‘Good for Wagner,’ Cassius snapped.
‘Cassius wrote beautiful songs,’ a new voice joined them.‘Once.’
Damn it.What was Odette doing down here?What good was having a pit, his very own little hovel, if all the stage people just traipsed into it whenever it suited them?
‘There were no songs,’ Cassius countered, emphasising thes.‘Just the one.’
He forced his gaze to remain fixed on the piano, not wanting to look at her because he knew she would be beautiful.And yet, he needed to anchor the phrasejust the one, had to pass it to another person who shared the memory.So many of his own were adrift and untethered, flittering about like burnt paper in the breeze of his own recollections.Karl had installed the best lamps for his musicians, and the lights bounced off the walls and converged on each other, drawing the eye relentlessly towards her.They lit her not like she was onstage, but with the same warmth that had embraced her as they walked through the park near her home.Her hair golden, her body a map of knowledge and secrets, of smooth curves and hidden strength.
And that lilt of a mischievous smile.
Ezra, doe-eyed, rocked on his heels with barely contained elation.‘Would you play it for me?’
‘I don’t remember it,’ Cassius snapped.
‘I do.’Odette crossed the room like the pit was her stage, tucked her dress beneath her, and sat beside him, so close their thighs touched.She smelt of berries and powder, of linen and light.She tinkered with a few keys.‘It began like this.Didn’t it, Zadora?Your song?’
He hadn’t written it.They had.He’d chased the keys, and she had followed, tapping out notes and slamming down chords, brushing, laughing, throwing back shots of vodka from mismatched glasses and eventually, singing, singing in French, singing in Italian, singing in Polish, and stupidly, stupidly, in English.And from the chaos, they had pulled together something fragile.Something beautiful.Something too perfect for words.
It was one song.Just one song.A meaningless song without an audience, a score, or a purpose.
It was nothing.
‘I told you,’ Cassius snapped, as he shut the fallboard, ‘I don’t remember it.’
And he swung himself from the bench and stormed to the door.
Chapter 15
‘Howmanynewcostumesfor this performance?’
Odette tapped them off against her fingers.The opening.The dance.The seduction.Her song.And the ending.‘Five,’ she replied.
‘You have budget for three.’Nadine, the costumer, looked up from her notes as she spoke.
‘I want five,’ Odette insisted.
Nadine shrugged.‘Take it up with von Miller.’
Odette grumbled.‘Three, then.But I want embroidery and red satin for my song.’
Nadine watched her over the rim of her glasses, her eyes skating down her body from head to toe, measuring, designing, and likely estimating the cost of the request.‘Beading?’
Odette nodded.‘Cut glass.For the lights.’
Nadine put down her notes and took up her measure.Odette shrugged her robe from her shoulders and let it fall, shivering against the chill air in the green room that clung to the bare skin between her stockings and her chemise.Nadine had brought a case of different types of fabrics and trims and had also pulled out a selection of older costumes from her stores in case they could be altered.Velvets, silks, and satins, lace and cord trim sat in rich piles of scarlet, emerald, and burgundy spilling from trunks and onto the floor.
Nadine wrapped the tape measure around Odette’s waist.‘Red satin is a statement.Who are you hoping to impress?’
‘No one.I do not even know who has reserved a box.’
‘Knowing the detail helps me with the style.If they’re watching from stage left or right, or just from the crowd.Position is everything.’
‘The conductor’s podium.’
Nadine paused in her measuring.‘You don’t have to try to impress him.I expect to be measuring you for a white gown within a year.If you put him out of his misery and say yes, that is.’
Odette shook her chemise to release a sudden rush of heat.‘Cassius is hardly in a misery over me.’
