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“Yes, opera isn’t for everyone, but I’m glad you at least enjoyed the music. The Boston Opera House has a great symphony behind it. And please, call me Shelby.”
“Are you not a part of the orchestra?” Trent asks, genuinely interested.
“No. I’m only filling in for a friend who’s been under the weather lately. I actually play first chair violin for the Boston Symphony Orchestra.”
“That’s remarkable. I can see where your daughter gets her tenacity. I’m sure it must have been a difficult process to achieve such a feat.”
“Why? Because she can’t hear the music?” I snap before my mother has time to answer.
Trent’s joyful expression morphs into one of sadness, but I’m unable to soak it in because my mother gives me another elbow to the gut.
“Don’t be rude, Piper. It was a compliment,” she signs with a frown. She then takes out her phone again, preferring her trusty app to my mediation. “I apologize for my daughter. In her defense, she’s always been very protective of me.”
“I can see that.” Trent smiles. “Actually, I’ve known her to be quite protective of everyone she cares about. It’s one of her most admirable attributes.”
My forehead creases at his praise while my mother beams with pride.
“She’s always been like that. She takes after her father,” my mom explains with a wistful grin.
“Really? I would love to meet him.”
“I’m afraid he passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Trent replies, his heavy gaze landing back on me.
I chew on my bottom lip and turn my attention to the window again, not wanting to entertain this conversation any longer. Thankfully, my mom picks up on my souring mood, and doesn’t poke her elbow in my gut again, preferring to move the topic of conversation to safer pastures.
I remain silent for the rest of the ride while Trent and my mom talk up a storm like old friends reunited. When we finally reach my childhood home, Trent is the first to exit the car and open the opposite door for my mother, but not before grabbing an umbrella so she doesn’t get wet under the pouring rain.
“I’ll text you tomorrow, sweetheart,” my mom signs, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
After saying our goodbyes, I watch Trent walk my mother up the stoop of her front door. When he says something to her that has her beaming again, I kick myself for being so stupid to leave her alone with him. Fuming, I watch a relaxed Trent walk back to the limo, but instead of returning to his seat, he knocks on the chauffeur’s window first to tell him something. As soon as the conversation ends, the partition window of the limo slides up, leaving me isolated in the back, impervious to any eavesdropping witnesses.
“What did you say to her?” I ask when Trent finally slips into the back seat of the car, but to my dismay, instead of answering, he pulls me onto his lap and hides his head in the crook of my neck.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he whispers, making my spine ramrod straight.
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“I know, but I’m still sorry,” he retorts, holding me tighter.
My body begins to melt into his with each ticking second that passes by.
“Did you like my flowers?” he asks when he feels I won’t punch my way out of his embrace.
“Which ones?”
“Any of them? All of them?” he chuckles.
“No. I threw them all out,” I lie.
“Liar.” He grins into my neck, making me squirm on his lap.
“Believe whatever you want to. I could care less.”
“You are the most insufferable woman I have ever met, you know that?” he taunts, holding me closer, his warm lips kissing the hollow of my throat.
