“You’re taking painting classes?” she asked with surprise. “You didn’t mention that the other day in your office.”
He shrugged and ran a hand across the back of his head. The impressed look in her eye made him feel as if he’d rescued a box of puppies in the middle of the highway instead of just taking a class. “I was distracted by other things.”
Her eyes met his. She chewed the corner of her lip. A dangerous look came to her eye. Dangerous because she wasn’t hiding the flare of desire in her gaze. Dangerous because the need to get closer made him clip a few inches off the distance separating them.
“It never hurts to continue to learn,” he said to get both their minds off her seeing him shirtless. “I never had formal training. Law school didn’t leave me a lot of time to study art. After the divorce, the idea of taking a class that didn’t revolve around cases intrigued me.”
India broke eye contact. She took a deep breath, then pointed at the wall of paintings. “You can’t tell me these are just a teacher showing off a student’s work. They are all really good.”
He wanted to roll around and wrap himself up in the warmth and praise in her voice. “The board decided to showcase local artists.”
“And they chose you?” she said as if he’d won a huge honor instead of being one of many local artists displayed in the building.
Travis chuckled and scratched his jaw. “I’m on the board, remember. Kind of hard not to choose me.”
India laughed and playfully slapped his arm. Her touch lingered a few seconds too long. Travis’s hand quickly lifted and covered hers. He pressed her palm against his biceps. Her hand was small and soft, but the heat of her touch seeped into his bones. Her fingers flexed as if she were cupping the muscle. She stood close enough for her perfume and a distinctly feminine scent that belonged only to her to invade his system and make him ease another inch closer.
She stared at their joined hands. Her breaths short and choppy.
“I guess they had to include you,” she said, her voice low and breathless.
“Would you have chosen me?” he asked quietly. Even with the noise in the museum from the people talking and the band playing, he knew she could hear him because they stood that close.
Her eyes lifted to his. “I would have.” Her voice shook. “I’d always choose you.”
His hand tightened on hers. Her words were a jolt to his system. Pushed aside all of the reasons he’d just given himself for not admitting his feelings to her. Her beautiful eyes were sad, regretful but also completely honest. She felt something, too. Not just desire. Not just unsettled about the way things abruptly ended between them. The only thing guiding him now was a need to have no more secrets between them. “India, the woman in the portrait—”
She tugged on her hand.
He let her go, but clenched his hand in a useless attempt to hold on to the feeling of her hand in his. India rubbed the back of her neck and put back the inches between them he’d taken away. Shutting him off.
“I mean, you’re a talented artist,” she said. “I’ve always thought that.”
Her words shut down everything they didn’t dare speak. Don’t push this. They knew something was there. They also knew they couldn’t be together.
Travis let the moment slip away. He did what he was supposed to do. “Thank you.”
They stood in awkward silence before India snapped her fingers. “You know, we should consider a fund-raiser at the museum. I know Byron isn’t the biggest fan of the arts, but between the two of us we could at least give him enough information to pull in the artistic people in town.”
He put on his lawyer’s mask, even though he felt like he’d jumped out of a plane and his parachute opened a second before he would have plummeted to his death. He’d been about to cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, matching her forced enthusiasm. “Occasionally, we hold luncheons for our patron sponsors and have people come in and speak. Byron could talk about his plans to support the arts.”
“Do you think they’ll let him speak?”
“I’ll bring it up at the next board meeting. We’re planning the next patron luncheon for the following month and haven’t nailed down a speaker yet.”
“Great.” She looked over her shoulder. Scanned the crowd. “I guess I better get back to Russell.”
To hell with Russell. Russell could go jump off the side of the building for all Travis cared. She should stay here with him, but when he looked over the crowd, he spotted Camille searching for him. The woman he should be with.
He looked at the woman he wanted one last time. “Enjoy your date. He’s a nice guy.” Then he turned and walked away before she could notice he hadn’t meant a word he’d just spoken.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“DO YOU REMEMBER everything I told you?”
Byron eyed India over the paper in his hand with a mildly exasperated smile. “You do realize I’ve made several campaign speeches already? I think I can survive one more.”
India held up her hands. “I know. I know. Sorry.”
“For someone who wasn’t interested in helping, you seem to be really invested in my campaign lately,” Byron said.
They were downstairs in the art museum. Travis had worked his board member magic and got Byron on the agenda for the next patron’s luncheon. By a miracle, Byron’s schedule was clear and he’d agreed to the impromptu opportunity.
The luncheon was in the auditorium in the back of the museum. Byron wanted to stop and review his notes before they made their way to the back. He didn’t read directly from his notes when he gave a speech, but India had noticed he always checked, double-, then triple-checked any talking points before going before a crowd. Seeing her brother go after his dream inspired her. His drive for success fueled her own. She hoped to blow away the selection committee if given the chance to audition in California.
So you can run again instead of facing reality.
Refusing to let that thought take hold, she brought her mind to the task at hand: getting Byron through the luncheon. “I am invested,” she said. “At first I couldn’t believe you actually wanted to run for Senate. Seeing your dedication over the past month made me realize you aren’t just doing this for someone else.”
Byron folded the paper with his notes and tucked them into the inside pocket of his gray suit. He looked the part of the handsome and debonair politician. No hint of the playboy she remembered before going on tour.
“Who else would I be doing this for?”
“Dad.” She raised her eyebrows. Who else tried to influence their lives? Byron had always been optimistic and into volunteering, but he’d never talked about public service before.
Byron nodded and chuckled. “Dad only wants what’s best for us.”
“I know, but he does like to have his say in what we do.” He’d told her flat out she couldn’t join the Transatlantic Orchestra. Said she needed to get her head out of the clouds and had gone so far as to reject her offer for her. Thank goodness she’d been able to fix his meddling. The difference between her and her siblings was that Byron viewed their Dad’s meddling as strong suggestions and while Elaina fought him often, she also viewed his ways as a doctrine for success.
“I understand where he’s coming from,” Byron said, sounding slightly defensive. “He’s in a tough business and Granddad’s legacy means a lot to him. Of course he wouldn’t want us to do anything that could jeopardize our future or the company’s.”
“You’re right. It’s just...everything is about the family with him.”
Byron wrapped an arm around India’s shoulder and pulled her to his side. “Would you rather him not focus on our family and only care about business? Besides, Dad just gives his suggestions. As you proved, we still get the chance to make our own decision.”
She did
n’t tell Byron that their dad had stopped her stipend after she’d gone against him and accepted the orchestra’s offer. Cutting her off from the family fortune. She hadn’t realized just how lucky she was to have her family’s backing until there was no more joint bank account, credit cards or anything. She’d been embarrassed and furious when her card was declined for the purchases she’d tried to make after a month on the road. She’d never confronted him on that. Now she viewed what he’d done as a favor. She had learned to live off her income with the orchestra.
Two years later, he’d told her that her stipend was reinstated. She’d thanked him and hadn’t touched the money. Defying Grant always came with consequences. Some good, some not so good.
Byron led her toward the back of the museum and the auditorium. India looked at her brother. He modeled himself after their father. He wouldn’t fight back against decisions or suggestions Grant had for their future.
“Will you promise me that he won’t be the reason you get married to someone you don’t love?” she said.
Byron stopped at the door to the auditorium. He slid his arm from around her and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The woman you mentioned marrying. Is Dad—”
Byron held up a hand. “Dad has nothing to do with my decision.” His voice hardened.
“I want you to be happy.”
“Being the next senator from our state will make me happy.” Byron leaned in and lowered his voice. “Having a wife I can trust to support my career will make me happy.”
“You can have that and have someone you care about.”
“Caring about someone doesn’t always make things right.” His voice was heavy with bitter disappointment. His eyes iced over like the surface of a lake in forty-below temperatures.
His raw emotion twisted her train of thought. Byron had cared for someone briefly in college. He never talked about his conquests with India, but she remembered her mom talking about cleaning up a mess he’d made over a woman that had him hooked like a fish on a line back in college. Whatever the mess, it had been cleaned up quickly, quietly and without pulling India into the loop. Was that why he was willing to settle for convenience instead of love? Was her brother, spoiled, rich playboy extraordinaire, still mending a broken heart?
“What ever happened to—”
The door to the auditorium opened, cutting off India’s question. The chair of the board of directors came out. She saw the two of them and a relieved smile crossed her features.
“Oh good, you’re here.”
Byron immediately held out his hand to shake hers, his eyes melting like that same lake come spring, and his perfect politician’s smile took over. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We were just heading inside.”
Jocelyn shook her head. The petite brunette just seemed relieved her main attraction hadn’t become a no-show. “You’re fine. We haven’t started yet. Please go on inside. We’re just about to start serving lunch.”
Byron thanked her and opened the door for them both. After they entered the main auditorium, Jocelyn turned to India. “I’d like to talk with you later, if you have time. We have chamber music once a quarter here at the museum. Usually we have musicians from the local symphony, but we’d love to have you for a special guest appearance.”
India put a hand to her chest. “Me? A special guest?”
“Yes. You were the assistant principal violinist for the Transatlantic Orchestra. Your accomplishments are well-known.”
“I just kind of fell into that.” The principal violinist hadn’t thought India was right for the position. In fact, he hadn’t thought she was up to the challenge. His doubt had of course pushed her to prove him wrong.
“Aren’t you talented?” Jocelyn’s voice challenged India to deny it. As if India’s talent was a fact known by everyone far and wide. Jocelyn’s confidence sent sparks of pride through India’s chest.
“I am. It’s just I’m not...” What, worthy of being a special guest? She’d gotten a degree in music appreciation. Traveled with the Transatlantic Orchestra for six years. Practiced daily and knew every nuance of her violin as well as she knew her own skin.
“Not what?” Jocelyn’s voice rose at the end of the question.
India waved a hand, whisking away any lingering doubts about her abilities, and smiled. “Nothing. I’d be happy to participate, and I’m honored you thought of me.”
“Great.” Jocelyn beamed. “I’ll get in contact with you soon to talk more.”
“Thank you. I look forward to your call,” India said with a broad smile. She’d been asked to perform, not because of her name but because of her accomplishments. Something she never would have expected in her hometown.
Maybe you don’t have to go to LA for recognition.
India let the thought play in her mind for a second before pushing it away. One request to play at the museum wasn’t worth giving up her hope for a call from the LA Philharmonic. Staying in Jackson Falls would come with a unique set of complications.
India scanned the crowd. Her eyes landed on one of the biggest complications. Travis spoke to a man and woman India assumed were museum patrons. As if her gaze was a touch he couldn’t ignore, Travis stopped talking and looked her way. Their eyes locked, the corner of his mouth tilted up, and he nodded toward her in acknowledgment. India smiled and returned his nod.
They were so civilized and appropriate with each other. In the weeks since Arts and Drafts, they’d been extra careful in each other’s company. She hated being extra careful. Ever since that moment after her quick touch—when his hand had gripped hers, and she’d said she would have chosen him, but hadn’t meant the words in any relationship to art—she’d felt anxious. Restless. As if the words and questions she wanted to suppress were bound tight inside her and fighting like cats in a bag to get out. That moment had been nothing and everything.
But pretending it didn’t matter when your heart knew the truth of things was hard as hell.
India looked away first. Before she went with the urge to go to him. Maybe she would call Russell later. That would be good for her.
But she knew she wouldn’t.
* * *
INDIA SPENT THE afternoon after the patron’s luncheon practicing in the music room. She practiced daily but today she was inspired. Byron’s talk at the luncheon had gone remarkably well. Her brother’s charming personality was enough to win most people over. He’d gotten them not only with that, but also by expressing a genuine affection for the arts. An affection he said had blossomed as he’d watched India grow as a violinist.
The pride in Byron’s voice had blown her away. Until that moment she wouldn’t have said her brother was proud of her. Sure, he was happy for her, maybe a little impressed, but proud to have such a talented baby sister? That was a confession she’d never forget.
After his speech, the patrons had bombarded him with questions and comments. There was a lot of interest in his promises to continue to support the arts, and a lot of hope that he’d stand by his word. India knew he would. The group had also wanted to know more about India’s time playing for the Transatlantic Orchestra. Most surprising was being complimented by Arthur Manke, the music director with the Tri-City Philharmonic out of nearby Raleigh.
“Your work is impressive, India. We could use someone impressive working with us,” he’d said with only a slight hint of the arrogance that some musicians wore like silk cloaks.
“Nikolas Kastikov is our conductor,” he’d added when she’d hesitated.
Nikolas was well-known in the classical music scene. He’d served as conductor for many large philharmonics, was a guest lecturer around the country and held celebrity status in his home country of Norway. To learn that he was the conductor of her hometown’s symphony was surprising.
She’d never considered staying and playing close to Jackson Falls as a kid. Her
dreams had always been of far-off places. New York, London, Rome. Today’s luncheon had opened her eyes to the serious underestimating she’d done of her hometown. Thanks to the town’s proximity to the capital, Jackson Falls had a thriving arts scene including music, theater and even film.
Arthur’s hints about the need for an assistant music director hadn’t gone unnoticed. Honestly, if she were staying in town, she’d probably jump at the chance. Except, she’d caught Travis’s eye again over Arthur’s shoulder and once again she went tumbling down the slope of forbidden promises and shattered dreams. She’d changed the subject.
The murmur of voices followed by the sound of laughter drifted from the hallway. She recognized that laugh. Patricia’s laughter always made her muscles go rigid and acid burn in her stomach, because every time she heard Patricia laugh, she thought about how she was here and happy while India’s mother had died. Her mother’s death wasn’t Patricia’s fault, but Patricia laying up with Grant while her mother was sick was her fault.
She pulled out her case to quickly pack away her violin. The voices got closer, pushing her to hurry. She wouldn’t be able to avoid them. If they walked by, they’d see her. If she hurried from the room, she’d run into them, and she was too grown to hide like a scared kid.
Her dad and Patricia breezed into the music room arm in arm. They looked good together, like a happy, long-married couple in some television advertisement. How obviously they complemented each other only made the acid in India’s stomach bubble violently.
They both froze for a second when they saw her. That same awkward moment of silence descended whenever India and Patricia unexpectedly ended up in the same room.
Patricia slipped her arm from Grant’s and took a step away. India barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. They were past the point of hiding their everlasting affections. As if India would suddenly forget Patricia had been her father’s mistress while her mother was still alive.
“I was just finishing up,” India said.
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