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“You’re saying your dad let a grown man take you to a private retreat and...” His jaw clenched. “He sexually abused you?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. “And... others did, too.”
He didn’t say anything and she opened her eyes. Mark stared at her, jaw clenched and fists balled tight. “There were others there?”
“He had them come up after a couple of days. He drugged me at night and...” She swallowed, fighting the memories that had been buried for so long. She felt her face twisting into a watery grin, eyebrows reaching toward one another as the insanity of the past washed over her. “I... wanted it at the time... I didn’t know any better... How could I? I worshipped Rafael...” She choked on the name and chewed her lip. She closed her eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. “He promised everything that happened would make me a better player.” She opened her eyes again and gave a small shrug. “He wasn’t wrong. When I got home, he had a recital set up and everyone said they could hear a difference in my playing. I could finally feel the music,” she added in a whisper.
She looked down at her hands, running her thumb over the fingertips of her left hand, and then back up at Mark. “I don’t know if I would have been accepted to Juilliard if it hadn’t happened. It really did make me better.”
“At what cost?” Mark whispered, stroking her cheek and shaking his head. “And you told your dad what he’d done?”
Emily nodded. “After the recital—when we got home. I told him, and he—” She blinked but the burning tears escaped anyway. She swiped at them and blew out a breath. “He, uh, said, basically, that sacrifices have to be made when we want something bad enough.”
Mark’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”
Emily nodded and chewed her lip. She shook her head. “He would do anything for success. It’s Hollywood. You have to.” She twisted her fingers together. “Found out later he’d told Rafael to do whatever he had to do to make me better. I had lived a very sheltered life... Never had my heart broken or had anything bad happen to me.” She gave a grim smile. “I don’t think you can be a successful artist without at least a little bit of heartache. You have to be a little bit insane.” She stared over Mark’s shoulder. “I wanted to be a great violinist. That was the price.”
“You were fourteen!”
She shrugged. “There’s always a price to pay for greatness.”
Thirty-One
Mark struggledto stay seated and wrap his mind around what Emily had confessed. He wanted to fly out to California, find Rafael, and... Strangle him? Torture him? Something to make him suffer. How could he ever have admired that man? His stomach twisted at the thought of an innocent Emily being pushed down in a bed and—
He shook his head. He didn’t want to picture it.
The worst thing about what Emily had said was she wasn’t completely wrong. He’d met many musicians over the course of his career and all of them had suffered to get where they were. He, too, had paid a high price, leaving his family behind in Germany and moving to America as a teenager. But he’d come to a loving uncle and had been cared for. Emily’s own father had brushed off what Rafael had done to her. At age fourteen. He shook his head. “No one should have to pay that high a price for success.”
She gave a small shrug. “I could have done more to fight him. I think. I knew what I wanted... Or at least I thought I did.” She shook her head. “Was it worth it? I guess not. I’m not playing anymore. The price was too high.” She gave a wry smile. “I thought moving to New York to attend Juilliard would make it easier. But every time I picked up the violin, I could still feel Rafael’s hands on me, his...” She snapped her mouth closed. “He was too seared into my memory to escape, even thousands of miles away.”
“Maybe it would have gotten easier with time?”
“Guess we’ll never know.” She looked at her hands in her lap and gave a small shrug.
“Did he only abuse you at the retreat?”
She shook her head. “No. Every time I had a lesson with him, he would do something.” She gave a weary smile. “I thought he loved me. That was part of the... training... I suppose you could call it. I don’t think he loves anyone but himself.”
Mark snorted. “You’re not wrong.” Again, the knowledge of how much he’d looked up to the musician in the past made his stomach twist and he had to swallow back vomit.
She grew quiet again, and Mark lost himself in the fantasy of punching both Rafael and her father in the face for what they’d done, and allowed to be done, to her. Part of him wanted to confront them next week when he was in Los Angeles for the Movies and Music Conference. They’d both be there. But he couldn’t do that without exposing where Emma was—
No.
Emily.
He needed to think of her as Emily.
“Does your offer to let me try your violin still stand?”
He blinked and raised his eyebrows. “You want to play?”
She bit her lip and nodded, then sighed and gave a sad smile. “Quitting didn’t hurt either of them, except their pride, probably. And they got something even better by me disappearing: a story to gain sympathy from people.” She paused. “I’ll never be good again, but maybe... Maybe if I play it’ll give me some closure.” She looked at him with those beautiful, sad brown eyes of hers and his heart melted. “I just want to see... to see if I can do it, even a little.” She laughed. “You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to. I’m sure it won’t be pretty.”
He stood and held out his hand. “C’mon. I’d love to hear you.”
She put her hand in his and he led her upstairs, his heart broken over her confession. How had she survived all that? Even more, how could she love music still? No wonder she’d kept him at a distance. No wonder he’d seen both ecstasy and pain in her face when he played.
