Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nyx
Fault in the stars – Powfu, The Chainsmokers
"Miss Mayer." I startle when my name is called on stage.
It's terrifying when Miss Rivera calls us because we never know if we're about to get congratulated or get the telling-off of our life.
"Yes?" I ask from my seat.
She points at the first chair. It's empty since she's been moving people around all morning. She's only supposed to do so at the beginning of the semester, but she's been losing her mind over the way we sound.
"I'm sorry?" I ask.
"Don't make me repeat myself."
Technically, she didn't say anything.
I stand up in a hurry under the whispers of the other violinists.
"Maybe I'd be first chair if I let Achilles Duval fuck me." Some girl named Sarah snorts as I walk past.
"I'd have to want to fuck you for that to happen," Achilles throws back casually from the side of the stage, making my cheeks burn with embarrassment as others laugh at Sarah.
"Focus, please," Miss Rivera scolds them.
I aim a deadly look at Achilles, but it only earns me a quick wink in return.
By the time rehearsal is over, I've heard enough snide comments about my relationship to start doubting my merit as first chair. Which I'm sure is exactly what they all wanted. It's been just over a week since the scene with Evelyn, and those bloodthirsty fuckers need more to gossip about.
Achilles catches up with me when I walk out of the music hall, but the second he throws his arm around my shoulder, I shrug him off.
"Nyx, don't push me away. It makes me even more possessive of you, and I'm worried about the things I'm capable of."
I keep walking, forcing him to follow my stride.
"Nyx," he repeats. "Are you listening? I'm on your right, so don't pretend you can't hear me properly."
I hold my violin case tighter and adjust the bag on my shoulder, ignoring him.
"Don't make me do something stupid, woman," he says in a threatening tone as he wraps a powerful hand around the back of my neck.
I'm forced to stop, my stomach sinking as I turn to him.
"Am I first chair just because you fuck me?"
His eyebrows rise, steel eyes blinking at me.
"Does me fucking you make you play better?" he asks with genuine curiosity.
I scoff. "Of course not."
"Then no. You're not first chair because I'm fucking you. Although I am tempted right now to fuck that attitude out of you."
"But are you the one who suggested me for the spot? Or was it Miss Rivera's idea?"
"Does it matter? You're talented, and so much better than most of the musicians in that orchestra. Don't think too hard about it. Hopefully soon, she'll realize you should be the soloist."
"So it was you." I release a groan of frustration. "You told her to do it, and you know everyone in the music department listens to you like you're…Jesus."
"That's some seriously new level of trust they're putting in me." He snorts.
"Achilles, you need to let me build my own path," I say, annoyed as we continue on our walk through the woods.
"I simply hear and see things before they all do," he says so naturally, I don't even think he hears the arrogance in it. "That's the exact reason they ask me to come to those rehearsals. So I can advise them. I have, and now you're first chair."
"Don't you think that maybe you're biased? That you think I'm so talented because you have a soft spot for me?"
He pauses and turns to me, shaking his head like I'm an idiot.
"I have a soft spot for you because you're talented.
Get your thinking right. And the only reason you're making such a big deal out of this is because you think you don't deserve it, which is starting to seriously piss me off.
But hey, maybe another lesson is what you need. "
The memory of the conductor's baton hitting my ass over and over again is enough to turn me meek.
"I don't," I mumble.
"I'll be the judge of that, mon trésor."
By the time we're at the parking lot, it's raining. I look for where he parked his Range Rover this morning, but the car is gone. Instead, a blacked-out town car is waiting, and a chauffeur opens the back door for us.
Achilles lets me in first and quickly follows.
"What's going on?" I ask, a hint of anxiety showing its ugly head.
Achilles puts a hand on my thigh, caressing my tights-clad leg as he grabs something from a bag on the floor. "We're off to New York."
"What?" is the only thing that leaves my mouth.
"I have a meeting with the New York Philharmonic." He puts something on my lap, a music book that seems heavy enough to be a whole concerto. "And you're reading this on the plane."
"Is this..." I lick my lips as I hesitate. "Is this your concerto?"
He looks at the rain outside, his thumb caressing his lower lip. "Yeah," he mumbles as casually as one confirming their coffee order.
I've got Achilles Duval's new concerto on my lap. A piece that could influence the next decade of classical music. And the man is barely bothered by it.
"Are you finished with it?" I ask, feeling my eyes light up.
"It's missing something."
"What?" I ask right away, too eager to know everything about it as my body buzzes.
He turns to me, his smile practically dismissive when we're talking about something we're about to show to the New York Philharmonic.
"What?" I insist.
"Your approval."
All I can do is blink at him, wondering what the hell he's talking about.
"My approval?"
He nods, a little more serious than a minute ago.
"This is a masterpiece, mon trésor. I have no doubt about that.
But it's one you inspired. Every single note in this book came from something you did, you said.
A moan, your perfume, your fears, your anxiety, your hopes.
Your trauma and healing. This is you. It's intimate, a deep dive into your soul.
" He takes a deep breath. "Read it. Hear it.
You'll understand. And if you don't want it to be played to the world…
well, then we'll keep it for ourselves."
"But the world has been waiting for something from you, Achilles. For years. Who am I to withhold that from them?"
"Everything," he answers, as if it's the easiest, most obvious thing in the world. "You're everything."
"But—"
"See, there are things that can't be denied, Nyx.
Stupid things that are obvious. Like there are 206 bones in the human body.
That your eyes are brown. That I'm a music prodigy who can compose a thousand masterpieces if I want to.
Or…that you mean more to me than any of those pieces.
It's a fact, it's stupidly true, and it won't change now or ever.
So read it. Our flight is two hours. Then you'll let me know if we're presenting it to the guys in New York. "
"When you said we were taking a plane, I thought you meant a real plane."
We're standing on the tarmac, where the chauffeur just dropped us off, and my feet refuse to move toward the steps to the jet sitting in front of us.
Achilles's hand comes to caress me between my shoulder blades, his attempt at reassurance typical of someone who has no idea how to comfort another human being.
"It is a plane, Nyx," he deadpans. "Just a private one."
"It's so small," I squeak. "Can it really fly?"
"It did the last few times I was on it."
He takes a step forward, but I stay stuck to the spot.
"Okay," he huffs. "You should know we have a very important appointment at five p.m., and as much as I technically shouldn't force you to get on that plane, I will."
"I know," I say with sudden panic. "The philharmonic. It's just that I never thought my first experience on a plane would be a private jet. And it looks so tiny."
He cocks an eyebrow at me. "You've never been on a plane?"
"I never left our county. Your privilege is showing, Achilles."
He drops his head. "Yeah, it is." Looking back up, he adds, "I take that back. But that appointment is really, really important to me, Nyx. I'll make it up to you another time, okay?"
The threatening step toward me is warning enough.
"No, no, no." I put my hands in front of me as I walk backward. "What are you doing? Can't you go without me?"
"No, I can't."
Within a split second, I'm tipped over his shoulder, holding on to his concerto like it's my lifeline.
"Achilles!" I shriek. "I don't want to go. This is a death machine."
We pass a flight attendant at the bottom of the stairs, his smile barely faltering when Achilles walks up.
"Help! Sir, this is a kidnapping!"
"They work for me, mon trésor. Consider them accomplices."
"Mr. Duval," the captain greets him as we walk past her at the top of the stairs.
"Hi, Connie."
It's only when Achilles is moving toward the large seats, his back to her, that I get to see her, and fuck, she's pretty. How often is he alone on this plane with her?
He doesn't put me down until the doors are closed. The seat is nothing like I imagined on a plane. It's a comfortable armchair with a seatbelt, and Achilles perches on his haunches in front of me as I watch Connie lock herself in the cockpit with a copilot.
"She's beautiful," I mumble. "You had sex with her, didn't you?"
He laughs softly as he buckles my seatbelt. I'm holding the concerto to my chest, feeling like it's the only thing keeping me safe.
"Oh God, you did."
"My, my, Nyx. Are you always this jealous?"
"Yes." My answer is quick, no shame. "So? Did you?"
"Yes. But I've had sex with a lot of people. I was trying to fill a void inside me, and I was stupid. She's not the only woman you're going to meet that I've had in my bed." He looks around the plane, at my seat. "…or wherever I've had her."
I stare into his gaze, and I hope the fury turns him to dust.
"Ew. I hate her. I hate you. And what about that void now?" I say through gritted teeth. "Should I be worried about you trying to fill it with other girls?"
I watch him bite his lower lip, trying to stop that stupid smile from spreading.
"Trust me, with all that jealousy and attitude, that void is filled."