Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Nyx
My legs are shaking when I walk down the hallways on Monday morning without a violin.
Eyes heavy from crying all weekend, I'm arriving half an hour early to speak to Miss Rivera and explain my situation, but the truth is, I know she doesn't have to be understanding.
The least you can do when you call yourself a violin player is to own a fucking violin.
When I woke up on Saturday morning, Chase had already left, and when I went to get the cash from my bag, it was gone.
I have no idea if he took it back or if my dad stole it, which is something he does often.
I was too scared to ask Chase. If I tell him the cash is gone and it was because my dad took it, it could get my dad in trouble with him. I can't take the risk.
Most students arrive fifteen minutes early to prep their instruments, so I should have time to speak to Miss Rivera alone. I take a deep breath in front of the doors, push the heavy oak open, and look near the conductor's platform. She's not here. In fact, no one else is.
Or so I think until I shut the doors.
"Morning, Nyx."
I startle, turning to the last row of seats in the audience. Achilles is sitting there, his hair messy, black locks framing his eyes. He's wearing a hard leather jacket on top of a gray tank top, that gold necklace with an ‘S’ pendant falling over the neckline.
He cocks his head to the side, inquisitive steel eyes on me. "On edge again, I see."
I gulp, hating that he's right. I'm on edge.
I'm always on edge. Always jumping at the smallest things.
And the worst part is that he's already figured out why.
Some things happened, and I'm terrified of the world.
Of everyone. Anyone could hurt you at any moment, ruin your life.
Break you. I wonder if he realizes that.
"Come here," he says in a soft voice, tapping the folded red seat next to him. The one on his other side has something on it heavy enough to keep the seat open.
"What do you want now?" I huff, but I still approach.
Weirdly, your mind and body start to get seriously confused about someone when that person gives you the biggest orgasm of your life. But Achilles doesn't need to know that. He's enough of a self-satisfied asshole as is.
He keeps looking at me expectantly until I roll my eyes and finally sit down next to him.
His hand comes to rest on my right thigh instantly, and for once, I don't jump out of my own skin when someone touches me. The shock at my own body’s reaction has me shaken to the core.
His hand is warm, resting just under the hem of my uniform skirt.
Even with the tights, it feels like he's directly touching my skin, and I've got the sudden urge to cross my legs and press against my clit.
Well. Shit.
"You look upset," he tells me, dragging my gaze away from his hand to his face. "Talk to me."
"Why are you acting like you didn't do something to upset me?" I throw back defensively.
He shrugs casually, licking his lips. "Oh, I'm not. I did something to upset you on Friday, but you're not upset about that. You enjoyed yourself way too much."
I can't even call him a liar because he's right.
In fact, my heart beats a little quicker when he's around for different reasons than before.
The first times I saw him, I was star-struck.
That's why my heart was racing. After that, I was terrified.
Now…I can't put my finger on it exactly, but it's close to excitement. Too close to my liking.
"So," he insists. "Why are you upset, pretty girl?"
I bite my tongue for what feels like forever, refusing to let him know the issues I have in my relationship, as if he isn't perfectly aware. The man spied on us, for fuck's sake. And then I change my mind. Because fuck Chase for not caring about my tears, my dream, or my life.
"My violin got damaged on Friday."
I cross my arms over my chest, forgetting that opening to this man is a terrible idea.
"My boyfriend had given me money to get a second-hand one." I scoff, not even embarrassed by the mess my life is anymore. "Some kid who never played for an orchestra in their whole life was selling it for four-hundred dollars. Some violinist I am…"
I take a deep breath. "Anyway, the money's gone.
I don't know if Chase took it back, if my addict of a father stole it.
I don't fucking know, but it's gone. So, I don't have a violin to play today.
I'm going to get kicked out of here, probably mocked by all your rich friends who couldn't possibly understand what four-hundred dollars is worth. "
I throw my head back, looking at the low ceiling. The other circle of seats is right above us.
I sigh heavily. "Fuck all of you."
His hand leaves my leg, and I already miss the reassurance of his warmth. I hear him move next to me, and something big is deposited on my lap. I straighten again, looking down. It's a violin case.
My arms are still crossed, and I simply look at the case for a few minutes.
"Open it, Nyx," he murmurs next to me.
My eyebrows pinch. "Why?"
He laughs softly, and it's a harsh contrast with his usual snickering.
"Because that's what happens when someone gives you a present."
"But I don't want a present from you.” It hits me then, and my chest tightens. “Oh my God, Achilles. Tell me you didn't buy me a violin."
"I didn't buy you a violin." It comes instantly, the lie obvious.
My cheeks puff when I try to exhale the anxiety and exhilaration fighting for first place.
"This isn't even funny."
"Neither is you being kicked out of the orchestra for not owning an instrument."
I lick my lips. "I recognize this case, you know? This shit is expensive."
He raises his eyebrows. "Yeah? I didn't realize."
"Rich fuck," I mumble as I unclasp it and unzip slowly.
I suck in a sharp breath at the sight in front of me, my lungs seizing.
Lowering my head, I look closely at it when I realize it doesn't look exactly like the one I used to own.
On my violin, all I did was change the strings and where the chinrest sits, meaning that it was still technically built for a right-handed person.
On this one, the strings fit perfectly in the grooves and on the bridge.
"Wait," I mutter breathlessly.
I look through the F-hole on the treble side.
"Achilles," I rasp as I look in the F-hole on the bass side. The bass bar has been moved.
This isn't a violin for a right-hand player.
"This is custom-made," I say out loud. "You… What the hell? Where did you find this violin? It must have cost—" I cut myself off when I look at the bows in the case.
"Holy shit," I squeak. "They're fine Pernambuco bows. Are you out of your fucking mind? That's, like, five grand each. There are t-two?"
"The white hair is Siberian Stallion," he explains, sending my heart racing.
"The black one is unusual, but black hair is coarser.
You'll have more grip for more aggressive bowing.
It's great for Baroque. Or, you know, if you're ever a soloist. The audience needs to hear you break through the rest of the orchestra. "
I stay silent for a moment, skimming the varnished wood.
"It's gorgeous," I whisper, as if scared this is all going to go away. "How did you get your hands on this in so little time?"
His fingers delicately push my fringe out of my eyes. He comes a little closer, and I could swear he inhales deeper.
"I'll answer your question if you answer mine."
I don't want to turn to him. He's so close, our lips would touch if I did. So I keep my head bowed, looking at the exceptional instrument in front of me.
"What is it?"
"How come your hair smells like summer and the beach?"
An awkward laugh escapes me, my shoulders feeling light as air for a moment. This hasn't happened in a while.
"My shampoo has monoi in it," I tell him softly. "That's probably what you define as a beach smell."
His nose nudges the side of my head, and I struggle to breathe.
"You taste of bubblegum, and you smell of summer. No wonder I'm starting to get addicted."
"Don't say that," I snap through his daydreaming.
I force myself to ignore the fact that my stomach is liquifying at his closeness. There's a woody and amber scent to him, and an underlying hint of cigarettes.
"Answer my question," I carry on, not wanting to stay in this state of limbo. Every second that passes, I'm at risk of turning my head and pressing my lips against the devil's.
"I know people," he answers simply.
"Care to expand? I have a feeling we don't know the same kind of people."
His hand wraps around my neck, and panic surges through me. Strangely, the feeling disappears as fast as it came. As if my body recognizes Achilles. The man who, on Friday, kept his promise when he said he wouldn't hurt me. In fact, he did the opposite.
"Have you ever heard of Giovanni Carbalacci?"
I roll my eyes. "Do you know any violinist who hasn't?"
"Smart mouth." He chuckles. "His son, Alessandro, was a leftie who thought he was too special to play like everyone else.
So Giovanni had a custom violin made for him.
But the fucker ended up being a capital investor instead, so he doesn't really play.
Anyway, the whole family are my family's neighbors in Stoneview.
I know Giovanni's grandson, Alessandro's son, really well.
His name is Dante, and he's an exceptional cello player.
He plays for the New York Philharmonic."
"Holy shit," I croak. "We definitely don't know the same kind of people. The most precious thing my neighbor Roberta owns is her shotgun."
"We don't know the same people, but your neighbor protected you when she saw you were in trouble. Giovanni and his family would throw us to the wolves if we weren't mutually useful."
I deny his statement with a shake of my head. "Dante must be a really good friend if he gave you a one-of-a-kind violin, though."