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The lights in the concert hall dim, and I find myself catching my breath in anticipation. A curtain lifts at the front of the stage, revealing an entire orchestra. They didn’t take up most of the space, though. They’re all seated right at the back, with the front of the stage empty. The lights have illuminated them for the audience, but now they drop and are replaced by a spotlight. Every eye in the place is fixed on that circle of light. Then it sweeps away, toward the wings, and I catch my first ever glimpse of Darius Riviera.
He strides onto the stage, naked from the waist up. In one hand he holds his violin, and in the other his bow, and he lifts them both into the air as he walks. The audience breaks out into applause and whoops of approval. He comes to a halt in exactly the same place the spotlight had been moments before. If I didn’t know, I’d have had no idea he couldn’t see.
I lean into Reed.
“How does he know where to walk?” I whisper. “What if he falls off the stage?”
Reed shakes his head. “He won’t. Darius has already mapped out the entire stage before stepping onto it tonight. He counts his steps. He knows exactly where he is.”
My gaze is drawn back to the man on stage. The audience has fallen silent again now, only the occasional clearing of the throat marring it.
Darius places the violin beneath his chin and then raises the bow with a flourish. It’s as though the entire audience holds their breath.
The first note he plays is long and mournful, and then he eases into another, and another, each one layering on the first.
The notes seem to vibrate inside my chest, and crazily, I find myself close to tears. I know it’s partly from the trauma of the day—I’m wrung out and exhausted—but as emotion swells inside me, at the same pace as the music, I can’t convince myself that’s the only reason. I’ve never listened to classical music before, and I’d never imagined it affecting me in such a way.
The music builds and grows, getting faster and faster. The way he plays is like he’s taking part in a physical sport, or, dare I say it, even fucking. He puts his whole body into it. His muscular upper torso is already shiny with sweat. His long hair is also damp, coiled into separate strands and whipping around him as he moves across stage.
In the wings, Cade lingers, all six feet four of him, an intimidating scowl morphing his features. He’s the only person in the theatre not watching his brother. Instead, he takes in the audience, perhaps watching for anyone who might pose a threat to Darius.
I wonder if Cade is ever jealous of his brother’s talents. Who would they be if it wasn’t for Darius? But then I remember that Darius is visually impaired, and it just seems wrong to be jealous.
I tear my eyes from the brothers for a moment to take in the audience. They’re not like an audience of any concert I’ve ever been to. No one is rocking out, or moshing, or jumping with their fists in the air. They’re all seated, civilized and nursing glasses ofwine or champagne. They don’t seem like the type of people who would want to listen to someone who looks like Darius, yet here they are. And they’re captivated. The women in the audience are clearly affected the same way as I am, their eyes wide and lips parted. Hell, I think even the men would probably switch sides if the offer came up. But there’s something else as well, something that reminds me of people watching a powerful animal at a zoo. This is safe for them, to watch him from their seats, to get a taste of this wild, beautiful, clearly talented man without actually getting their hands dirty. Like they’re getting a glimpse into a different kind of life.
I wonder how Darius feels up there. He can’t see his audience but is he aware of them in other ways—the scents of their perfumes, their breathing? Or does he feel like that animal at the zoo, like he’s on the wrong side of a one-way mirror?
Darius has been playing alone all this time, but now the orchestra joins in. They do so gradually, first the other violinists, then the cellists, then some flutists layer in their sound.
Darius stops playing as the music around him takes over. His eyes slip shut, and he’s completely absorbed, his body continuing to move with the flux and flow of the sounds. A conductor is directing the orchestra, but of course, Darius can’t see him. The orchestra fades, and Darius lifts his instrument once more.
There must be thirty or more people on that stage, but every single gaze in the place is locked on Darius.
He’s utterly breathtaking, and while he’s playing, I forget everything that’s happened that’s brought me to this moment. I’ve even forgotten the man beside me until he covers the back of my hand with his palm.
Reed leans in, so close the heat of his skin and the scent of him washes over me. “Are you all right?”
I nod. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You’re crying.”
I lift my hand—the one beneath his—to touch my cheek and discover it wet.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
It truly is, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I never understood why people paid huge amounts of money to come and see shows like this before, but now I do.
The concert is over far too quickly, and I find myself bereft. I want to experience it all over again.
“Are you ready to meet Darius?” Reed asks, getting to his feet.
Sudden nerves explode in my belly. “Umm... I think so.”
“Good. He’ll be waiting for us.”
I’m nervous about meeting Darius in a way that I wasn’t meeting Cade. Is it because I’ve watched him on stage and witnessed the magic that he creates with both his body and his violin? Or is it because I’m not completely comfortable with how I should conduct myself? I don’t want to embarrass myself, or him, for that matter.
We leave the box, and I stick to Reed’s side as we descend the staircase.
