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I kick off the bed and grab my instrument. Then I set off to follow Gideon to wherever he plans to lead me. He’s already out of the door, his strides eating up the carpet, long and purposeful.
My heart pounds with anticipation. Where are we off to now?
We eventually come to a stop in front of a large mahogany door. The estate is so large, I can’t remember what’s behind it.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve been here for almost a month; I can never remember everything.
Each wing is immense, and every damn door looks the same.
Gideon pushes it open, and it looks to be that we are now in a formal living room. A parlor, perhaps.
The sunlight streams in through tall windows, glinting across the room like diamonds as I make my way into the center of the room. When I do, I notice Gideon and I are not alone.
Sitting in a chair only a few feet away is a handsome man that looks to be in his late thirties. He’s got a short scruff of hair that perfectly dusts his face and perfectly styled black hair. Dressed in a sports coat and a sweater, he looks like a poet off to grab a coffee and recite sonnets to lovesick college students.
His presence doesn’t make sense in this place.
The man stands when he sees me and approaches. Gideon takes up residence on my right side, standing too close for comfort.
If he’s bothered by this man, why is he here?
“Hello, Ms. Lennox. I’m Emmet.” Even his name matches his façade. “I’m here to help you get over your stage fright.”
And now the cello makes sense.
I place the instrument down and shake my head. “I know how to play…that’s not my problem.”
“Oh, I don’t teach the cello,” he responds. “I teach breathing and meditation techniques.”
My gaze dashes to Gideon, who looks not just completely confused by this man but also uncomfortable.
I can’t imagine a world where Gideon would ever believe that meditation would help me, but the thought that he went out of his comfort zone to try, regardless of the technique, has my heart fluttering.
“Okay,” I mutter. “I’ll try anything.”
“Good. How about you take a seat in this chair.” He gestures to the one set up by the wall that he just got up from.
“Should I bring my cello?”
“Let’s start with no cello, and once you get the breathing down pat, I’ll bring it over to you.”
I nod and make my way over to the wooden chair. Before I sit down, I notice that Emmet stands behind me. “Before you sit, we’ll work on diaphragm work. That way, you get comfortable breathing correctly.”
“There’s a correct way to breathe?” Gideon grunts a few feet away from us.
The look on his face is almost comical.
His brows are drawn together, and lines etch his face in confusion.
“There is, Mr. Byrne,” Emmet tells him before moving a step closer.
“Now close your eyes, Sasha. I can call you Sasha, right?”
“Yes.”
“Stage fright starts in your mind; there is nothing that stops you from playing but yourself. That kind of fear is powerful and can paralyze us.” I feel the pressure of his hand on my back. “You need to push you forward.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter under my breath.
