The Prelude (A Musical Interlude Novel) - By Kasonndra Leigh Page 0,30
listening to the water thrash against the shoreline below. He’s almost a complete stranger, yet I already feel as though I’ve known him for longer than a week.
A few more moments pass, and he releases my body. Stepping around to face me, he uses that analytical look to study my features the same way he did the first time we met.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing. You’re stunning, Erin Angelo,” he answers. You’re astonishing too, Alek Dostov. I take a deep breath. This scene creates the perfect opportunity for things to happen that probably shouldn’t be going down between a maestro and the designer he hired. It’s my personal code of ethics.
“Could you—would you please ask Hagar if he doesn’t mind taking me home now?” His shoulders droop the tiniest bit.
“Of course, Jaybird.” He moves back, staring at me a moment longer. “Will you be alright?”
“Yes,” I answer without looking at him. I’ll lose all of my self control if I glance into those baby blue-browns one more time. I’m not only an anti-OMG girl, but I also don’t normally do nicknames.
Once again, I’m discovering yet another unexplored aspect of my personality thanks to the Alek.
“I’ll go get him for you.” He walks away, leaving me alone with nothing more than the sounds of the lake and my racing heart to keep me company.
Chapter Seven
Alek
Erin is already busy measuring the male dancers when I arrive at rehearsal the next day. She has passion and fire when it comes to her work. There’s a little over six weeks to go before the show begins, and she has already provided five sets of outfits for Nikolai’s troupe.
She’s dressed in all black clothing again today, and her hair is pulled up into an even tighter than usual bump, or bun as women call it. After what we went through last night, I now understand why she prefers dark clothes.
Erin might not realize it, but I do believe she’s in an eternal state of mourning. Glancing in my direction, she waves and gives me a bright smile.
There’s sadness in her eyes, though. I wish she’d let me take that away from her. She’s so close, and still miles away from me. We’re a lot alike in that way, running from a past that threatens to destroy what we’ve worked so hard to recreate. I’m honestly starting to believe I can be the type of man Mother wants to see me become.
That is, if I can have the type of woman who stands across the stage from me by my side along the way.
The 120 instrumentalists in my ensemble have all taken their places on the lower stage, while Nikolai and his troupe of sixteen dancers prepare to rehearse on the higher stage. “Le Maestro,” I hear a few of the players say to me in several different accents as I make my way down to the cockpit set up at the front of the lower stage.
Laughter drifts down from the area where the dancers are getting fitted by Erin. One of the male leads, Mikhail, is having his waistline measured by Erin. He seems to be more focused on joking around with my designer than he is on making sure she gets his measurements right. I don’t like it. I want to toss pretty boy through La Scala’s ornately decorated ceiling.
I scan the auditorium until I find my comrade. “Nikolai!” I call out. “Is your troupe ready to begin?”
“I find out for you,” he answers in our native Russian tongue. Right away, his gaze moves to his lead dancer, the one flirting with Erin. “Mikhail, get ready, now!” Score ten points for me. The guy says one last thing to Erin and then moves over to where Nikolai demonstrates a few of his most complicated moves for the other dancers. It’s time to make my move and claim what’s mine.
I walk toward Erin. She’s busy gathering her tape measures and fabric swatches. She doesn’t even see me walking up behind her.
“Hello, Erin.”
“Maestro. A surprise,” she says in clipped syllables as she glances up at me. She’s annoyed for some reason.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Much better today. Thanks for asking.”
“A good man always checks up on his investments.” My eyes move up and down her body. I’m trying my best to behave. But damn the V-cut blouse she’s wearing. Women know what they’re doing when they choose these things. She moves her hand back up to her neck and subtly closes her shirt. She’s blushing.