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And if it wasn’t Rafael in her haunted memories, it was her father.
She picked up the Stradivarius and lifted it above her head, ready to throw it across the room and watch it splinter into a million pieces, but froze. She couldn’t destroy such a perfect instrument. It wasn’t the violin’s fault her soul was blackened.
She laid it back on her bed and stared at it for a long minute. She knew what she had to do. She unwound each of the pegs and pulled off the strings, then, using a bent wire hanger, removed the soundpost from inside the violin. The instrument would be silenced by her hand, but not destroyed.
She shoved her clothes and other personal items into her backpack, glancing at the violin every so often. On her way out, she grabbed the A-string and the soundpost, shoved them into her pocket, and walked away from music forever. She’d never play again, even if her life depended on it.
She had kept her promise to herself. Not that she’d had the opportunity to do otherwise. So many terrible things had happened since she walked out of that room.
Geoffrey loved to make her relive those memories, but Geoffrey was who he was. He hadn’t betrayed her. Yes, he hurt her body and messed with her mind, but he wasn’t the one who destroyed her. That honor belonged to her father and to Rafael Alvarez, concertmaster of the LA Symphony.
God willing, she’d never set eyes on either man ever again.
Eight
“So,what have you been up to since we last went out, Mark?” Abby Powell dabbed her napkin at the sides of her mouth and flashed him a wide smile. Her hazel eyes glinted with amusement and she brushed a blonde wisp of hair away from her face.
Mark took a sip of his wine. “Finished touring, of course, but you know that.”
Abby smiled. “You travel too much.”
“I like traveling. Keeps life interesting.”
“I suppose it does. But I hate packing and unpacking.”
Mark chuckled. “You get used to it. It’s worth it.”
“And every time you come home, you’re a bigger and bigger star, yet you still have time for little ol’ me.” She put her hand on her chest and gave him a soft smile. “I’m honored.”
“You’re an interesting woman, Abs. Not sure if there’s anyone out there like you.”
Abby’s eyes lit up and Mark smiled. She was in her mid-forties, which was part of what he liked about her. Women his age were shallow and interested in only what he could give them. Abby was her own woman. They enjoyed each other’s company without expecting too much from one another.
“Had the first rehearsal this morning with DCSO.” He sighed, twisting the stem of the wineglass between his fingers. “I don’t know about this new Maestro.” He glanced at Abby. “Is he really that good?”
Abby gave a sultry smile and Mark arched a brow.
“We met last year in Paris when I went over there with David.” Her eyes twinkled with naughtiness. “He’s very charming.”
“I’m sure he is.” He shook his head and smiled. “Did your husband enjoy him, too?”
Abby laughed. “Oh, David’s not into that type of thing and you know it.”
Mark chuckled.
“David brought his own... assistant and kept busy with her. You know how he is.”
“Why’d you go?”
“I wanted to visit Paris again. It had been ages.” She smiled. “I do enjoy spending time with my husband. He’s a good man. I just prefer...” She put her hand on Mark’s. “Younger companions in bed.”
Mark grinned.
She smiled. “So, yes, he’s an excellent conductor.” Her eyes glinted again. “Very different than Maestro Pavolini. He likes to experiment.”
“That much I’ve figured out.” Mark grimaced. He’d had misgivings from the beginning, but he respected Maestro Pavolini with everything he was.
She smiled. “I’m so glad you’re settling down here for a while. I’ve missed our... trysts.”
