Min placed her hand on his arm, giving his bicep a small squeeze of reassurance. He was struck by the intimacy of the moment, by how natural it felt to take the comfort she offered him. The way he wanted to tell her everything. Instead, he lay his hand over hers, holding her hand in place against his arm.
“Do you want me to beat someone up?” she asked in her most serious voice.
Liam couldn’t help it. He laughed, a full-on belly laugh that took them both by surprise as he pictured this woman going toe-to-toe with a flustered dean or indignant Mr. Dietrich.
“I’ll do it,” she grinned. “Just tell me who.”
“You could start with Dean Van Aller,” he said, before he could think better of it. He caught himself, stopping the train of thought with a shake of his head.Now is not the time.
She squeezed his arm and took another step into him, the skirt of her gown brushing against his legs. “How can I help?” she asked softly.
His eyes flashed to hers, searching. This woman never ceased to surprise him with her kindness, her generosity, her ferocity. The idea that she wanted to go to bat for him, against Stuart Van Aller no less, made his heart swell.
He shook his head. “This particular donor is just especially aggressive in how much control they want to exercise over the department. Though, I suppose when you have the ability to write eight-figure checks, you get to be an arrogant son of a bitch,” he said with a sardonic smile. He squeezed her hand where it lay on his arm. “I’m not cut out for kowtowing to egomaniacs with fat wallets.”
“Let the dean be the politician. You be the artist.” Her words were low but fierce. “The music is what matters.”
Christ, she’s perfect.
Liam reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the back of his hand trailing down her cheek as he lowered it again. Electricity danced along his skin where he’d touched her. It wasn’t going to be that easy, but he loved that she was on his side. That she also thought the music was more important than these pissing matches between old men.
“How do you always know what to say?” he asked.
“I don’t. But I know you.”
His eyes widened in surprise. He thought he was the only one who felt that way – like he could really see Min, and she could see him in ways no one else could. But the last few weeks… it felt real in a way he didn’t dare indulge.
“We should go inside,” he said softly, squeezing her hand lightly before pulling away and leading her into the church.
He didn’t remember much of the performance itself. Before he knew it, they were flying through the finale. He was too distracted – by the dean, by the ways he was going to have to ask his director to compromise in the name of money, by the hypocritical Dietrich family holding him hostage with the promise of funding. But mostly he was distracted by Min and the yawning ache in his chest that begged to be filled by her.
As the audience applauded, Liam caught her eye. He lay his baton on the music stand and winked at her before striding to the center of the assembled cast for his bow. First, he bowed alone, and then he stepped back into line with his cast. He stood between Min and Will, taking their hands and raising them high as he led them in a company bow.
But he could hardly hear the audience. He was too focused on Min. He drew light circles on her palm with his thumb as they bowed, and not even the thunderous applause echoing through the church could distract him from her sharp inhale or the way her hand shivered in his.
Chapter Twelve
Their last night in Florence. By morning, they would all board a charter bus and head for the airport, beginning their journey back to the United States. But Min wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. She had one last night to indulge the fantasy. One last night to soak up as much of Italy as she could.
The entire company went out for dinner at their favorite local restaurant just a few blocks from the boarding house. Platters of bruschetta topped with local tomatoes and drizzled with balsamic vinegar circled the table. There was plenty of chianti and crusty bread to dip in olive oil. Plates were piled high with risotto and gnocchi, the tastes Min had come to know and love over the last six weeks.
As dinner wound down, the group began to break up. The coaches excused themselves first, leaving to get some sleep before the early morning travel. The bass from New Jersey and the green-eyed alto were the next to slip away. After surreptitiously making eyes at each other all night, they left the restaurant emboldened by the many glasses of wine. Will, the soprano from Maryland, and Bobby were the next to stagger off.
Min sipped her wine as the last of her castmates drifted away in twos and threes. She was determined to memorize every inch of the restaurant. The owner greeting each table like long lost friends. The smell of fresh pizza baking in the coal-fired oven and strong espresso in tiny white cups. The white Christmas lights strung along the patio, the blue and white tile on the floors – she wanted to remember it all.
“Daydreaming?”
Dr. Jacobs’ deep voice snapped her out of her reverie. He brought his glass of wine with him from the far end of the now deserted table and sat across from Min. Her heart rate immediately increased.Breathe.
“I just want to remember everything. Who knows if I’ll be back?”
“You’ll be back.”
Dr. Jacobs was so certain, so frustratingly confident, but Min just laughed lightly and shook her head. “Maybe.”
They sat in silence together for a few minutes, drinking their wine, as if her pulse wasn’t hammering in her throat. She continued her visual inventory of the restaurant, but she was all too aware of Dr. Jacobs’ eyes on her.
“Are you ready for the semester to begin?” he asked.
