Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I was no stranger to performing for crowds. When I was fourteen, I’d performed at the International Tchaikovsky Competition for Young Musicians. The stage had felt endless, the audience’s gazes sharp and expectant. The hall had been massive, and every note I’d played seemed to echo back at me, magnified and critical. The judges were some of the most esteemed names in classical music, their eyes hidden scribbling notes as if my entire future depended on their inked observations.
I’d been just a kid, yet I’d felt like I stood at the edge of something much bigger than myself. All I could think about was how small I’d felt, like I’d stood on the edge of a precipice, uncertain if I could leap or if I might fall.
That was how I felt now as I stood on the side of the Alderton-Du Ponte stage. The crowd was far, far less, and even less important, but I couldn’t shake the nerves.
“You’re more nervous than you should be,” Aaron whispered to me, his presence a looming, warm shadow behind me.
I scoffed, focusing on where Mrs. Conan stood on stage. She was going on about the hall and its history, rattling off the significance like it all meant something to her. “Easy for you to say,” I hissed back, readjusting my grip on my cello bow. Aaron held the cello for me, probably because I was trembling so badly he was afraid it’d slip through my fingers. “You’ve been practicing for the last five years. And if you make a mistake, who cares? You’re Aaron Astor.”
“You’re not doing this for them,” Aaron murmured, and this time, his lips were directly beside my ear. “You’re not even doing it for me.”
I fought the urge to shiver, and fought back the memory of those lips from last night. “Are you sure, because the voice that pressured me really sounded like you?—”
“You’re doing it for yourself.” I turned to look at him, to give him a ‘ you’re kidding, right ’ glare when he reached up and pushed my bangs out of my eyes. The touch was tender, his gaze even more so. In that moment, the distant expression from the night before was absent, leaving nothing but pride in its wake. “And for your mother.”
That settled something in me. My soul called out for the cello, but it was those words— for your mother —that suddenly made it feel okay to want it. There’s always tomorrow .
My gaze dropped to his lips, where they were inches from mine. “If I mess up?—”
“I’ll make a bigger fool of myself to take the attention off of you,” Aaron finished, and those lips tipped into a half-smile, a secret one just for me. Aaron held out the cello. “I’ll pretend there’s a spider crawling out of the piano, or I’ll pretend to faint and fall on the keys. I’ll make sure they all laugh at me . Promise.”
“—our first special performance of the night,” Mrs. Conan called out from the stage, pulling our attention. “By Aaron Astor, and Alderton-Du Ponte’s very own Lovisa Hahn.”
“I think that’s the first time she’s ever said my name,” I huffed underneath my breath, taking the cello from Aaron. I was suddenly glad I’d gotten a feel for it last night, that I wasn’t going into the performance blind.
Aaron’s soft laugh echoed in my ears. “She’ll remember it after this.”
All I could think as I walked out underneath the stage lights was that at least tonight’s uniform was all black. Sure, I’d rather have worn something a bit grander—especially for this crowd, who sneezed into twenty-dollar bills—but at least it wasn’t the teal polo.
Someone had brought out a chair and set it a bit in front of the piano, so Aaron would be behind me, the crowd ahead of me. I sank into the seat, relieved, because my legs felt like they’d been seconds from giving out.
Whenever I’d performed in front of a crowd, no matter the size, my mother and I had made up a deal—she would always sit in the last seat on the far right of the front row. She’d ask people to move, and sometimes even bribe them. Whatever it took, she made sure to be in the exact spot every single time, so that when I looked out into the crowd, I’d never have to worry about finding her.
She wouldn’t be there now, and I knew that, but as I settled the cello between my legs, it was instinct that had me seeking out the very last seat to the far right of the front row. My heart clenched, prepared to be let down.
Annalise sat in that seat, her hands on her stomach, excitement lighting every inch of her face as Aaron and I settled in. When she caught me looking, her already wide grin stretched further, and she gave me two thumbs up.
Pressure pricked behind my eyes.
I drew a deep, deep breath in, and let it out just as slowly, and muscle memory kicked in. I straightened my posture, settling the top shoulder of the cello against my breastbone, its C-bout resting on my knee. I rounded my fingers and placed them to the fingerboards, drawing in one more breath in, slowly letting it out. And then I held perfectly still.
Aaron took the cue. His piano accompaniment started softly, setting the emotional tone for the piece. The arpeggiated chords traveled from the depths of the piano directly to me, sinking in on contact, sparking me to life. He played the flowing pattern twice, and then my body moved, the cello and I becoming one.
The previous night, when my only audience had been Aaron, playing had felt slightly different. It’d been more of a homecoming last night, the passionate greeting of seeing an old friend for the first time. I’d played with abandon, performing solely with my heart.
Now, I could hear my instructor’s voice in my mind. Play with your heart and your head.
And tonight, I did.
As I drew my bow along the strings, I focused on the sound rising from the instrument, the vibrations grounding me, lulling me. My fingers caressed the fingerboard as I played, moving on their own accord, and I lost myself in the emotional, romantic journey the piece took me on.
“Méditation” was the perfect piece. Even though the piano was only an accompaniment, the richness of each of Aaron’s notes murmured like a smooth voice in the background, reminding me of his presence. This was a journey we traveled together, and even though I lost myself in the music, he disappeared right along with me.
I’d played with others before, plenty of times. Pianists, my instructor, and even other string players, however, there was nothing like performing with someone whose heart you longed to know. Even though Aaron’s accompaniment was delicate, to hear the voices of our instruments collide in such a beautiful, heady way was nothing short of magical. It wasn’t just his notes that I could hear, but his heart, beating in time with mine.
The piece was long, but I quickly found myself beginning the progression of the slow decrescendo, the touch of my bow becoming something tender along the strings. The full-bodied tone of the cello gave way to something more fragile, more intimate. My movements became slower, almost hesitant, as if the cello didn’t want to let me go.
And then—the final few notes. I drew them out, lingering like the breath I released just before we’d started playing. The sentiment that hummed from the strings was mournful, enduring, in a way that I could feel embedded beneath my skin. Aaron and I played the last note together, his disappearing beats before my bow finished stretching across the strings.
There’s always tomorrow .
The silence of the finale stretched, my body still humming with the residual melody, a familiar pressure weighing on my chest. It was the sense of peace and something unresolved—the way I’d always used to feel after performing. It’d been amazing, an exhausting rush of pouring myself into the composition, but I didn’t want it to be over. Like an addict, I wanted to start the intoxicating journey over from the top.
But I couldn’t. I never could. Before I had the chance to give into the desire, applause filled the air like a roar, startling me now as it did every time. I’d forgotten there’d been an audience before me, listening with bated breath, and it woke me up from the dream. Some people even stood up—Alfred and Mirabelle did.
I looked over to the seat on the right. Annalise was crying.
I turned in my chair to find Aaron, where he sat now with his hands in his lap, focus solely on me. His expression was nothing short of awestruck, as if he, too, had been in the audience watching, rather than playing with me. I wanted to rush to him, to throw my arms around him and melt into him, just as our music had melted together moments before. I wanted to kiss him in front of everyone, uncaring of the scandalized gasps—uncaring about anything but him.
Mere weeks ago, everything had been different. Ugly and heavy and dull, with no light or sound. My soul had fallen dormant from years of being stored in a box, neglected and ignored.
Aaron Astor had taken one look at me and saw it. He drew the box out of the shadows, brushed off the dust, and wrenched it open.
He saw me .
And I saw him. I’d have done anything for him in that moment—even marry him.
“What a breathtaking first performance of the night!” It was Mrs. Holland this time exclaiming into the microphone, overlapping the applause that had yet to fall quiet. “It was a beautiful way to kick off the final goodbye, wasn’t it?”
I turned toward the front of the stage, facing her as she walked to its center, almost directly in front of me. Final goodbye. I wasn’t the only one confused, because when I looked at the crowd, a few people looked at each other. But some also had on smug smiles—The Wallets.
Even before she went on, my stomach dropped.
“A spoiler for the evening, I suppose,” Mrs. Holland went on, pressing a hand to her lips, but not bothering to fully hide her smile. Mrs. Conan stood at her side, watching on with an almost sour expression—as if she wanted to be the one to confess it all. “After careful discussions and negotiations, the wonderful Rhythms of Hope charity has agreed to sell the Alderton-Du Ponte Country Club to its current board of directors.”
The cello slipped a little against my breastbone as my shoulders slouched, her words hitting me like a blow. No . I searched the crowd again, but I had no idea who was a Rhythms of Hope board member and who was just a face in the crowd. For some reason, even though the crowd hadn’t shifted, I couldn’t find Alfred and Mirabelle.
Mrs. Holland passed off the microphone to Mrs. Conan. “Alderton-Du Ponte is so grateful to the charity’s generosity, and we’ve decided, as a club, to donate a percentage of our yearly revenue to its organization.” She laid a hand over her heart. “It’s a beautiful relationship we’re eager to continue for years to come!”
The audience applauded again, but this time, the sound was near deafening in my ears. They’d done it. The board of directors bought out the charity. Was it the amount of money they offered, or the threats The Wallets had up their sleeve? Whatever the decision, they’d caved.
It was at that moment that I remembered the man who sat at the piano behind me, the one who’d arrived to town on behalf of Rhythms of Hope themselves.
With a firm grasp on the cello neck, I rose from my seat, unable to sit on the stage while everyone applauded its demise. Not when I’d just poured my heart out on it. Not when I could still feel my notes in my aching fingertips.
“Lovisa,” Aaron called after me, abandoning the piano and coming up to my side. “I know you’re upset.”
I said nothing as I opened the cello case, placing the instrument inside. I slid the bow into its holder, slipping the rock stop into one of the pockets. After everything was secured, I closed the hard case’s lid, going to work on snapping all the clasps shut.
“It was only just finalized yesterday afternoon,” he went on. “They’d been deliberating all week, but?—”
“Tell me the truth.” After snapping the last lock at the bottom, I rose to my full height, looking up at Aaron. We were in the shadows of the stage, nearly the same place we’d stood before, hiding from The Wallets. “Were they always planning to sell? Just waiting to see if they could milk more out of this place?”
“The charity called me out for risk management,” Aaron said, and it was like the words were pulled out of them against his will, choppy and stilted. “Because of my experience in strategic planning. They wanted my professional opinion on whether or not the theater was worth… the trouble.”
“And it wasn’t?” I pressed my lips together, fighting the wave of sadness. The warmth and peace from performing had nearly worn entirely off now, with nothing but the memory of that feeling. “You said that if it was up to you, you’d run Alderton-Du Ponte into the ground before giving the board what they wanted.”
“If it was my money, I would’ve. But it wasn’t.”
I guess it made sense, in a way, that he wouldn’t use his personal vendetta against the club to the detriment of a charity. But still. Still . “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
Aaron looked away, clenching his jaw. “I should’ve. I had—other things on my mind.”
Like Fiona. Like calling off his engagement. Like jumping off his metaphorical bridge. I reached for his hand at his side, picking up his fingers. “It’s… disappointing.” Disappointing to think that this was yet another dream of someone’s meeting its end. I tried to catch his eye. “But at least I got to play on it once. Is that why you pushed me to perform? You knew what I needed?” Just like every other time?
Aaron wouldn’t look at me, though, his gaze locked on the cello case. We were once more back to last night, when he withdrew into himself, so distant that I hadn’t been able to reach him. “You were… You were beyond magnificent, Lovisa. Like watching someone remember who they were. It was an honor playing with you.”
I tilted my head, trying to catch his eye. “It was an honor playing with you, too, Aaron.” It was everything I’ve ever wanted .
Now, Aaron slowly lifted his head, and I could fully see how pale his face was. Before I had more than a second to analyze him, he caught me in a sudden grip, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me in. He gathered me with the same intensity Grant had, the urgency catching me off guard. Unlike with Grant, though, I didn’t try to wedge away.
“Can I be selfish?” he whispered, voice constricting almost as if he were the one being squeezed. “Just—one more time.”
I smoothed my hand down his back, breathing in his scent. “Sure.”
“— Astor has been such an integral part of this agreement ,” a new voice said from the stage, though her words were drowned out by Aaron’s next ones.
“Promise me you’ll keep playing.” He drew a shaking breath in, one that matched his trembling hands in the way they pressed against my back. He squeezed me— tight . “Promise me that… you won’t look at the cello and resent it.”
There was no ignoring his mood any longer, no pretending everything was okay. I clung to him, though, as if will alone could chase away whatever was bothering him. “Why would I resent it?”
Aaron turned his head ever so slightly, his cheek brushing mine, words a whisper against my skin. “Because you’ll hate me.”
“Hate you?” I tried to pull back, to see his face, but his embrace was too firm. “Aaron, why?—”
“What do you say?” the newcomer on the mic asked the crowd, as if she were an entertainer and not a country club member. “Should we bring my fiancé back out for another song?”
Looking back, I wish I could’ve stopped right there, paused in the moment before clarity. Before the uncertainty turned to horror.
Fiancé —as if this person had just been on stage. But the only two who’d been on stage a moment ago had been Aaron and me. I finally opened my eyes, still rendered immobile in Aaron’s arms, but I could see over his shoulder. Just barely.
The new voice on the mic had been familiar, because standing there, illuminated by the spotlight, stood Caroline.
And she stared squarely at us.
Her eyes, though, didn’t shine with normal happiness—they glimmered with a dark glee. “I’ve finally met my match,” Caroline said sweetly, lifting her hand with a flash of a sparkling ring. A ring I hadn’t noticed until now. “And I couldn’t be happier. I mean, who would be disappointed with the Aaron Astor?”