It gnawed at him more than he cared to admit or examine too closely that she wasn’t comfortable telling him what was bothering her. That despite the closeness they’d fostered over the last year – especially after the past few weeks in Italy – she still didn’t trust him enough to share this with him.
Like clockwork, the front gate swung open, and Min slipped in, her shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller - again. As if it were possible for him not to notice her. But instead of retreating to the house as she did every other day, Min continued through the courtyard. She nodded a shy hello to him as she passed, rushing on her way through the flower beds.
He was about to follow, when a particularly egregious recitation from Bobby caught his attention. “No, no, no,” he reprimanded, more harshly than was deserved. It wasn’t Bobby’s fault that Liam didn’t want to go over pronunciations and translations, that all he wanted to do was follow the wisp of Min’s dress around the bend in the bushes. He set his glass down and pointed at a place in the score open on the table. “Your translation here is wrong. That one word changes everything.”
When he glanced back up, Min was gone. He ran his fingers through his hair and told himself to leave her be. Three deep breaths later and he knew he couldn’t. “Let’s take ten,” he said as he stood and pushed away from the table. He walked away as quickly as he dared without drawing attention to himself.
Liam rounded the corner into the back garden. No Min. Safe to assume she had wandered into the maze of hedgerows at the back of the grounds. Barbara stood over an overgrown bush at the edge of the property, a cigarette hanging from her lips, her black pumps digging into the gravel pathway as she violently trimmed the bush. “Fuckin’ shrubbery,” she mumbled. He skirted the garden edge, holding his breath in hopes that he could avoid an interaction with their host. The woman was relentless with her none-too-subtle innuendo, and he was most definitely not interested. He wasn’t interested in anyone anymore it seemed - except the one woman he couldn’t have.
As he moved away from the flowerbeds and passed between the two statues of dancing women that guarded the entrance to the winding pathways of bushes and trees, he wondered when that had happened. When had he stopped trying to drown his attraction for Min in the arms of every woman who batted their eyelashes at him?
He came to the fork in the path. Right would lead him to the Machiavellian temple, complete with its crumbling frescos and empty sarcophagi. His gut told him to go left. The path would eventually circle back to the temple entrance anyway, but first it led to a clearing in which a large, curved stone bench was recessed among the trees. A statue of a little girl, her head bent and hands clasped, stood before the bench. Both the bench and the statue were covered with lichen and moss, pieces of the stone eroded by acid rain.
Just as surely as he knew Min would be sitting on that bench, he knew when he’d given up on getting over her. After the final dress rehearsal for the winter opera workshop, when she’d sung Marietta for him even more brilliantly than she had that first night. It had felt like they were creating something inspired together. He was a better conductor when she sang like that, like every note was pulled from her soul and uttered as some kind of invocation – and he got to be a part of that magic. After that performance, he could no longer pretend that there was anyone else he wanted – no matter how unable he was to act on the feeling.
The bench came into view and, with it, Min. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, her head bent. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was praying. But Min didn’t pray. She’d told him once that four years of Catholic high school had convinced her that there was no use in praying. If God was out there, she didn’t believe he was listening.
No, Min clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. He’d seen her do it many times – before a presentation in class, during her jury review at the end of the semester, and, in recent months, whenever one of his colleagues mentioned grad school auditions.
He slowed his pace as he approached. She was soft and lush, generously curved. The kind of woman the Renaissance poets wrote sonnets about and the sculptors enshrined in marble. Even with her brow furrowed and her lips clamped in a straight line, she was stunning. He wanted to smooth that crease between her brows, kiss away every harsh line on her face until she laughed.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. He shouldn’t have followed her. But, really, not following her had never been an option.
“Min?” His voice was soft, a gentle word breaking the silence, but she still jumped. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She turned to him, and he could see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans to restrain himself from going to her, from wrapping her in his arms until she let him fix whatever was wrong. He would move mountains for this woman if she would just let him. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t that simple.
Instead, he stated the obvious. “You’re crying.”
She swiped at her eyes and shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Liam sat on the edge of the bench next to her, his thigh brushing hers through the thin fabric of her dress. “It’s okay if you’re not,” he said.
She bit her lip. Before he could stop himself, he raised his hand to cup her jaw and dragged his thumb across her lower lip, releasing it from her teeth. She drew in a shaky breath as he dropped his hand back to his lap, though it cost him to stop touching her.
“I think I’m just homesick,” she said.She’s lying. He narrowed his eyes at her and waited. “Really, I’m okay. You can go back to working with Bobby,” she said.
“Trying to get rid of me?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“No!” He smirked at her rush to reassure him and she broke into a smile herself.
“I needed a break.” He leaned back on the bench and motioned to the statue. “Depressing statue.”
Min exhaled, clearly grateful for the change in topic. She leaned back as well, their shoulders brushing now as well as their thighs. “I don’t know. I kind of like it,” she said.
He nudged the statue with the tip of his polished shoe. “It’s falling apart.”
“Aren’t we all?” she joked. But he knew better. He knew it wasn’tjusta joke. And whatever was worrying her, whatever was makingherfall apart, he wanted to destroy it.
He stared at her for a long time, studying the streaks of blue in her eyes, even though he knew them by heart. He looked at her for so long that she began to squirm under his scrutiny.Fuck, I want her. And not just her body or her achingly beautiful voice. He wanted to calm her fears and slay her dragons. He wanted to know her every thought and worry and desire.
Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip and his eyes tracked the movement. This was dangerous territory. She was still his student – summer vacation or no. He reminded himself,I’m no good for her. A woman like Min deserved a man who could give her his whole heart. That would never be him.
He shifted in his seat and looked out at the bush across from them, clearing his throat. “Bobby made me promise to go to some club with the cast tomorrow night.” He shot her a look that he hoped conveyed how much he didnotwant to go clubbing with the cast.
“Good luck with that,” she chuckled.
“You aren’t going?”
