Butterfly and the Violin (9781401690601)

by Cambron, Kristy

  After a pause, and the continued staring in the mirror, she caved in to the tug of honesty. “Penn, I bought a dress.”

  “You bought a dress for this guy? This is more serious than I thought.”

  “Not for the guy—for the wedding!”

  The line was silent then, so much that she wondered if the call had been dropped. She then heard a clicking noise in the phone, almost as if Penny was absentmindedly tapping a pen against her teeth.

  “You there, Penn?”

  “Are you going to tell him about Michael?”

  “Michael? Why on earth would I tell him about Michael?”

  Penny paused for a moment, then continued, “Oh, I don’t know . . . A new guy might find it interesting that you were hours from walking down the aisle when your fiancé called off the wedding and you’ve sworn off dating since. Like, for more than two years?”

  “I haven’t sworn off dating!”

  “Could have fooled me,” Penny huffed lightly. “Listen, Sera, you may not realize it, but you’ve shut practically everyone out of your life. You never go out of your apartment except to work. You haven’t gone home to visit your mom in almost a year. And I distinctly remember the last time I set you up on a double date, you called it quits and left the pub by seven thirty, even though I dug up a marginally cute guy who was willing to pay for dinner and a movie. You could have at least stayed through the spinach dip.”

  “When was that?” Sera was trying to remember three boyfriends ago. “Was that the date with Brent’s cousin?”

  “Yeah. And it wasn’t Brent. It was Brad,” Penny chided. “Beside the point.”

  “Then what is the point? I think a line is forming on the other side of the door.” Sera could hear guests clamoring even louder outside in the hall.

  “You’re hiding out,” Penny declared.

  Was she? The dress was stunning, she hoped. It had taken her more than an hour to find one that she thought would do.

  “You’re right, Penn.” She was hiding out from William. Hiding out from having a life. All because she was terrified of getting hurt again.

  Had she been hiding out from God too?

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “The only thing I can do—flee the confines of this bathroom and join the reception.” Sera grabbed up her black alligator clutch from the marble counter. “Off I go.”

  “Okay. Call me later if you need to.”

  “I will.”

  Sera almost hung up, but Penny’s voice chimed through the phone again.

  “Oh, and, Sera?”

  “Yeah?”

  She could hear Penny’s snicker through the phone. “Stay away from staring into those baby blues of his.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  William held the chair out for her and pushed it up behind her when she sat down.

  “Yes. I just had to take a quick phone call.”

  He sat down next to her. Close. A little too close. She could smell the coolness of his aftershave.

  In the midst of twinkling lights and the sound of laughter and joy all around, it was funny to feel like they had a moment to themselves; it was a hopelessly crowded wedding, after all. As they sat there, he quiet and she wondering what in the world he must be thinking, it almost seemed like they were alone.

  “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why did you say yes? When I asked you to the wedding, I mean. What made you agree to come tonight? Because I almost had the feeling that you’d have rather avoided it.”

  Sera thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “Free dinner. A beautiful view. And cake? A lady never turns down cake.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Famous words of my assistant.” She tilted her chin a bit, offering a light smile, hoping she appeared more in control than she felt. “Or I could always be buttering you up. You know, so you’ll give me the painting when this thing is all over.”

  “Buttering me up, huh?”

  “That’s right, Mr. Hanover.”

  “And tell me, Manhattan.” He turned and looked her dead in the eyes. “Just where did you get that dress?”

  Her hands flew up to rest on the collar of the exquisite pink sheath. “My dress?”

  Sera swallowed hard.

  “It wasn’t lying around in your suitcase, was it?”

  She tried to wave him off with as much nonchalance as she could fake.

  “Well, a Manhattan suit wouldn’t do for a wedding. It would be a dead giveaway to all of your guests. But lucky for me, California has stores like New York does, and I could quickly walk out with this.”

  “Who knew?” He smiled, the sarcasm tinged with her same brand of light humor.

  “Right. Who knew? I bought the first dress I saw in the window.” After I tried on twenty in between.

  He sat back, looking at her with an open stare. And though he looked handsome in his tux and smelled even better, she again reminded herself to shut off any feelings before they started.

  A faint ocean breeze blew in. Some of the strands of roped twinkle lights stirred in the vault of the tent above them. The candles on the table flickered. And it rustled her hair, sending a few long waves to dance about her shoulder. She calmed them with one hand, fighting the inclination to let them go in the event he might be bold enough to smooth them himself.

  “Do you enjoy being so formal?”

  “Formal? I don’t think so.” Her Friday nights were spent eating Chinese takeout while cuddled on the couch in front of an old black-and-white movie. Sera couldn’t help but laugh a bit, thinking of her favorite pair of navy sweats with the small hole in the seam.

  “Then we agree you can stop calling me Mr. Hanover? I only hear that at the office and I don’t like it even then. It’s William. Or Will to my family and friends.”

  “Ah, are we to be friends now? I hadn’t thought of that.” She tried to sound light and teasing. The serious look on his face didn’t match that one iota.

  “I’d like to believe so, Sera. We’ve spent roughly the last forty-eight hours together, haven’t we? Maybe we could be friends in this? I can see this is important to you.”

  The breeze danced again, rustling his hair this time. It didn’t break the connection between them. She took a deep breath as the blue eyes searched her face.

  Okay, God. Whatever You’re trying to tell me, You’ve got my attention.

  When she didn’t answer, William’s face changed. “But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sera,” he whispered, tilting his head to one side. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  She turned her eyes from him, changing her view to the expanse of the starry sky and the illuminated tent overhead. It was a beautiful scene. Too beautiful to darken with a memory she’d kept buried for so long.

  The band cued up, breaking the silence she’d put between them.

  He must have felt the change, because instead of saying anything further, William stood and removed his tuxedo jacket. He tossed it on the back of his chair, then looked down at her. And with possibly the most tender voice she’d ever heard, he whispered into the space between them, “Dance with me.”

  He stretched out his hand.

  “What?”

  “Come on. You agreed we’d be friends. Friends can dance.”

  He kept his hand out to her, though she hadn’t made a move to accept it.

  “I haven’t danced in quite a while,” she whispered so no one else would hear, but still couldn’t seem to stop her head from shaking under the embarrassment. Hopefully he couldn’t see that the hands she’d buried in her lap were quivering so badly they were nearly convulsing.

  “Good. Neither have I.” When she made no move to accept, he continued with a boyish smile. “I’ll lead with the wrong hand and you can even step on my toes if you want. Come on. We’ll fumble through it together.”

  The music began to play, a
vintage melody that most guests seemed to know well. He turned his head toward the direction of the stage. A singer began belting out the jazzy tune of “The Very Thought of You” with her silky voice, and they both instinctively smiled.

  “Sounds like they’re playing our song,” he said, still waiting, his palm open. “Are you going to tell me no? When I’m standing up and everything?”

  Sera stopped thinking. She stopped running and analyzing for once, and did what her heart told her to do. Two years or a hundred—it didn’t matter how long she’d been closed off, hiding her heart away. Maybe she could think about trusting someone again.

  Maybe she could trust him.

  Sera laid her clutch on the tablecloth and placed her hand in his, walking alongside him as he led her out to the dance floor.

  With the slight graze of his fingertips on the small of her back and the other hand cradling her palm, she suddenly felt right. They danced. Swayed with a deliberate softness. Moving without words, melting together, absorbed in the magic of the vintage 1940s song as if they’d danced together for years. And somehow, as he held her, Sera forgot that they weren’t the only two people dancing beneath the blanket of the starry sky. The dance floor was full, but neither noticed.

  Somehow her eyes drifted closed as they danced. As he held her. As she was wrapped in the stirring potential of what love could be. She worried that her heart would forget it was treading on dangerous ground while waltzing in William Hanover’s arms.

  “Do you think they danced to this?” He whispered the question against the hair at her temple. Her eyes popped open.

  “Adele and the young musician?” she asked, on a whisper.

  “Yes. The song would have been popular during their time, wouldn’t it?”

  Sera felt the warmth of his breath burn her forehead and shivered. He must have thought her chilled because he gently pulled her closer, until she was cradled up against the heat of his chest, her head nudging his chin with each melodic sway.

  “I believe so. Probably sung by Billie Holiday or another popular singer of the era. But I always think of this song as sung by Nat King Cole.”

  “In the fifties?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  He nodded, his chin bobbing against her forehead.

  They danced silently, swaying to the chorus with its enchanting words.

  “And do you believe in second chances?” William’s words were faintly whispered.

  What was he thinking? She wished she knew.

  “Second chances?”

  “If they were a couple as we suspect, wouldn’t they have given anything for one more chance to do what we’re doing right now, especially given what might have happened to them?”

  She shook her head. She’d been searching for a painting of Adele—not looking to uncover a decades-old romance. Love had been taken off the table long ago when her heart was shattered. So was she supposed to care about fresh chances now? What did they hold but broken promises?

  He seemed to notice her pause, but chose to ignore it and whispered closer to her ear, “What should we do with this stolen moment?”

  Sera felt a pit forming in her stomach. She was leaving in twelve hours. That was it. She’d be on a plane flying thousands of miles away from California and those blue eyes of his.

  “William, I’m leaving tomorrow and—”

  He tightened his grip at her back and laughed softly. “See? You didn’t call me Mr. Hanover. I knew you could do it if you set your mind to it.”

  “It doesn’t matter what we call each other,” she admitted, trying to find the right words to soften the truth. “I’m just . . . not sure I’m ready for this.”

  “Is it because I’ve hired you? Or is it something else?” William leaned back, enough so that their eyes met. Their dance became slower, each step more intentional. More connected, even. “Something more than the painting?”

  She tilted her chin in a soft, singular nod. “It always has been.”

  As if waiting for something, he whispered, “Who hurt you, Sera?”

  She stared back, feeling the weight of his eyes as they searched her face. So she wasn’t able to hide everything.

  “Someone who was supposed to honor a promise until death do we part.” She sighed. “But he couldn’t honor it even to walk down the aisle.”

  His voice was heavy, laden with tenderness. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sera took a deep breath against the emotion that threatened to pinch her eyes to tears.

  “I’ve thought about this. A lot. And—”

  William’s mouth flipped into a sudden grin. “You thought about me?”

  “No.” She shook her head, embarrassed that she couldn’t think straight around him.

  “No, you didn’t think about me?”

  She fumbled her steps and nearly took off the tip of his oxford with the heel of her shoe. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, and halted their swaying. “We’ve both got baggage, William. Just different kinds. We’re both searching for something outside of what happened to Adele—your search happened to cross with mine. And given the fact that there’s the painting between us, and your family’s future at stake, it’s not a reality that we can be friends.”

  “Good.”

  He surprised her with the one word.

  Really? He thought it was good?

  Sera popped her head up and looked him dead in the eyes. “Good?”

  “I thought that might get your attention.” The words were whispered a scant second before his lips brushed hers. It was soft, sweet, and a blink of a kiss that she hadn’t expected. “I don’t think I want to be friends with you either.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  September 1, 1939

  See? He’s looking at you again.”

  Margie kept tugging at the sleeve of Adele’s blue-and-white flowered dress as she whispered about the tall, dreamy-eyed gentleman who’d walked into the dance hall a few moments before. He stood across the room, casually leaning against the wall and looking every now and then in their direction. The band played, couples danced, and the overhead lights dimmed over the dance floor in between them, but he appeared not to notice.

  Margie and the rest of the girls thought it was a chance sighting, didn’t they?

  Her heart quickened as he stood there, leaning to one side with his long legs crossed, looking toward where she sat with her gaggle of red-lipped friends.

  “Did you hear me?” Margie poked her in the shoulder. “That hotsy-totsy over there keeps giving you the eye. I’m sure of it. He turns this way every few seconds. See?” The bright-eyed brunette raised her brows and smirked. “He did it again! He’s looking at our sweet little violinist, I do believe.”

  Adele stirred the straw in her cola bottle, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Margie could see through her. Always did. She was the first friend Adele had made when she’d started college that autumn, and boy-crazy though Margie was, Adele enjoyed her caring nature. The other girls, Faye and Greta, were both studious musicians in the music program. They were lovely and proper, and far more reserved than their unofficial brunette-haired leader.

  “I think he’s going to ask you to dance, Adele.” Greta winked, her long lashes upturned on a smile that softened all the contours of her face. “And on your birthday, no less.”

  Adele felt her cheeks tinge with a blush.

  Of course she hoped he’d ask her to dance on her birthday. What else could she want?

  “He’d better ask, after all the staring he’s doing. You haven’t noticed?” Margie rolled her eyes, causing a chorus of giggled sighs from the other two friends at the table. “You’d better start noticing, Adele. Look at him—he’s perfect. Austria’s Sweetheart may have been gifted with more than a seat onstage for her special day.”

  “Leave her alone, Marg. She’s trying to forget who she is for one night. Can’t she just be Adele? Why does the orchestra have to be brought into it?”r />
  “He plays for the Philharmonic, doesn’t he?”

  Adele nodded and tried to steel herself from looking over at him in return. Instead, she looked down at the cola bottle she’d been turning in her hands. “Yes. He’s a new cellist.”

  “See, Faye? She’s playing coy with us. Our Adele is officially falling for mystery man number one over there and . . .” Margie exhaled noisily and sagged into a playful sigh against Adele’s shoulder. “Let’s face it. I can’t blame her. I’d be smitten with that one too. I’ve been trying to get the dirt on him for weeks, and curiously, she never has any details to share. Don’t you think that’s a bit odd? I think they’re secret friends and she refuses to tell us.”

  Adele had to smile.

  Her eyes had clamped on Vladimir’s tall form the second he’d strolled in through the front doors. As a matter of fact, Adele had been waiting for him all night, though she’d never have admitted it to her group of friends. They sat around like lovesick kittens, purring over every dark-haired man who gave a half smile in the direction of their table. But when Vladimir had strolled through the doors, a collective sigh rose up from the group.

  For some reason, Adele was reluctant to share much.

  Maybe it was because she feared her parents would find out about their friendship. Or maybe she didn’t want to admit to the mad crush that was building on her part? Surely the older Vladimir wouldn’t notice her as anything more than the orchestra’s young guest violinist.

  Adele wore a pearl comb in her hair that night. She’d rolled her hair high on her head and let the back trail down her neck in a riot of curls about her shoulders, like many other girls there. But the comb? That was for him and him alone. She hoped he noticed it, hoped he didn’t see her as the little college girl who played with him onstage. Could he see something of the woman in her?

  “The odds are that he’ll be walking over here within the next five minutes.” Margie, always romantic with the swoony daydreams about happily ever after, smiled at her knowingly. “And you, miss, will find yourself swept away.”