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Mark Pierce surrenderedhis anger to the melody of the second movement of the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in E Minor. The piece had always been dear to him, and as he played, the tension of the horrible rehearsal melted away. Anonymous and incognito, he was free to indulge in his music without the expectations of others worrying him.
The music drew the frustration and disappointment out of his heart like a healing salve, allowing it to float away into the universe, leaving him free to be himself. Alone. With hundreds of people walking by him.
As he pulled the last notes of the concerto he loved so much, he sighed, allowing a small smile to play on his lips. His heart was calm, his anger quelled.
He opened his eyes, expecting to have been ignored as usual, but he found himself staring at a woman standing in front of him. Not too close, but close enough to see the creases between her brows above eyes squeezed shut. Her dark hair was pulled back away from her face, though a few curly tendrils had escaped and brushed her cheeks. Her fingers were twisted into the hem of a too-large green t-shirt and her jeans were ripped, but not fashionably. He studied her face, but he couldn’t tell if she was enjoying the music or if it was causing her pain.
He dropped his arms to his side and breathed deeply, wondering if he should say something.
Her eyes fluttered open and widened when she saw him staring at her. She had the most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen and he couldn’t tear his own away.
“I’m sorry!” she squeaked, covered her mouth with her hand, and scurried away as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.
Desperate to make her stop, he threw his violin back onto his shoulder and played a jarring chord. She froze, one foot in front of the other, halfway across the vast hall. He stared at her dark curls as his fingers began a new piece, one he would never have chosen consciously: Rachmaninoff’sVocalise2. Passionate as the Mendelssohn, but romantic. Why had he chosen this piece?
He squinted, willing her to turn back around, but she didn’t. She didn’t move away either. Until someone bumped into her and shoved her sideways. The man’s face screwed up in anger and she shuffled to the wall leaning her shoulder against the marble and wrapping her arms around herself, facing away from him.
Her shoulders shook and Mark’s heart lurched. He wanted to walk over to her, to make sure she was all right, but his feet wouldn’t move. He could only stand there and play for her.
As the song ended and the notes dissipated into the buzz of the crowded room, he still stared at her, not knowing why. He began another piece3, hoping, once again, that she would turn around. She didn’t. A few minutes later, she pulled herself away from the wall and walked away, disappearing into the hallway that led to the trains.
He stared at the spot where she’d disappeared, willing her to return, but when she didn’t, he sighed and closed his eyes, hoping theAve Mariawould somehow heal this strange new hole in his heart.
As the last notes died away, someone spoke. “I was wondering if I’d find you here.”
Mark turned and saw his agent, Sam, standing near him, his eyes twinkling with amusement beneath raised blond brows.
He shrugged. “I needed to get away from the concert hall.”
“Maestro was not pleased.”
“Maestro can kiss my ass.”
“I warned you about signing the contract without meeting the new conductor.” Sam frowned.
“I did it as a favor to Maestro Pavolini.”
Mark’s first professional appearance in America had been with the DCSO when he was fifteen—ten years ago—and the company had been dear to his heart ever since. Maestro Dante Pavolini, a father figure and mentor to Mark, retired from the DCSO at the end of last season. He’d asked Mark to join the orchestra for a year to help transition to the new, younger Maestro Novak. The board had brought Novak in to “liven things up.”
“Here I can play as I want.” Mark motioned around the marble lobby.
“To an unappreciative audience,” Sam said, disdain in his voice.
Not today.Mark was certain the woman had been appreciative. He sighed, wondering if he’d ever see her again, and then wondered why he cared. “Is there a reason you tracked me down instead of calling?”
“I did call. You didn’t answer.”
Mark pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw he had five missed calls. He arched a brow at Sam. “What’s up?”
“Stacey called me wondering where you’d gone since you didn’t return to rehearsal.”
Stacey was the DCSO board president. “She was there. I’m sure she saw what happened.”
“You’re acting like a spoiled child.”
Mark glared. “Novak’s an arrogant prick. He...” Mark waved his hand in the air. “He’ll ruin the orchestra.”
“His ideas are a bit unconventional.”
