A Reckless Note (Brilliance Trilogy #1) - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,53
with the tacos, but I have wine.”
“Wine is great,” I say, and unbidden, I think of my mother and her evening glass of wine, a habit she’d formed with my father and had never given up. There were so many ways I felt her hold onto him. Sometimes I feared too much for her sanity.
“You certainly have me,” he says softly, and like so many things with Kace, there seems to be more to that statement than a simple tease, which is why I’m not surprised when he doesn’t wait for a reply. He stands and disappears somewhere behind the couch, and I think of all that has transpired with Kace. I think of the torment I’ve felt and even tasted beneath his surface. I no longer believe that violins and music alone connect us. We are two ships on a stormy sea, looking for our lighthouse in each other. I fear we’re really just helping each other crash into the rocky shore. I think he does as well.
Perhaps that is why he believes I will run. I believe I should run, too, but I’m not. I’m still sitting here in his T-shirt, but still so completely naked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Kace returns with two glasses of wine in hand and sits down next to me. I let the blanket fall away and accept a glass, our bodies automatically angling toward each other. There’s a comfort level between me and this man that defies our short relationship and my normal reserve. “This,” he says, offering me a glass, “is my favorite Italian blend. I actually pick it up when I’m in Italy.”
It’s a reminder of how dangerously close this man is to everything I’ve been hiding from, but for now, I reject fear. At last, I allow my taste buds to travel there with him. I sip from my glass and indeed the grapes are luxurious. “It’s wonderful. Smooth.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He sips from his own glass and studies me, his gaze far too probing and perceptive for my own good. “When was the last time you were in Italy?” he asks.
This is one of those moments I’ve trained for. I have stories to tell when asked this question, if ever asked this question, practiced stories meant to save my life, but those stories are lies. And I have told and lived so many lies. I need this time with Kace to be as real as it can be. I just need something real. I can’t lie to Kace. And so, I don’t. “Too long, Since I was a child.” It’s the truth, I think. It has been too long, but I can’t say that to him. Instead, I change the subject. “And you have been everywhere more than once,” I comment.
“I have been to many places, not everywhere. And while I’m ready to stay home for a while, there’s no question that it’s been a blessing many don’t share to see the world.”
I don’t miss the humble tone wedged in that statement nor the past tense. “You really aren’t going to tour anymore?”
“Contrary to my manager’s and agent’s demands, yes, I really am quitting. A performance and event here or there for a good cause is fine. A tour, night after night in a hotel, is a whole other ballgame. One I’m done playing.”
There is absoluteness to his statements, steel in his jaw, and I wonder if this has been coming for years or decided suddenly, but that feels perhaps too personal a question. Instead, I ask, “Sara said you have several charity shows coming up with Chris?”
“Austin the day after tomorrow,” he says. “And then L.A. and San Francisco in two weeks. The final show is a big charity event Chris does at the Louvre Museum in Paris every Christmas.”
Unbidden, I feel the bite of him leaving for Europe when I shouldn’t. I may not even know him a few months from now and this is a fling, a one-night stand. Sex and pleasure. Nothing more. Afraid he will read this in me, I deliver a well-deserved tease. “You quit the touring circuit as well as I quit chocolate.”
He laughs. “I guess that means you never quit chocolate. However, I am quitting the concert circuit. I have nothing booked after that Christmas show. I don’t need the money. I have other demands and projects outside of my violin.”
“But the violin is a part of you. An extension of your very person.”