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* * *
The frantic, fast arpeggios of Beethoven’s third movement echo furiously off the hallway into the family room with such ferocity and passion that the entire table is momentarily silenced and paralyzed.
I look up at Shpresa, who looks anxiously at Jak. He shrugs.
“Alessia?” Maryanne asks, and I hear the breathless wonder in her voice.
I nod and turn to her parents. “Has something happened?”
“I do not know,” Shpresa responds, and her eyes widen in astonishment. “You know?”
“That she’s angry. Yes. But I don’t know why.” I frantically rack my brain, trying to think if I could have done something to upset her.
Hell. Is she having doubts about the wedding?
“That’s Alessia?” asks Joe with a forkful of omelet raised midair.
“Yes.”
“Dude!”
“I know.”
“She’s extraordinary,” Joe murmurs.
“Yeah. But she’s pissed off. At something or someone.” I turn my attention to Maryanne and Caroline, who saw her last night. Maryanne’s lips thin, and Caroline avoids my eyes, and I have my culprit. “What did you do?” I ask quietly as my scalp tenses.
What the fuck? Did you say something?
“Caroline?”
She pales and shakes her head, still avoiding my gaze.
Shit.
“I’ll go.” Shpresa wipes her hands on a dishcloth and heads out of the room.
“How do you know she’s angry?” Maryanne asks.
“This is in C-sharp minor.”
She frowns.
“C-sharp minor. Angry music. In reds and oranges. She told me. Sad and angry. E flat.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Music. I told you.”
“She’s brilliant.”
“Yes. She has synesthesia. She’s playing this from memory.” I can’t hide the pride and awe in my voice.
“She’s amazing.” Joe is stunned.
“She is,” I agree. “In every way.”
Alessia reaches the end of the piece, and I listen acutely, wanting to hear if that’s the end or if she’ll play something else.
* * *
Alessia is breathing hard when she finishes. Her thoughts clear as the colors fade, and she takes a deep breath. She turns to find her mother in the room. She’d been so lost in the music she didn’t hear her come in.
“That was beautiful, my heart. What’s wrong?”
Alessia shakes her head. She doesn’t want to admit her fears. If she speaks them aloud, she makes them more tangible—more real. She’s at a crossroads. Does she believe the man she loves or… not?
“He knows,” Shpresa says.
“Knows what?”
“That you are upset.”
“He’s heard me play.”
“Often, I think,” her mother says.
Alessia nods.
“He’s so proud of you. I can tell.”
“I must go and get ready.” Alessia stands and faces her mother.
“He loves you.”
“I know.” But her voice wavers, betraying her true feelings.
Why is she so suddenly unsure? Of everything.
Shpresa’s expression softens. “Oh, my heart. Go and get ready. You’re making the right decision. These past few days, I’ve never seen you so happy. And he’s glowing.”
“Is he?” Alessia hears the breathless hope in her own voice.
“Of course he is.” She caresses her daughter’s face. “You have made us so proud, Alessia. Me and your father. Go conquer the world. Like you always wanted to. And with that man by your side, you won’t fail.”
Alessia’s spirits lift. This is the most robust affirmation she’s ever heard from her mother. “Thank you, Mama.” Alessia clasps her mother tightly, and they stand hugging each other in the front room.
“I know about the baby,” Mama whispers.
Alessia gasps.
“I know you’re not pregnant.”
“How?”
“The number of painkillers you’ve been taking over the last few days. And I found your contraceptive pills while I was cleaning your dressing table.”
Alessia flushes. “I’m sorry to… mislead you.”
“I understand. And I’ll find a way to break it to your father. Does Maxim know?”
“Thank you. And yes, Maxim knew from the beginning.”
“And he still went along with all this?”
“Yes. For me… and for you.”
“For me?”
Alessia nods.
“I don’t understand.”
Alessia kisses her mother’s forehead. “One day, I will tell you.”
* * *
Fuck this!
I’ve been stewing in my own juices, trying to figure out what’s wrong with Alessia, and I can’t bear it a moment longer. I leave the table, and disregarding the many pairs of eyes I feel burning into my back, I stalk down the corridor toward the front room.
“Alessia,” I call through the door and hold my breath.
“Yes,” she says eventually.
I exhale sharply. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She sounds uncertain.
“Do you want to talk about anything?”
“No.”
It’s not enough. I don’t believe her.
“I don’t care about this superstitious nonsense, but you and your mother do. That’s why I’m staying out here. I don’t know what’s upsetting you, but I want you to know, I love you. I want to marry you. Today. If you need to speak to me…I’m here.”
* * *
Shpresa eyes her daughter.
“Mama, I need to talk to him,” Alessia says.
“I will leave you. It is your decision whether you invite him into this room or not. Nothing about this wedding is conventional… so…” Her mother waves her hand in resignation, kisses her forehead, and leaves.
“Can I come in?” Maxim asks from outside the room.
“Yes.”
Maxim peeks around the door and smiles when he sees her. It’s impossible not to return his smile, and her heart rate spikes at the sight of him. She’s missed him. He enters and comes to stand beside her, green eyes ablaze. He’s in a T-shirt and jeans, the black ones with the rip at the knee… and he looks concerned and hot.
