Page 44 of Unraveling Fate

“You leave for Italy at the end of the month, correct?” he asked. She had filled him in on her plans this morning, notwanting to spring it on him at the last minute. His support for the idea, despite the fact that he would have to find a replacement, had surprised her.

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Are there obstacles to this trip? Or anything you might be holding onto?”

Her cheeks heated and again the thought pressed her,Is Taran temporary?

“Ah, if I guessed someone of the male persuasion, would I be wrong?”

She gave a small laugh, not meeting his eyes. “Maybe not entirely.”

Thomas waved a dismissive hand. “Let go of him. Enjoy him now, leave him behind when you go. There will be no end of young men for you in Italy.”

She blinked. That was not the advice she had expected.

Thomas studied her, appraising. “But I think a boyfriend is not what’s causing that tightness we spoke of.”

Cadenza dropped her gaze.Boyfriend?Was that what Taran was? The memory of rhythm tingled on her lips as she thought of their kiss last night. Was that whatTaranthought he was? They’d kissed, but not defined anything, and he hadn’t come that afternoon.

“Why do you sing?” Thomas continued, chin in hand.

She floundered, unsure what he meant. “A singing career is what I’ve wanted since I was a little girl.”

“Butwhy?”

“Singing is what my family does. My mother, my sisters,” she listed them off.

“Your father also?” Thomas asked.

“Well, no. He worked on sports cars,” she said.Maybe part of why my mother left—too much grease under his fingernails.

“I understand that you have family in performing careers. But why doyouwant that?”

She stared at him, flummoxed. She’d been raised on opera. Opera connected her to her Italian roots. As the youngest, she’d watched her sisters take lessons and audition and get phone calls from Ilaria when they met some accomplishment. As soon as she’d been old enough, Cadenza had followed in their footsteps. What else would she be besides a singer?

Was there another choice?

“Let me put it this way,” Thomas said. “What do you want from music?”

“What do I want?” She thought of the earthsong, a part of her since before she could remember. Wild, untamable. But beautiful and rich. “I want…I want to be a part of the music.” She couldn’t tell Thomas what she heard or about the struggle to stay one step ahead of it, so she couldn’t tell him the truth—that she didn’t want toneedto stay ahead of it. She didn’t want to fight it all the time. But she didn’t want the earthsong to leave her either. A silent world was not worth living in.

Thomas nodded, cleaning his wire frames on his shirt hem. “As I said before, you have a truly enchanting instrument. Your sound is pure and clear. And yet”—he tilted his head—“if you want to be a part of the music, I think you need to learn totrustthe music.”

Trust the music?How could she trust something that blew out the lights, or made her spin out of control when driving? A lump hardened in her throat, and her eyes stung.

Stupid therapy session…voice lesson…thing. How was she supposed to sing with her throat all swollen? She cast around the room for a distraction and found a picture frame on the bookshelf.

A woman gazed out of the portrait—not a photograph, but a painted portrait, like those of financial donors that hung intheaters or university performing arts departments. Silver wove through the woman’s brown hair, and she held her hands folded in her lap, but her chin lifted, like she was used to being obeyed.

“Who’s this?” Cadenza asked.

Thomas’s face softened. “She was my wife. She’s gone now.”

She looked up at him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been a good while now. I should be used to it.” He picked up the frame and traced the woman’s face. “But I still miss her every day.”

Cadenza wrapped her arms around her chest, remembering her father’s hugs. “I know how that feels.”