“I fired your maid. She ruined a dress.”
“Fine.”
Elena studies me. If she was concerned I had feelings for Anna, she seems appeased by my apathy about her departure.
She smiles. “You will bepakhanone day, Lev.”
I hope she’s wrong. But hopeisfoolish. I’m smoking outside my nephew’s baptism because his father is furious his wife preferred me to him. I don’t know if Aleksandr will be ready when Igor dies, and I’ll have a difficult decision to make then.
I’ve earned my reputation. Aleksandr likes to act as though he’s above having one.
“You shouldn’t say that.”
My mother’s smile shifts, splintering at the edges. She looks away, studying the street in front of the cathedral. There’s no passing traffic—our men set up a security perimeter hours ago. “The ceremony is about to start.”
Elena heads back inside.
I resume staring up at the sky, counting down the seconds until I have to dutifully follow.
CADENCE
Isip more mint tea, pretending not to notice how the paper cup trembles before I set it down.
Lola does. “Relax,” she says, leaning closer to the mirror before slicking on a fresh layer of lipstick. “You could play this program in a coma.”
IwishI were in a coma right now. Then I’d be oblivious to my heart’s frantic attempts to beat right out of my chest.
There’s a reason I chose Chicago’s symphony when I decided to pursue a career in music. In the sea of chairs, I’m one of many musicians. Part of a whole. One member of a much larger team.
I’m not cut out for standing under a spotlight. Not after being encouraged to stay in the shadows my entire life.
Yet I stupidly strove for more. I decided to audition for first chair, I was selected, and now I’m about to play my first performance as the second-most-important person onstage. As the leader of the string section, I’m the one responsible for section tuning, bowing techniques, and playing all the violin solos tonight.
I’m not ready. I’m not sure why anyone thought I was prepared to take this responsibility on.
I reach for my tea again, nearly knocking the cup over in my haste to swallow more. The hot liquid scalds my tongue, and I attempt to focus on that stinging pain instead of the nerves wriggling around in my stomach. It’s a temporary distraction, but it’s all I have right now.
“And here’s one of our rehearsal spaces. As you can see, it’s currently being used as a dressing room for some of our musicians.”
I prop my chin in one hand, adjusting in the seat so my hair falls across my face, as soon as I hear Shannon’s voice. She’s the publicist for the symphony, and she and I have different ideas of how my new role should be advertised offstage. Shannon wants me to be the literal face of the summer marketing campaign—on “L” platforms and bus ads—so I’ve been dodging her as of late. I already conceded to being featured on the front of the programs being handed out to everyone in attendance. That’s about as much spotlight as I can stomach.
“How nice,” a woman says in a tone that suggests she doesn’t think the space isniceat all.
“My Audrey studied interior design,” a deep male voice boasts. “Whenever you’re ready to update.”
Lola glances at me, eavesdropping too, and smirks. I know what she’s thinking without asking—most rich peopleareassholes. This couple must be past or prospective donors Shannon is trying to flatter with a private tour. We don’t need their money to renovate in here—yes, there are boxes piled in the corners, and it could use a thorough cleaning—but the soaring ceilings and custom molding are historical.
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Shannon says diplomatically.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I tell Lola.
Shannon won’t badger me in front of important guests.
Lola nods, glancing at the tea. “Slow down on that. First chair can’t sneak offstage to pee.”
I grab the cup as I stand, knowing she’s right. The mint isn’t doing much to relax me anyway.
I keep my gaze on the ground as I head for the doorway, avoiding eye contact with everyone. There are older, more experienced musicians who also auditioned for first chair, and I’m nervous I’m about to prove to them all that I don’t belong in this new position. Most of them must already believe that.
