Chapter 11 A Major Unraveling
A Major Unraveling
Catherine
Catherine was three measures into a Liszt nocturne when a series of knocks cut through the apartment. She lifted her hands from the keys and went to the door.
Theodora stood in the hallway through the peephole, hands tucked behind her back, rocking lightly on her heels.
The jade sweater Catherine had complimented once without thinking.
Her hair pulled back in a way that made Catherine aware of her neck, and the line of her jaw, and the fact that since dinner a few nights ago she hadn't been able to stop thinking about a single one of these things.
Apparently, distance and a Liszt nocturne were doing nothing to change that.
So, she opened the door. "Theodora." Her voice came out slightly rough, and she cleared her throat. "I wasn't expecting you until tonight. Is everything okay?"
Theodora's smile went crooked at one corner, the way it always did when she was genuinely pleased. Catherine's mouth did something similar without her permission.
"Everything's fine. Have you got a sec?"
Catherine opened the door wider and watched Theodora step inside, moving with the easy familiarity they’d developed after months of dividing their time between apartments.
Catherine’s place won out when they wanted to cook, mostly because her appliances worked properly.
Theodora’s was better for everything else, thanks to the new couch, larger television, and Theodora’s belief that most problems could be solved with a long enough series.
Theodora lingered just inside the doorway for a moment, then brought her hands forward from behind her back. In them were a pair of tickets.
"So," she said, "Saint Ann and the Holy Trinity Church are doing a candlelit piano recital on Friday night. And I was wondering if you'd want to go with me?”
Catherine took the offered tickets automatically, staring at the elegant script that spelled out the venue and date.
"The church has these vaulted ceilings that apparently do something incredible with the reverb. Don’t ask me specifics, but it's supposed to be beautiful. The performer is playing a full program of Beethoven, and I know you like him so…”
"I—" Catherine looked down at the tickets, then back at Theodora's expectant face. "I can't."
"Oh. Yeah, no problem. It’s not—“, Theodora's brow furrowed as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"Simon's not giving you trouble, is he? I mean, I know he's been calling non-stop since you shot down his comeback plan.
" Her fingers made quick air quotes around "comeback," her mouth twisting like she'd found the word as insulting as Catherine had.
"He's not threatening to, I don't know, blacklist you from the industry or something? "
Catherine set the tickets down. "No, it’s nothing to do with Simon." She nudged them until they lined up with the edge of the table, not meeting Theodora's eyes. "I just—I don't think it’s a good idea.”
Her thumb brushed over the raised lettering, and suddenly she was at the Royal Albert Hall again, the spotlight burning her skin, five thousand faces blurring as something inside her head began to pound. The pressure behind her eyes. The way her right hand had seized up mid-arpeggio.
Catherine's fingers twitched.
"Catherine." Theodora's voice was gentle, closer than before, though Catherine hadn't heard her move. "Hey, it’s okay.”
Catherine made herself meet Theodora's eyes, bracing for disappointment or the kind of well-meaning insistence that would make this worse. But Theodora's expression held only concern.
"We don't have to go," Theodora said simply, like it was the easiest decision in the world. "I thought you might enjoy it, but if not, that's completely fine. We can do something else instead. Or nothing at all. Whatever you want."
The words landed softly, and Catherine felt her shoulders drop half an inch. She had spent years around people who couldn't accept no as an answer. But that wasn't Theodora.
Catherine stared at the tickets on her entry table. Theodora had accepted it without question, without the careful repositioning she'd learned to expect from people who wanted something from her. No negotiation. No second attempt dressed up as concern.
She picked up the tickets.
"You said it's beautiful? The church?"
"Luis says so." Theodora's lips quirked. "He claims it's the only place that makes him forget his knees are killing him after two hours of praying."
Catherine laughed softly, then heard herself say, "Okay. Let's go." The decision surprised her even as the words left her mouth.
Theodora studied her face, clearly trying to determine if this was genuine agreement or Catherine forcing herself into something she didn’t want to do. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Catherine wasn't sure at all, but she forced conviction into her voice anyway.
"It's thoughtful. The tickets, the gesture, all of it.
And you're right that I do love Beethoven.
It would be—" She paused, searching for words that felt honest. "It would be nice to hear his work performed live again. "
The smile that broke across Theodora's face was worth whatever anxiety the decision had cost her.
It was unguarded and brilliant, transforming her features in ways that made Catherine's breath accelerate.
She looked genuinely happy, not just pleased but actually joyful in ways that made Catherine want to keep earning that expression.
* * *
The church rose against the darkening sky, stone glowing amber from lights below. Catherine craned her neck upward, fingers closing around the tickets in her pocket.
Behind her, Theodora was paying their driver, but Catherine couldn't look away from the arched windows burning gold against deepening twilight.
A minute later, a cloud of breath materialized beside her. "Ready?"
Theodora stood there in a dark blazer that broadened her shoulders, her copper hair swept up in a French braid, catching the church lights. Catherine felt her gaze traveling from the fitted black slacks to the crisp white collar, lingering there before she caught herself.
She nodded, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth had become. "Mhm. Let's go."
They’d barely taken a step when a throat cleared behind them.
"Pardon me, but—“ Catherine turned to find an older couple arm-in-arm, both staring at her with widening eyes. "You're Catherine Matthews," the man said, excitement lifting his voice.
Fuck.
"I am," Catherine managed, her professional smile sliding into place instantly. "It's lovely to meet you."
"We saw you at Carnegie Hall three years ago," the woman gushed, clasping Catherine's hand between both of hers. "Your Tchaikovsky was transcendent. We still talk about it."
"We do.” The man nodded eagerly. “Please tell us you’ll be performing this evening?"
"No, not tonight. My friend surprised me with these tickets.
I'm just here to enjoy the performance," Catherine said as her shoulder brushed against Theodora's.
She found herself leaning imperceptibly closer, wondering when exactly "my friend" had become such an insufficient word for what Theodora meant to her.
"Oh, what a shame." The woman said. "We were so sorry to hear about what happened to you in London.”
Catherine felt her smile freeze in place.
Every muscle in her body tensed, preparing for her flight response to kick in.
Why hadn’t she prepared herself better? It was na?ve, really, to think she could move through the evening unnoticed.
Her face had been splashed across classical music publications for decades, and the ‘incident’, as people so delicately called it, had only increased her visibility for all the wrong reasons.
"Thank you," she said, her voice coming out tight and controlled. "You're very kind."
The woman leaned in, close enough that Catherine caught a whiff of peony perfume. "Will you be returning to the stage soon?" she asked, her whisper carrying easily to everyone nearby.
Catherine felt her heart kick against her ribs.
Before she could answer, Theodora stepped forward, her arm wrapping around Catherine’s waist and giving her a gentle squeeze.
"Sorry to cut this short," Theodora said with an apologetic smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "but they're about to start. We should grab our seats. I’d hate for us all to miss the opening."
The couple looked momentarily disappointed but nodded in understanding. "Oh, of course. We won't keep you. Such a pleasure to meet you and your friend, Miss Matthews."
Catherine nodded, not trusting herself to speak again. She felt Theodora's hand at her back, gentle but firm, guiding her toward the church entrance. The touch anchored her, keeping her from floating away on the tide of panic rising in her chest.
She followed Theodora's lead, moving through the church doors into the vestibule where ushers were handing out programs. The space had filled with bodies, warm and humming with pre-performance conversation.
“Hey,” Theodora said, leaning in close. “We can leave if you want.” She pulled back a little, searching Catherine’s face.
Catherine shook her head. Her spine straightened, but she didn't move away from Theodora's touch. "No," she said, the word barely audible. "I'm okay. Let's just find our seats."
Inside, the church took her breath away.
Candles everywhere, hundreds of them, positioned on every surface and ledge, their flames creating pools of amber light that danced across stone walls and vaulted ceilings.
The pews had been arranged in a semicircle around a grand piano positioned at the crossing, its black surface reflecting candlelight in ways that made it look less like an instrument and more like a portal to elsewhere.
Catherine's feet carried her forward of their own accord, trailing Theodora down the center aisle. The ancient wood of the pew sighed beneath them as they sat, a small protest that seemed to echo Catherine's own resistance.