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When I’m finally seated at the grand Steinway at the conservatory in front of the four panel members, my hands are shaky and damp. I recognize one of them as a famous pianist I’ve watched on YouTube, and I remember the name of another from a concert poster I saw somewhere.
It reminds me of the first time I played for Grigory.Grigory Volkov.One of my biggest idols.I can’t believe I actually did that and have been doing so continuously since that first nerve-racking lesson. If I can do that, I can play for these four people. None of them hold a candle to the man who has become the center of my world and the very reason I play.
So I close my eyes and imagine the deep timbre of his voice, the dark intensity of his gaze. And then I play. Forhim.
I imbue the music with all the emotions I want to show him but can’t bring myself to convey through words—the uncertainty, the fear, the longing, the aching desire. I play from the bottom of my heart, laying it all out there for everyone to see, baring myself in a way I’ve never done before. Not even with Grigory.
I disappear wholly into the music and my emotions, and when I finally lift my eyes, I’m startled to find four strangers watching me.
Too overwhelmed by the depth of emotion I’ve just exposed, I don’t even try to gauge their reactions. I just nod and thank them when they tell me I’ll get further notice in a few days. All I can think about is getting out of here, away from the intrusive eyes that have just witnessed… well, everything.
Exhaustion slams into me when I dump onto one of the leather seats in the back of the black Mercedes. I’m depleted. Drained to the bone. Numb, really. Barely able to think, I just stare into the busy streets of Berlin as the driver takes me back to Markus’s place.
I think I have managed to get a somewhat firm grip on myself when I step into the hall, but the moment Grigory appears, I break down.
A hollow sob racks my body with a suddenness that has me collapsing. Grigory is quick, rushing to me and catching me in his arms, then lowers us both to the floor. Gathering me close, he leans back against the door, rocking me like a child as I weep into his shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, kissing me on the head. “Just let it all out.”
He keeps whispering reassuring words, rocking me with gentle movements of his chest as I keep crying, trying to find release for all the pent-up emotions festering inside me. But there are too many to let them all out in one go. The catharsis is minimal. When I finally stop crying, it’s because I’m simply too drained to let any more grief tear at my body.
Grigory breaks the silence, dispelling the echo of my sobs. “I know you might not want to talk about it, but I need to know. Did the audition go bad or are you just overwhelmed?”
“Overwhelmed,” I murmur into his shoulder.
Wrapping a large hand around my jaw, he brings my head up to study me. “That probably means you gave it all you have.”
I nod in his hand and gulp to keep back another flood of tears threatening to burst free.
He releases my jaw and tugs me back into him, cupping the back of my head as he whispers, “I’m proud of you,devochka. So very proud.”
Neither of us says a word for a long time. We just sit there until my shudders finally wane and I can breathe calmly. Then he carries me to the living room, where he tucks me in under a blanket before he goes to fix me something to eat in the kitchen.
As I lie there, I somehow manage to gather some much-needed self-control. The audition has cracked the door open to all the things I’ve been ignoring for too long—the hurt, the hopelessness, the heartbreaking direction this is all headed in. I know I have to face it all soon, but it might well crush me if I let the door slide open too fast. I can’t afford that. Not if there’s even the slightest chance that I’ll get called back for the second round of auditions.
So I force it all down. It’s a well-practiced routine by now. Not a very healthy one, but a necessary one.
Grigory spends the rest of the day trying to distract me. He takes me to the music room, lets me lie by his feet as he plays, then takes me in his lap on the couch with an opera score in front of us as if reading me a story, showing me how to study the many layers of music.
It reminds me of our time together in Aarhus, and I miss the uncomplicated months when it was mostly just him, me, and the music.
But the memory isn’t as bright and unflappable as it may seem. The distance between Markus and me was already growing back then, lurking in the shadows where I couldn’t see.
In the evening, we lie together on the couch, watching a movie. I can barely keep my eyes open, and I alternate between watching the movie and drifting off for a few minutes at a time. Grigory lies behind me, one arm banded around my chest, the other drawing circles on my stomach. It’s so calm that all thoughts drift away, and left is only a burning desire to belong to him.
It swells inside me, deepening my breaths even as it presses against my chest.If I were his, everything would be right.I ache to tell him how I feel, but I can’t make myself do it. Because wishing I belonged to Grigory is the equivalent of wishing I didn’t belong to Markus, and I hate myself for even thinking that. So the words shall remain locked inside my head.
But they’re too big to contain. They keep swirling in my mind, around and around, until they spill over.
I wish I were yours. I wish I were yours.“I wish I were yours.”
My breath stutters when I realize they just slipped from my mouth. I close my eyes and hope Grigory didn’t hear. But he did. I feel it in the way he tightens his arms with fervent strength and presses an achingly tender kiss to my temple.
He doesn’t say anything. But no words are needed as we meld together, becoming one as our breaths synchronize and our limbs intertwine.
Maybe—just maybe—he secretly hopes for the same thing. Or maybe it’s just a reaction to the strain of this whole situation. Either way, I know I’ll never be his. I’ll never get to say the words “I am yours,” and the knowledge burns a hole so deep inside me that it almost breaks me.
— CHAPTER 33 —
