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And then her voice rises, slowly building as she climbs toward the climax of the song. Her eyes open, and one arm extends in front of her as she belts a plea for someone to touch her. Her pain is palpable as she cries over how easily people leave her.
Her words cut to my very core, her voice imprisoning me as I feel her pain like it’s my own. The fight seems to leave her all at once, her arms falling to her sides to match her crooning dejection over being left alone with her memories.
A shiver runs down my spine as she brings her song to a close, her mournful tune echoing in the piano’s chords, which slowly fade. For a split second, the room is utterly still. And then the class bursts into applause.
However my damaging words might have impacted her reputation in our last class, no one can doubt that Bianka is a goddess of art and theater. Her voice is that of an angel’s, only more powerful and devastating.
She feels the music in a way I can’t even begin to understand. And her true talent lies in making everyone experience that same level of loss and agony, longing and hopefulness that she does.
All I want is to take her in my arms and make it right. Make everything right. I never want her to feel that pain. It’s not lost on me that Grizabella’s hurt echoes the same feelings of rejection and abandonment that Bianka has experienced in her life. And I wonder if that might not contribute to how effectively she sings the song.
But no one can deny the beauty of her voice. Enraptured by her, I feel as though I’m falling for Bianka all over again. For reasons completely beyond my comprehension, she wants to be with me–or at least she did up until about an hour ago. And I feel a desperate urge to prove myself worthy of her heart.
Driven by the overwhelming need to show her how much she moves me, I abandon my plan to plead my case in class in the hope that she forgives me. Instead, as Professor Hunt finishes commending his star pupil’s performance and keeps Bianka on stage to discuss the significance of moving an audience, I quietly slip from the room.
I want to surprise her, to make her feel special, but I don’t have much time. I head straight for my car, ditching the rest of my afternoon classes to pick up a bouquet of roses and a bottle of wine. It’s not the most extravagant gesture, but one I can manage in the hour and a half before her day comes to an end. I hope she likes it.
The real treat will be where I’m taking her–if I can convince her to come with me before she’s even forgiven my blunder. It’s a bit of a drive, but the location will be worth it. Lucca and I have hiked in the stunning natural haven I have in mind on more than one occasion.
I’ve found having an affinity for nature helpful lately with my need to come up with remote date ideas for Bianka so no one will see us. Usually, when I take a girl out, I might fall back on the classic dinner date at a fancy restaurant. But since I can’t show Bianka off, I’ve been taking her to the places in nature that I hold near and dear. Spots where only Lucca and I go when we want to get away from the family.
Rather than trying to convince Bianka to join me and potentially risk our cover, I concoct a sneakier plan. When I reach campus once again, I find her white Lexus and park near it.
Fortunately for me, she’s left her windows down a crack, and with some perseverance and a loose coat hanger from the back of my car, I’m able to pop the lock on her door. Slipping into the back seat of her car, I hide with my peace offerings and wait for her to arrive.
17
BIANKA
After school, I worry my lip and walk to my car slowly with a heavy heart. I keep hoping I’ll spot Cassio or his car, but he’s nowhere to be seen. It’s been like this all afternoon.
As hurt as I was by Cassio’s mocking comment about our kiss, his apology went a long way toward soothing my raw emotions. His words about how kissing me made him really feel sent a thrill through my body. He said it with such conviction that I couldn’t be mad at him after that.
But then class started, and I didn’t have time to resolve things. I had completely forgotten I was supposed to perform “Memory” today in class. I wanted to do something to reconcile our spat, even a light touch before going to the front of the class, but everyone was looking at me. I would have undone all his effective work that had me in tears.
Then he left. Before I could even make it back to my chair, Cassio had slipped out of class, leaving me wondering if he was irritated about me being so hot-tempered.
At least he stayed through my performance. That meant a lot. But watching him leave right after put my stomach in knots and made me question myself all over again.
He wasn’t in our next class, or the one after that. No one else seemed to notice, but his absence spoke volumes to me. I couldn’t stop fidgeting and chewing the tip of my pen, and my eyes were constantly drifting to the clock on the wall.
I know he was right to say something to Hannah. Honestly, his words saved my ass. So maybe he’s frustrated that he not only had to apologize for something he shouldn’t have but also that I couldn’t just get over myself and let it go.
I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. I need to make this right.
I scan the parking lot one final time, confirming that his car is gone. He seems to have left school for the day, and suddenly, I wonder just how long I’ll have to wait to fix things. I never set up a time with him to practice our lines since I was so pissed after class.
I could risk texting him. The likelihood of my brother or his father finding the communication is pretty low. But Cass and I already established that we should try and keep calls and texts to a minimum just to be safe.
Sometimes, I wish I didn’t have my quick Popov temper. Like Ilya, I’m perfectly capable of letting my emotions get the better of me, and now I’m not quite sure what to do. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I debate calling Ellie. Through an old-fashioned game of telephone, she could talk to Lucca, who could talk to Cassio, who might then get back to me.
But that would also require getting Ellie and Lucca involved in another of our conflicts–something I’m not entirely keen on. With a frustrated growl, I shove my phone back in my pocket as I pop open my car door and slump into the driver’s seat.
“Something wrong?”
I shriek, nearly jumping out of my skin at the sound of the low, smooth voice less than a foot from my ear. My body automatically leaps into defensive action, and I swing my book-laden school bag around, launching it at the intruder, who might be some crazed lunatic trying to steal my car.
Without hesitation, I spin, following the maneuver with a quick right hook and catching the person in the mouth as they snatch my bag out of the air with ease. Then I freeze. The intruder’s face comes into full view as he lowers the bag, and my hands clap over my lips.
