepentant grin. “Sorry, but I’m a firm believer in nihilism. We don’t believe in fate, but we also think that if fate did exist, tempting it wouldn’t matter. What’s going to happen will happen.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s determinism.”

  “Exactly,” she says, snatching the last bite of chocolate croissant from my plate. “Which means I’m not responsible for stealing this, and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “You know what? I’m not even mad.”

  She grins. “Because you have a fancy new violin waiting at home?”

  “Yes.” My smile fades. “Though it won’t be home for long.”

  “Ugh. I can’t believe he said that to you. Just do what I do when I don’t like something—pretend it didn’t happen. Show up whenever you want. What is he gonna do? Turn you away?”

  My stomach turns over, despite the comforting tea and croissant I just ate. “Even if I can come back, that’s going to be in a year and a half. And that’s only the initial tour dates. If I get booked for concerts after that, it could be even longer.”

  The label will put me up in hotels for the tour. And after that? I’ll basically be homeless. Oh, I’ll have enough money to rent an apartment or something.

  It won’t really be a home.

  Silence falls between us, both of us wondering where we’ll be in two years from now. The future stretches out with endless uncertainty. Well, maybe I’m the only one wondering that. It’s possible Laney’s considering stealing the chocolate croissant from the display case.

  After all, it would happen anyway.

  A rap on the window. Josh taps his watch.

  “Let’s go,” Laney says, grabbing her purse.

  I take a final swallow of my tea. “Yeah, I’ve got to get my snow globe.”

  On the drive back to the house I notice Josh’s raw knuckles.

  “Who did you hit?” I say, disapproving. All three brothers are well trained and determined, but of the three of them, only Josh enjoys a fight.

  “Oh, this?” he says, his tone innocent. “This was just a love tap.”

  He drops us off at the front of the house. It’s dark and unnervingly quiet inside. I wonder if Liam is working, and if he’d mind if I played the Strad again.

  “Surprise!”

  A squeak escapes me as people jump out from behind the furniture and around the corner. My heart thumps in uneven rhythm. I grin at Laney with accusation. “Did you know about this?”

  “It was my job to distract you.”

  “So sneaky,” I say, looking around at the hot pink balloons and neon green streamers. A cake on the dining table forms the shape of a violin, the frosting in bright colors.

  “I basically told you,” she protests, laughing. “The snow globe. The Kremlin. Honestly who buys souvenirs from the Kremlin?”

  “Those are the worst hints in the history of the world.” I throw my arms around her for a big hug. “And thank you for being an amazing friend.”

  It seems like all the people who work for North Security are in attendance, including Hassan and his young bride, back from their honeymoon and googly-eyed in love. There’s Laney’s mom, looking no worse for the wear. Liam, looking grave surrounded by so much revelry.

  Elijah is back, and though he doesn’t have a snow globe, he does have a black eye. I’m careful not to make a fuss over him in front of everyone—I know he’d hate that.

  After “Happy Birthday” has been sung and the cake has been cut, I corner Elijah with a hug. He gives me a quick squeeze before letting me go. Strangely enough, Elijah is known as the asshole out of the three brothers, but my relationship with him has always been easiest. Maybe because we’re closest in age or because you always know where you stand with him.

  Though I think it’s more likely because we both know about loss.

  “I was worried about you,” I tell him.

  “You know I’m too stubborn to die. I’ll probably live to be two hundred.” He doesn’t sound very cheerful about the prospect. But then again, he doesn’t sound cheerful about much of anything.

  I give a pointed look to his black eye. “You’re not infallible.”

  “You should see the other guy.”

  “Nice try, but I already know Josh hit you. And he looks fine.”

  He grins, which with the black eye makes him look like a pirate. “And I’m guessing Liam will give me a matching one on the other side when he has a spare minute.”

  “Liam wouldn’t hit you,” I say, indignant. “You’re injured.”

  “My pride is the only thing injured if you think I can’t take a punch. Besides, I deserved it. I deserved worse than that, but Liam’s gone soft.”

  “Because he cares about you.”

  Elijah studies me, his hard features set into shadows and edges. His face gives the impression of a cliff, something that’s been hewn over centuries of water and wind but still manages to have hard angles. “No, squirt,” he says gently. “It’s because he cares about you. Everything changed the day he got custody of you.”

  I look away. Is that why he’s so eager to get rid of me? I imagine a twelve-year-old girl would cramp anyone’s style, especially a man in his prime who loves adventure. And women. My stomach clenches. “I suppose he’ll join one of the teams once I’m gone.”

  “He doesn’t want to do that shit anymore.”

  “Or maybe he just didn’t go because he felt obligated to stay with me.”

  “He used to take any job. Every job. If it was likely to end up with him in a wooden box, he would do it. He wanted it to end that way. It was only his bad luck that kept him alive.”

  The way Elijah speaks, I know he’s talking from experience. “Is that what you do?”

  A humorless smile. “That’s the North brothers’ curse. To survive.”

  SAMANTHA

  The party goes late into the night. It’s ten o’clock when Laney comes to me quietly. “Cody’s here. He’s outside. He doesn’t want to come in.”

  The hair on the back of my neck rises at her tone. “What’s going on?”

  She glances to the large windows that overlook the hills. Any gathering here involves beer and an overabundance of testosterone, which led to the men competing in impromptu boxing matches. Liam was called outside to arbitrate a particularly dirty one.

  Only his decisions are trusted as being completely impartial.

  “He’s got bruises,” she whispers.

  Birthday cake turns to lead in my stomach. Cody has always hidden his bruises from Liam—and usually from us. He must be in a bad way if he’s come here. “Should I tell Liam?”

  Her eyes widen. “You can’t.”

  “He helped with Coach Price.”

  “That was different. He could get rid of Coach Price. How is he going to get rid of Cody’s dad?”

  “The authorities. A social worker. I don’t know.”

  “The man’s the only family Cody has. Do you think he’s going to be safer in some group home? And besides, you had to convince Liam to help with Coach Price. What if he won’t be convinced this time?”

  For all I know there are a hundred Coach Prices working at the group home. And besides, I know what it’s like to have a father who isn’t very good—but he’s the only one you have. I wouldn’t want Cody to lose that—or to suffer retribution if his father finds out he talked to us.

  “I still think we should tell Liam.”

  “We can talk about that later, but right now I’m going on a drive with him.”

  “Do you want me to come with you
?”

  “Maybe,” she says. “No, it’s your birthday party. Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m not being silly. You guys are my best friends. If he needs to talk, I should be there.” A thought occurs to me, and my cheeks heat. “Unless you’d rather be alone.”

  Shock widens her eyes. “Nothing like that is going to happen.”

  “Okay,” I say, keeping my tone mild.

  “I’m serious. Now you have to come.”

  She slips outside, and I start to follow. At the threshold of the house I pause, remembering the strange sounds and shadows in the antique shop. Probably my imagination.

  “Come on,” she says, and I take another step forward.

  And then stop.

  Your father had enemies. If they think you know something—

  No, I won’t leave without telling anyone where I’m going. Liam was right about that—it’s not the grown-up decision to make people worry.

  I find Liam outside, shaking his head as Josh and Elijah fight across the grass, tumbling outside the makeshift white boundary, using moves that I’m pretty sure aren’t allowed in even the most underground boxing ring.

  “I’m going on a drive with Laney and Cody.”

  “No,” he says, almost absently, his eyes still on the fight.

  “I’m not asking permission,” I tell him gently. “I’m eighteen now. Remember?”

  He glances at me, his green eyes filled with humor and melancholy. “Would you have asked permission if I agreed to be pen pals when you left?”

  I shake my head slowly, not breaking eye contact.

  “Christ,” he says. “All right. Go. I won’t try to stop you, but I’m still responsible for your safety as long as I—as long as you’re here. I’ll follow at a discreet distance.”

  I make a face. “Are you serious?”

  “Hey,” he says gently. “I know how to tail someone without them knowing.”

  “That’s weirdly reassuring.”

  That earns me a small smile.