Page 14 of If I Were Yours

“How did I not wake?” I mutter, half to myself. I’m usually a light sleeper and will stir at the slightest commotion.

Grigory smiles. “You were deep in sleep when I got up, and I was out the door within fifteen minutes and have only just returned.”

I let my eyes roam over him. He looks wide awake, dressed and ready for a new day at work. Except, I have no idea how he’s going to spend his day since he doesn’t have anywhere to be. That clearly doesn’t keep him from dressing up, though.

“Where have you been?” I ask.

“Out for a morning walk.” He holds up the mug with a logo from the nearest gas station. “And coffee.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have any here,” I say when he takes another sip.

“Don’t worry about it. I like my morning walks.”

“Have you even slept?” Rubbing my eyes, I remember stirring and seeing the clock when he lay down behind me and molded his body close to mine. It was 1:00 a.m.

“Of course. But I don’t need as much sleep as you.”

No shit.He looked equally fresh and vivid when Markus and I met him at the airport two days ago. He must be one of those rare people who can get by on half the amount of sleep as everyone else.

“You know, I usually sleep until seven thirty,” I protest when he holds a hand out, beckoning me to get up. I gingerly place my hand in his huge one, holding on to the blanket with the other as I let him help me up.

Grigory’s lips tip up with amusement. “Markus wasn’t kidding when he said you were difficult to get up in the morning, huh?”

He thinks this is difficult?God, I hope he won’t get too strict when he catches me on one of my bad mornings. I tend to lose my inhibitions and get cranky when I’m tired, and I can’t imagine Grigory showing the same patience as Markus when I’m rolling over and clutching the comforter.

After a shower and a quick breakfast—on Grigory’s order—I take out my laptop to get some reading done. Despite the semester only just having started, I already have an overwhelming list of reading material to get through.

I barely make it through one page before losing my focus. Not only is the writing dull and heavy, but being here with Grigory has my mind running in a hundred different directions.

“Would it be okay if I go to read on campus?” I say, although quite reluctant to do so as I watch Grigory, who’s sitting in my swivel chair in front of the window. I don’t want to leave him, but I know my chances of accomplishing anything here are close to zero.

Grigory stops scribbling on the score in his lap and lifts his gaze. This must be the hidden part of a conductor’s job—studying music and preparing to get in front of the orchestra. I’d expect him to do it by a piano, but the practice must be so ingrained that he can make sense of the many notes stacked together without an instrument.

“Would that help you focus?”

I wonder if he can sense how scatterbrained I am.

Glancing down at my fingers tapping on my laptop, I have my answer. Jesus, it really is obvious. “I think so. I could get a couple hours in at the piano too while I’m there.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Grigory acquiesces, and I think he’s referring to the piano part more than the reading. “Make sure to practice the arpeggios like we talked about. I’ll be checking up on your technique when you get home.”

“I’ll do that.” And I definitely will. There’s no way I’m risking a dissatisfied Grigory.

I get up to apply a little makeup, then pack up my laptop and grab an apple and a bread roll from the kitchen, which also go in my bag. I feel Grigory’s eyes on me the whole time, and I must say, it’s a bit unnerving to be watched so closely.

When I’m in the hall, putting on my shoes and jacket, he comes out and hands me a Danish hundred-krone bill. “For lunch.”

“I’ve already packed lunch,” I say.

“An apple and a piece of bread aren’t enough. Get a real meal, Clara.”

“I usually do this—bring something from home,” I protest, uncomfortable about taking his money.

“It’s not a suggestion.”

I stare at the orange bill between us. “I have enough money to buy a meal myself.” Usually, I’d never get food at the cafeteria since I’d end up spending more money than I have, but I can afford one meal.

“Clara,” Grigory warns, holding the lunch money farther out.

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