“It matters,” he growled. He wanted to pull her against his chest, to run his fingers through her hair and cradle her until she stopped looking so damn defeated. But it wouldn’t help. And he had no business even wanting those things. He couldn’t offer her what she truly deserved. He couldn’t offer her anything.
“This is hard enough as it is,” she continued. “I’m trying to let it go.” She pulled her hand away from him. The physical loss of her touch was like a punch to the gut.
“I shouldn’t have given you the Marietta without talking to you about it,” he said.
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“If you don’t want to sing it-“
“I’ll sing it,” she said, cutting him off.
And then Bobby was back, waving a handle of spiced rum as he walked. Liam stood, moving away from Min. He cleared his throat and plastered on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Inclining his head towards the alumni building, he said, “I should be going.”
He didn’t want to go. He wanted Bobby to go. He wanted to sit there and talk about Shakespeare and opera with Min all night. And then he wanted to take her home and peel off that sweater, those jeans that hugged her every curve, and show her just how well he knew her…
“Thanks for the recommendation,” Min said, glancing down at her hand, now turned over in her lap to conceal his writing.
“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Min,” he said, letting his tongue linger over her name before nodding curtly to Bobby and continuing down the path towards the alumni hall.
He would not look back. He would not check to see if Bobby was touching her, if she was letting him kiss her. He would not think about how they might be spending the rest of their evening.
By the time he got to the party, Liam could feel the beginnings of a tension headache pulling at his temples, his shoulders so tight his neck ached. He had never, not once in the three years he’d taught at the college level, even felt an inkling of desire towards one of his students. But Min was different. Yes, she was beautiful, though she was hardly the first beautiful girl to be in one of his classes. It was more than that. She was witty and smart. She read Shakespeare on Friday nights and Rilke at the opera, for Christ’s sake. She was an intoxicating contradiction of confidence and self-consciousness, carefully formed responses that concealed her true feelings and blunt outbursts that undermined the effort. Her talent was unrefined, but she had a natural ability to bend the music into new shapes in a way he didn’t think she even fully realized yet. He wanted to be a part of her music, to help her craft those shapes. And she had captivated him before he had any idea that she was his student.
Maybe if he hadn’t met her the way they did. Maybe if she had just appeared in his Monday morning class with no preamble… but he knew he would have noticed her no matter when or where they met. And he would have been hopelessly drawn to her under any circumstances.
Still – it was just lust. Just the lure of the forbidden. It wasn’t like he could develop feelings for the woman after only a few hours. Besides, as Emma had been so fond of reminding him, he wasn’t even capable of loving someone else, not long term and certainly not after one fucking night. Even if that night did feel like the start of something, like a turning point. He just needed to give himself some more time to work her out of his system. It would pass.
Noah spotted him from across the room as he entered the hall. He already had his arm around the waist of a petite young woman with short black hair and cat-eye glasses. “You made it,” Noah said, the smirk on his face telling Liam how proud he was of himself not to have needed a wingman after all.
“I need a drink.” Liam pushed past Noah towards the bar. All the better if he didn’t have to play wingman tonight. What he really needed was to forget about the student currently starring in his every fantasy.
Chapter Six
August, the next year
Florence, Italy
Min sat on the edge of the fountain outside San Lorenzo. This was her favorite spot in Florence. Every morning she took a novel and lost herself in the crowd.
And waited for Dr. Jacobs.
The old man who sold Nepalese drums bent awkwardly over the edge of the fountain, catching the water that spurted from the statue’s mouth in his own. The water dribbled down his chin and he chuckled to himself as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Buon giorno, bella,” he nodded to Min as he walked back to his booth, quickly calling out to a group of passing girls with Boston accents, “Beautiful, are you married?”
Min glanced at her watch and felt the familiar fluttering low in her belly that told her it was time to go.
Her fingers tightened, crinkling the butcher paper wrapped loosely around the golden-brown croissants she had procured earlier that morning in the Mercato Centrale. She wove in and out of the throngs of people in the piazza. The sunlight of the bright Italian morning glinted off her natural highlights as she walked back to the boarding house.
“Good morning, Min.”
Her skin prickled into goosebumps at the sound of his voice. Gravel and silk. Dr. Jacobs stepped out of the osteria – as he did every morning at this time – and she couldn’t help but scan him from the tip of his polished shoes to the foppish swoop of hair held back with his sunglasses.
“Good morning, maestro,” she said, holding out one of the wrapped croissants for him.
Their fingers brushed against each other as he took the proffered pastry before handing her a to-go cup of chai in exchange, the open smile on his face revealing that he had been waiting for this all morning, just as she had. He took a bite of the croissant as they continued walking.
“Mmm,” he sighed as the flaky pastry hit his tongue. “I’m going to miss these when we leave.”
She took a sip of her tea to keep herself from confessing that she was going to miss the morning walks far more than the tea and pastries. But she suspected he already knew that.
