Chapter 10 #3
Taran had never interrupted her before, and Cadenza stayed quiet a minute, watching him. His heel beat a rhythm on the rug, and he gripped his mug like a weapon, tea sloshing over the sides of the cup. Cadenza took it from him and set it on the floor.
“Because his proposal implies that I would basically become an exclusive prostitute to further my career?”
“Aye, exactly that,” Taran growled. He took a deep breath and relaxed his hands. Mischief returned to his eyes. “And because if you’d said yes, it’d be totally inappropriate for me to ask what you’re doing the rest of the evening.”
“Are you asking?”
“That I am.” He rotated on the couch to face her. Lamp light played off the bronze in his hair; bodhran song played off the back of her neck.
Mannaggia, why are you so distracting?
She took a steadying breath. “Well, that depends on how good of an excuse you have for not showing up to my performance last night, and for still not answering my questions about the Ferrari.”
“Your performance?” he asked, frowning.
“Yes. I know technically I didn’t invite anyone, but Canon and his campaign backer, Mr. Pearce, came. He said he asked your father if you two wanted to come too, as Mr. Pearce’s guests, but that you were busy.”
Taran was quiet a moment, staring off into the corner, lips pressed together, before turning back to answer.
“I’m so sorry, Cadenza. My father didn’t pass the message on to me.
Although I wouldn’t have been able to attend anyways.
As for the car…” He looked away, rubbing his chin.
“If I told you that I want to explain it to you, but I’m not quite ready, could you have a bit of patience with me? ”
Cadenza bit her lip. The Ferrari was just a car, what could there be to hide? Unless it was stolen? That makes no sense, Drostan doesn’t need to steal cars. The mystery of it all hounded her like an unfinished song.
Taran gave her a tentative smile. So much of the time he was joking or making some kind of self-deprecating remark to lighten the mood. There was none of that in his voice right now, just the honest vulnerability she wished Canon would show more of.
“Yes, I can do that,” she said.
“Thank you.” He met her eyes then, the gold of his soft and warm. “In the meantime, I am sorry I missed your performance. Would you sing me something now?”
Cadenza searched his face a moment longer before moving to the piano bench. “Alright.”
Taran’s bodhran tapped louder as he squeezed next to her, placing his arm behind her waist to better fit on the small bench, and Cadenza had to play a few notes on the piano to stall while she re-anchored to his heartbeat.
She tapped a finger on her chin, wondering what to sing. The Berlinetta’s song sprang up, unbidden and she gave it voice, a cappella.
When she finished, Taran stared at the keyboard, a rueful smile on his lips. “Where did you learn that song?”
“From your dad, as a kid.” At least the first time. She never would have remembered the song without the Ferrari.
Taran played two notes, an interval of fifths. “Ah, that makes sense. My mother used to sing that one quite often.”
“Mannaggia, I’m sorry,” Cadenza winced. “Maybe I should’ve picked something else?”
Taran moved his fingers up the keyboard to the next fifth. He turned his gaze on her and smiled. “Don’t be sorry, it actually feels good to hear it again. And you sound brilliant.” He played another fifth. “Your voice is like finding moonlight after stumbling through the dark,” he said softly.
Cadenza stared at him, breath shallow. She didn’t know what to say.
Plenty of people through the years had told her she had a beautiful voice, but none of their words made her heart beat faster, or her legs go weak.
None of those people sent out drumsong tides that threatened to suck the ground away from under her.
Another rumble of timpani washed through her as her thigh brushed against his, and she tried to convince herself that applause in Venice could rumble as loudly.
She cleared her throat and pointed at the keyboard with her chin. “You need a third in your interval to make it a chord.”
“Hmm?” He raised an eyebrow.
“In most Western classical music, we don’t play perfect fifths moving up the keyboard like that.
With just the two notes, it sounds kind of hollow, like there’s an empty space between the notes.
We add a third to fill the space, connect the two notes into a real chord, make something that sounds whole and full. ” She played an example.
“I see.” Taran laid his other hand on top of hers, pressing the piano keys with her. “Like this?”
Taran’s eyes burned, and his lips hovered just above hers as he spoke. The piano notes shimmered, mixing with the evening breeze fluting in through the open balcony door. Bodhran rippled up her arm from where Taran still held her fingers, but he didn’t move.
Still giving me space, she realized. Letting me choose.
Earthsong, gentle and adagio this time, rose from the murmuring of the oak leaves outside. It caressed her cheek, tangling with the drumsong radiating off Taran.
Cadenza made her choice and lifted her lips to Taran’s.