25. Tess #2
I am good enough. And if there's any lingering doubt about that in anyone's mind—including my own—I'll erase it with every note I play.
The temporary nature of the position is both a challenge and an opportunity. Six months to prove I belong there permanently. Six months to make myself indispensable. Six months that, conveniently, end right around when the twins will be born.
That's a complication I'll have to navigate carefully.
I'll start showing soon enough, and while pregnancy discrimination is illegal, I've seen enough pregnant musicians quietly sidelined to know that the classical music world isn't always as progressive as it pretends to be.
But that's a problem for future Tess. Today, I have a job offer to celebrate.
I check the time on my phone—just past one. Charlie will be buried in meetings until evening. This isn't news I want to share via text or phone call anyway. I want to see his face when I tell him, want to share this moment in person.
For now, I turn back to my cello. There's a stack of Seattle Symphony recordings on my shelf. Time to pull them out, to listen with fresh ears, to prepare myself for the challenge ahead. They’ve offered me the position, but I'll earn it every day from now on.
I pick up my bow again, straighten my spine against the familiar weight of anticipation and determination, and begin to play—not with the desperate force of earlier, but with renewed purpose.
Each note is a declaration: I belong here.
I am worthy of this opportunity. I will prove it to everyone, including myself.
Art settles back on his windowsill seat, sunlight filtering through the blinds to stripe his black and white fur with gold.
For the first time since this morning's devastating announcement at PacWest, I feel like I can breathe again.
Six months. It's not forever, but it's enough time to build something new, to create a foundation for whatever comes next.
Tonight, I'll celebrate with Charlie. Tomorrow, I'll begin preparing for the most important challenge of my career.
The elevator rises smoothly to the top floor of Charlie's building, my reflection in the polished doors showing a woman trying to contain her excitement.
The doors slide open to the private foyer of his penthouse, and my heart does that ridiculous little skip it always does when I'm about to see him.
I barely have time to knock before the door swings open. Charlie stands there in dark jeans and a grey T-shirt, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. The delicious smell of garlic and herbs wafts past him.
"Perfect timing," he says, leaning in to kiss me. His lips linger just long enough to make me forget why I came before he pulls back, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm making your favorite pasta."
Before I can respond, a blur of brown fur scrambles around Charlie's legs. Hans launches himself at me with his entire body wiggling in ecstatic greeting.
"Hello to you too," I laugh, crouching to let him lick my hands. "Someone's excited to see me."
"I’d greet you like that too if you’d let me," Charlie says, winking at me as he takes my coat.
I follow him into the kitchen where a pot of water simmers on the stove and sliced vegetables are lined up on the cutting board.
"Kombucha?" he asks, reaching for a bottle.
"Yes, please," I say, settling onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island. I’ve become quite the kombucha fan since wine is off the menu for me for now.
"I have news."
His hand pauses halfway to the wine glass. "Good news?"
" Really good news." I can't hold back my smile. "Seattle Symphony called today. They offered me a position."
Charlie's entire face lights up, the genuine joy in his expression washing away any lingering doubts about whether I earned this opportunity.
"Tess! That's fantastic!" He abandons the kombucha to come around the island and pull me into a tight hug.
"I knew they would. I told you they'd be idiots not to hire you. "
His confidence in me, so absolute and unwavering, makes my throat tighten. "It's temporary," I clarify as he releases me. "Six months, covering for their associate principal cellist while she's on maternity leave."
"So you'll be associate principal?" His eyebrows lift, impressed. "That's even better than the position you auditioned for, isn't it?"
I nod, still slightly dazed by this detail myself. "It's a step up from what I have at PacWest, both in prestige and salary."
"This calls for a proper celebration." He returns to the kombucha, pouring a glass for both of us in his fanciest wine glasses. "Did I hear you right that it's maternity leave you're covering? That's..."
"Ironic? Yeah." I accept the glass from him, our fingers brushing in the exchange. "Six months puts me close to the twins' due date, actually."
Charlie leans against the counter, considering this. "Perfect timing in a way. You'll have income through the pregnancy, and then we can figure out what comes next after some time off with the babies."
The casual "we" makes me smile. Just weeks ago, Charlie was retreating into work, terrified of impending fatherhood. Now he speaks of our future as something to navigate together, a shared journey rather than parallel paths.
"Cortez said there might be opportunities for something permanent afterward," I add, sipping the kombucha.
"They'd be crazy not to keep you." He returns to chopping vegetables, the knife moving with practiced efficiency. "So when do you start?"
"Next week. Which is good timing because PacWest finally announced they're cutting the season short due to funding issues."
Charlie's knife pauses mid-chop. "What? When did this happen?"
"This morning. Final performance is next month's Mozart program." I say. "Most of the orchestra is in shock. No one knows if there will even be a next season."
"Jesus, Tess." He sets the knife down, giving me his full attention. "Why didn't you call me?"
"Because I needed to process it myself first. And then Seattle called, and I wanted to tell you everything in person." I meet his gaze. "It's been a day of extremes."
He moves back to my side of the island, taking my face in his hands. His palms are warm against my cheeks, scented faintly with garlic and rosemary. "I'm proud of you," he says softly. "So damn proud."
Something in his tone, in the intensity of his gaze, undoes me. The familiar pull between us—this incredible chemistry that's been there from our first real kiss—intensifies. His thumb traces my lower lip, and my breath catches.
"I’m not really that hungry. Are you?" he murmurs, leaning in until his mouth hovers just above mine.
"Only for you," I whisper against his lips.
His kiss starts gentle, a soft press of lips that quickly becomes more urgent. My hands find his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath the soft fabric of his T-shirt. He tastes like kombucha and the bell pepper he was just snacking on.
We make it to his bedroom and his king-sized bed awaits us, the city lights glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
But I don’t give a damn about the view. Not when his mouth is on my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear, and his hands are already working their way under my dress, sliding up my thighs like he’s unwrapping a present.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growls, his voice low and rough, and I can feel the heat of his breath against my collarbone.
His lips move down my body, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
My dress hits the floor, and I’m standing there in nothing but my lace panties, my breasts heavy and swollen, my nipples already hard and aching for his mouth.
He sits me on the edge of the mattress and drops to his knees in front of me, his hands sliding up my hips, his thumbs brushing the curve of my belly where our babies are growing.
His eyes lock on mine, dark and hungry, and then his mouth is on me, kissing my stomach like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever touched.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmurs, his lips moving lower, teasing the edge of my panties.
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging gently, and he groans, the sound vibrating against my skin.
His hands slide around to my ass, squeezing hard, and then he’s pulling my panties down, letting them fall to the floor.
His tongue is on me in an instant, licking a slow, wet stripe up my slit, and I gasp.
“Charlie,” I moan, my voice trembling, and he hums against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body. His tongue flicks over my clit, teasing and torturing me in the best way, and I’m already so close.
“Not yet,” he says, his voice rough, and then his mouth is on my breasts, his tongue swirling around one nipple while his fingers lightly pinch and tease the other.
My nipples are so fucking sensitive now that I’m pregnant, every touch sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
I arch into him, moaning his name, and he groans.
“You like that?” he asks, his voice a low growl, and I nod, unable to form words. He switches sides, giving the same attention to my other nipple, and I’m a fucking mess, my hands clawing at his back.
“Charlie, please,” I beg, and he finally pulls back. He strips off his shirt, his muscles rippling under the dim light, and then his pants are gone, his cock springing free, thick and hard and ready for me.
I don’t wait for him to make the next move. I push him onto the bed, climbing on top of him, straddling his hips. His hands grip my waist, guiding me as I sink down onto him, inch by glorious inch.
“Fuck,” he groans, his head falling back against the pillows as I take him all the way in. I’m so wet, so ready for him, and the stretch is fucking incredible. I start to move, rocking my hips slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside me. But it’s not enough. I need more.
I lean forward, bracing my hands on his chest, and start to ride him harder, faster, my breasts bouncing with every thrust. His hands move to my ass, squeezing and guiding me as I fuck him. The angle is perfect, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside me with every stroke, and I’m so close.
“Charlie,” I moan, my voice breaking, and he sits up, wrapping one arm around my waist while his other hand finds my clit.
His fingers circle it, rubbing in tight little circles that send me spiraling over the edge.
I come hard, my body shaking, my nails digging into his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure takes me.
He follows me over the edge with a groan, his hips jerking as he comes, filling me up in the most delicious way. We collapse onto the bed together, a tangled mess of sweat and satisfaction, and I can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and giddy.
“That was…fucking amazing,” I say, and he grins, pulling me closer.
“ You are fucking amazing,” he replies, his voice soft but full of heat. “And you’re mine.”
I don’t argue. Not when he’s right.
We eventually make it back to the kitchen, where Charlie saves the abandoned pasta ingredients and whips up the most amazing dinner. We eat at his dining table, the lights of Seattle spread out before us, discussing everything and nothing—just happy to be together.
Later, as Charlie sleeps beside me, his arm draped possessively across my waist, I stare at the ceiling and let myself fully feel the day's emotional whiplash.
The fear at PacWest's announcement. The elation at Seattle Symphony's offer.
The lingering doubt about whether I earned it.
The certainty in Charlie's eyes when he said he was proud of me.
I don't know what the future holds—how my body will change, how we'll manage twins and careers and this still-new relationship.
But for tonight, in this quiet moment with Charlie's steady breathing beside me and the twins safely growing inside me, I feel a sense of peace that I could definitely get used to.