chapter TWENTY-THREE
My stiletto heel sinks in the lush carpeting of the Starlight Roof at the Waldorf-Astoria. This is my first New York City event and so far it is as visually stunning as anything I could have dreamed up.
The landmark hotel banquet room has a gilded ceiling of art deco design, illuminated by Austrian crystal chandeliers. In front of a wall of windows is a thirteen-piece band on a stage, surrounded by banquet tables. In the middle is a dance floor of black and white design.
Six hundred guests came out for tonight’s occasion, all dressed in elegance.
I look over at Crystal in her black, one-shoulder gown with beading along the bodice.
Her curls are pinned up, her beautiful porcelain skin glows.
Lisa is here with her husband. She is wearing a navy cocktail dress with a matching wrap.
Her husband looks handsome in a tuxedo, even if he doesn’t appear to be happy to be wearing one
I am wearing a strapless, dark purple chiffon dress I borrowed from Crystal. I was very happy to see it fit, though not as well as it would Crystal’s hourglass figure. I paired the dress with metallic gold shoes and a necklace that used to be my grandmother’s.
Crystal and I spent the afternoon getting our hair done.
I opted to keep my blonde tresses down but I did let the stylist at the Louis Licari salon talk me into getting highlights.
After two hours of foils and glaze, I was nervous to see the transformation.
I had never done anything to my hair, aside from dipping it in Kool-Aid when I was thirteen, streaking a few strands red.
Noting my hesitation, Crystal insisted I not look until everything was done.
I felt like one of those women on the Today Show who get makeovers that make them look like a completely different person.
One look in the mirror and I was impressed with the transformation.
My hair is still the same length, with slight shaping and a few angles.
The strands, however, are much lighter and brighter.
I look sunnier, somehow. I even let them do my makeup.
They didn’t overdo it. They made me look just right.
Lisa’s husband hands me a glass of champagne, and I take it, giving a cheers to the girls.
Frank appears from behind and asks if I can be taken away as he has people he’d like to introduce me to. I walk around the room with Frank, greeting the guests who are here to, hopefully, donate money to our little school. Some faces I recognize and many more I am meeting for the first time.
The band plays on and I look over to see Lisa and her husband twirling around the dance floor having a good time. Crystal is at the bar talking with a gentleman I have never seen before, and I hope they are hitting it off. She deserves to meet a nice guy.
I continue to look around the room when my eyes stop at the entrance and a man who is so beautiful it takes my breath away.
Alexander Asher walks into the room looking fierce and determined.
All six feet of him are standing tall, and he’s positively gorgeous in a black-on-black tuxedo fitted at the waist, showcasing the incredible body underneath.
A white shirt and black bow tie outline his masculine neck and square jaw, while his golden highlights twinkle in the mood lighting of the room and his bronzed skin looks like silk.
Strong thighs, broad shoulders and a chest that was created by God to model a double-breasted suit . . . oh, my.
The band is currently playing a Brian Setzer tune, but I can only hear Beethoven’s Eroica playing in my head. It’s a structurally rigorous composition of great emotional depth, just like the man who inspired the song to play in my head.
He looks around the room, taking in the event.
A man approaches him and shakes his hand.
While they talk, Asher’s eyes continue to roam.
Another man comes up to him and he carries on a conversation with him, as well.
In between words, his eyes still look about the gala . . . searching . . . for something.
It is when those golden eyes find mine and the full, luscious lips curve up slightly that I realize what he was looking for.
Me.
Asher courteously excuses himself from the men he is chatting with and walks toward where I’m standing with my feet frozen on the black and white tiles on the floor.
I wait for him like I am the bulls eye about to be struck by an arrow.
When he approaches, he stands in front of me looking directly into my eyes.
Taking a moment, he gives me an adorable half grin and extends his hand.
“Hello. My name is Alexander.”
I place my palm in his and quiver at the memory of what it feels like to have these hands on my body.
“Emma Paige,” I say, shyly. I laugh inwardly at our little exchange.
Asher releases our hands, our palms skimming as they pass, our fingers lingering just a little too long. He raises his left hand lacing his fingers through my hair and curls a strand behind my ear. “You changed your hair.”
I nod and blush at the fact he noticed. My head wants to fall into his hand, but I keep it upright.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice smooth like caramel.
I accept his compliment and offer him one in return. “You look very handsome, yourself.”
And, by God, he does.
“I’ve missed you.”
I wasn’t expecting him to say that, so I don’t know what to say in return.
We are a ball of electricity, the two of us, standing here in the middle of a crowded reception surrounded by hundreds of people yet feeling like we are the only two in the room.
He looks down at me and takes a small step forward and speaks in my ear, his words almost a whisper. “Dance with me.”
My hand instantly finds his as I allow him to walk me over to the dance floor.
The band is playing a slow melody, the lead singer now crooning to an Adele ballad.
His right arm snakes around my waist and pulls me in tightly.
His left hand encloses my right, delicately, as if he might reinjure it if he’s too rough.
He pulls our hands into his chest. His eyes on me as we dance.
I follow his lead, dancing slowly, but with rhythm and purpose. Being this close to him again, it triggers every feeling I have for him. From the moment I fell in love with him in Italy to the day he shattered me into a million pieces.
Walking hand in hand through the streets of Capri I got to know him. On a boat in the middle of the ocean I let him into my heart. Playing the strings of a cello I fell so deep for him I have been trying to claw my way back to the top ever since.
Looking up at him, flecks of brown dance in his honey-wheat eyes. My tongue absentmindedly skims my lower lip and his pupils dilate.
“I have been dreaming of this.”
I blink back at him, unsure of his meaning. “You dream of dancing with me?”
“I dream of holding you.”
His strong hand places pressure on my back, pulling me in tighter so we are virtually melded together. His other hand raises mine and his lips skim my scar. He is so beautiful and his words are equally as gorgeous . . . but they are just words. And he is just a man.
“Asher—”
“Alexander.”
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing.”
I push away from him but he pulls me in, holding my tight. My voice takes on a serious tone, low and questioning. “No. What are you doing with me? The roses and the songs are perfect. The man who you are pretending to be, right now, is perfect. But you are not perfect. Why are you acting this way?”
Asher stops moving, our bodies halt, and he loosens his hold on me, although we’re still touching. His jaw squares, sharper on the sides. “Emma, I’m trying to tell you that I want you. I want what we started in Italy. I don’t know how to make you see that I’m sorry.”
“Then show me,” I say. “Prove to me something more than the lyrics of someone else’s song and roses of a different color. I fell for a guy on a boat who spoke honestly and deeply; who showed me how to be free. Did he ever exist or was he made up?”
Asher’s brow furrows in as he takes in my words. I use the opportunity to free myself from his arms and step back. The band is ending their song and the people clap.
My eyes still on Asher, I speak the one thing I have been asking from him from the very beginning. “I need something real.”
The cool disdain of Asher’s body language shows me he is wary of what I’m asking. I want to know who the real Alexander Asher is, but I don’t think he’s willing to let me in. I want to know more about the man I met months ago. Instead, I am face-to-face with a man who is a hardened imposter.
Our moment is broken when Frank takes the mic and asks everyone to find their seats.
We stand on the dance floor a beat too long as I wait for Asher to give me something, anything.
When it is clear he has nothing to offer I walk away, leaving him there.
When I’ve gotten to my seat at the table, Crystal and Lisa are instantly on me, asking questions about dancing with Asher.
I ignore them, because I must look over the speech I worked on with Frank.
It’s heavy on statistics and a diatribe on how learning an instrument teaches skill, purpose, and raises the IQ.
It’s interesting and it’s insightful. It’s also boring as hell, but it’s what the two of us worked on together and what the Juliette Academy needs these people to hear.
When Frank calls my name, the crowd offers a polite applause. I rise to my feet and try not to trip as I walk to the podium. My hands are shaking from nerves. I haven’t given a speech in front of a crowd this size before.
I climb the step to the podium, holding the speech in my hand.
I unfold the paper with my jittery hands and offer the crowd a smile before I begin.
I start by thanking everyone for coming and explaining what an honor it is to be a part of the Juliette Academy.
Light clapping is heard throughout the room.
I am halfway through the first part of my speech when I look to a table on the right hand side of the dance floor and see Alexander looking at me.
He introduced himself to me. It was a moment that seemed so ordinary but was it? That was him being real. Giving me something real. It was small, but it was there, and I passed right by it.
I look down at the paper in my hands. These words are as generic as the ones I accused Alexander of saying to me.
There is no heart and no soul. They are just figures, numbers, and information.
They are not real. And by real, I mean, they’re not true to me.
They are not why I am here, not why I started to play music in the first place, and not why this little school in the heart of Manhattan has meant so much to me in a short amount of time.
When I look back at the crowd, I realize I must look silly. I’ve stopped talking mid-speech, and everyone is staring at me, waiting for me to speak.
Feel, Emma.
Be real.
Burn.
“I was ten years old the first time I saw someone play the violin,” I say, my words unsure at first as I’m going off-book, but I continue anyway.
“I’m sure I’d heard a violin before, but I had never seen someone play.
As I watched the woman play, I was moved by the look of her.
She wasn’t just playing a song. She was feeling the music. I wanted to feel it too.
“For fifteen years the violin was my life. I studied it, pursued it. It wasn’t just my career.
It was my life.” I look down at my scar and flex my hand feeling that sting that reminds me why I am here today.
“Earlier this year I lost my brother in a horrific car accident, and my world was over. I couldn’t feel anything.
I also lost my ability to play that day and I have the scar to prove it.
“Then I met a man and I fell madly in-love with him. He taught me how to feel the music again. And when that love was lost, it was music that got me through the pain.
“You see, teaching someone how to play an instrument is all in the mechanics. You can show a child how to push down on the key of a piano or bang on the head of a drum. But feeling the music? That comes from the heart.
“Most of the kids we teach, they won’t ever play professionally.
Many will give up before they get to college.
But if we can instill the love of song into every child that walks through our doors we are giving them a greater gift.
We are teaching them how to feel. We are showing them how to connect.
And we are making them better human beings for it.
“I lost everything, yet I still have something. I have passion. I have the beat in my soul to carry on and the strings in my heart to play it forward. The Juliette Academy is more than a building on Rivington. It is a place of love.
“Isn’t that why we’re here today? It’s not to get dressed up or drink and dance.
There are children out there who have lost more than I have.
Many will grow up and realize we live in a cruel, harsh world.
Yet if we can give them an ounce of the passion and feeling and love we have to offer .
. . well, we may be able to save them.” I smile at the thought.
“And we may, just may, be able to save ourselves.”
The audience around me begins to clap and a few people rise to their feet and then a few more and a couple more. Soon, the entire room is on its feet, applauding for me. I say a quick thanks and depart the podium. On my way to my table, I glance over at Asher’s table and notice that he’s not there.
I guess I should be used to him disappearing on me.