Chapter 10 #2
Canon took her hands. “We’re both ambitious, Cadenza.
We’re both hungry. There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want, and this is a way for both of us to get what we want, together.
And I’m talking about your long-term career, not just Venice.
Think about it. We announce our engagement.
My approval ratings soar. I pay for Venice and whatever you need, no problem.
We can fly you back and forth for visits and appearances during the campaign.
I get elected, you get the experience of performing in Italy on your resume, and when you get back, you’ll have a high-profile fiancé.
You could sing with whatever company you wanted.
We can time the wedding for the next election cycle—people eat that up—and I’ll run for governor.
This is how we get what we want, Cadenza.
” He emphasized each word, squeezing her hands.
“We can both get somewhere, if we do it together.” He finished breathless like he’d run a race, his cheeks flushed with the vision of it all.
Cadenza yanked her hands back.
“I—you—” Her voice shook. “There are so many things wrong with what just came out of your mouth, I don’t even know where to start!”
His face fell. “What’s wrong with it? Cadenza, you’re amazing.
I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I really like you, and we’ll have time to get to know each other better during the engagement.
And this is a mutually beneficial arrangement, where we could both get what we want.
How many marriages can you honestly say that about? ”
“A mutually benefi—” She threw her hands up in the air. “Canon, are you talking about a marriage or a business proposal?”
“Is there a difference?”
She gaped at him. A tiny part of her mind whispered Canon was right. Her father had loved her mother. Known her for years before they married and married her without a thought of what he would get out of it. Just wanted to make her happy. Look where that got him.
Maybe relationships worked better if you went into them with a certain objectivity—knowing exactly what you were getting and why.
You could get to Venice. No more scraping. No more worrying about Ilaria. Just show up and look pretty and you can show her you have the success she didn’t think you could achieve.
Her father’s words echoed in her head. If you want something, you have to make it happen. Nausea cramped her stomach. But not like this, Babbo. Opera was what her family did. Her mother was a success. Her sisters were successes. She would be too. But not this way.
Tears blurred her vision as she ran down the porch steps.
“Cadenza, wait!” Canon ran after her and grabbed her wrist. “This is what I have to offer,” he said, face maskless and open. “Tell me it’s enough.”
She heard Taran’s bodhran song before she saw him.
He strolled around the corner of the cottage, whistling a tune, black shirt untucked.
His eyes landed on Canon’s hand around her wrist and the whistling cut off.
Drums surged deeper, leaving goosebumps up and down Cadenza’s skin.
Taran stepped close and grabbed Canon’s arm.
“You’ll want to let go now,” he said, voice low.
Canon glared at him for half a second before the mask slipped into place. “Of course,” he said. “Cadenza, just think about it.”
He strode up the hill without looking back. Cadenza watched him go, fists clenching and unclenching.
“Are you alright?” Taran asked. “He didn’t hurt you?” He examined her wrist with gentle fingers.
The drums boomed at his touch, catching her off guard and crashing into her anger like a riptide. She gasped, drowning. Her head swam, and she clutched at his arm to stay upright.
Heartbeat.
Rhythm shook the ground. Her knees buckled. The earth answered Taran’s song, sending drum waves of its own. They vibrated through her ribcage, crested in her throat, and fought to escape, just like during her performance the night before.
“Cadenza?” Taran’s frowned at her, his face dim behind the crashing waves.
She tried to imagine letting go of the song here beside the cottage, and pictured windows bursting and glass flying everywhere.
No. She planted her feet against the tide and grabbed Taran’s face between her palms. His gold eyes burned through the storm.
Find his heartbeat.
She held his eyes, willing the golden light to hold her up.
There.
Steady. Deep. A rock in the storm. His heartbeat. She anchored to it. Breathed deep.
And noticed how close she’d pulled his face. Their breath mingled, and his hands on her back burned. He dropped his gaze to her lips, and a different kind of tremor razed through her.
“Perhaps, some tea?” he whispered, breath uneven.
She dropped her hands and shoved them in her pockets, still holding fast to his heartbeat.
“Tea. Tea would be good.”
Cadenza brewed them tea in her apartment, not wanting to be at the cottage if Canon returned. They sat on her couch. Not touching.
“What exactly did Canon say to you?” Taran asked from behind the rim of his mug.
She tossed a hand in the air in exasperation. “He asked me to marry him, if you can believe that.”
Taran spat out a mouthful of tea. “He what?”
Cadenza explained her mother’s new timetable and Canon’s solution.
A muscle twitched in Taran’s cheek, and he ground his teeth. “That’s…mercenary.”
She snorted. “That’s a kinder word than I would use.”
He glared at the floor. “You said no, I take it?”
“I said no.” She tried not to think about the part of her that had considered saying yes. She held the mug to her chest, letting the heat soak away her anger. “I mean, I think he really was trying to help, in his own Canon-like way, but—”
“I’m glad you said no.”