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I heave shuddery breaths over the bowl, gagging and whimpering as water streams from my eyes, but nothing comes out. So I sink into Grigory, shuddering against his chest and clinging to his shirt as he holds me.
“We need to get your nerves under control before you leave,” he says when I’ve calmed down somewhat. He helps me back up on my feet and steers me to the music room with a steadying grip on my arm.
Thinking he’ll tell me to play, I clutch my stomach as a new wave of nausea rises in my throat. I almost dart back to the toilet, but then he places a blanket beside the piano bench, and my shoulders drop with relief.I’m not the one playing.
“Come lie down,” he says, taking a seat on the bench.
I’m quick to obey, badly needing to lie down to relieve the nauseating roll in my stomach.
Grigory starts playing. Calm, gentle music. It’s nothing spectacular, but still, he imbues the music with such emotion that I find myself enraptured, forgetting about the audition and the strain of the last few weeks.
At first, the music is unfamiliar, but when he moves into the second piece, I recognize it. It’s Liszt’sConsolations. I’ve listened to the second and third pieces a lot, and the familiar, peaceful notes seep into my frazzled system, dulling the turbulence and soothing my jittery nerves.
He plays all sixConsolations, and I find that the rest of the pieces are just as mesmerizing as the ones I already knew. Sweet and beautiful. I slip far into the gentle world, forgetting everything around us. Everything except Grigory and the breathtaking music seeping from his fingers—straight from his soul.
Somehow, I feel closer to him in moments like these than I ever have to anyone else. Like our souls connect in the vibrant depths of the music, speaking to each other on a level that transcends spoken words.
My breathing syncs with Grigory’s, deepening at the intense moments and flowing freer at the calm passages. It’s like a gentle breeze, washing through my system and clearing away the tightness and the worry to leave me peaceful and calm.
When the final note rings out, I’m curled up on the blanket with my eyes closed, for the first time today feeling at ease.
“Will you play again?” I ask when he leans down to stroke my hair.
“You need to start getting ready to leave.”
With a groan, I push up to sit, staring drowsily into the distance. It’s like coming out of subspace—senses slowly awakening and adjusting to the world around me.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “I’d be happy to.”
I take a moment to consider as my brain resumes activity. There’s nothing I’d like more than his support, but he’s given me so much of it during the last half year. So much that it feels like he’s the one who’s gotten me ready for the audition and not myself.
So I shake my head. “I need to do this on my own.” Otherwise, it won’t feel likemyaccomplishment if I actually succeed.
Grigory gives me an acquiescent nod. “My driver will take you.”
This I won’t decline, though. So I get up and start getting ready, trying to focus on the relief of avoiding the crowded subway instead of thinking about where I’m going.
Half an hour later, I’m dressed and ready, standing in the hall with my flowery folder clutched in my clammy hands, ready to leave.
Grigory takes my head between his hands and aims his stern sincerity at me with an intense gaze. “You’ll do great,devochka. Play like you play for me and they’ll see how brilliant you are.”
I flicker my gaze back and forth between his eyes, hardly able to believe what I’m hearing.Grigory Volkov telling me I’m brilliant.“Do you really mean that?”
“Of course I do.” He strokes his thumbs over my cheeks.“The emotion you bring to your music, Clara…” He shakes his head like he can’t find the words. “It’s breathtaking.”
I blink rapidly as moisture gathers in my eyes. If I succumb to tears now, there’ll be no stopping them. So I shrug free of his hold and sink into him to escape the stark honesty in his eyes.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his chest, hoping he’ll understand just how much those two words mean. “For everything.”
Suddenly, a fretful feeling grips me—a feeling of finality. Like I’m walking toward an inevitable end. So much has happened since I met Grigory half a year ago, and it seems too good to last—or maybe too uncertain. Too complicated.
I don’t see how it can work long term, and it feels like the audition marks the end—the goal for all our time spent together.
But it’s not the goal, I try to convince myself as I sit in the back of the black Mercedes on my way to the conservatory. There’ll be more on the other side. Grigory’s been talking in terms ofafter the auditionlike he’ll still be in my life by then.
He’s not going anywhere.
I keep telling myself this, but the feeling lingers.
