A Reckless Note (Brilliance Trilogy #1) - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,75
light, and hands it to me. I lean in and start scanning the instrument inside and out, the best I can in the case. When I exhaust that view, I eye Kace. “Can you pick it up?”
He grabs a towel and lifts it, settling it on his knee. I go down on my knees in front of him. My hand goes to his leg without hesitation, our eyes colliding momentarily, our growing comfort and intimacy between us. I lean in, scanning the parts of the violin I couldn’t see before, from every possible angle. I find all the proper markings, but so far there is no visible watermark, but it’s hard to get to certain parts of the instrument.
“Move it a little this way,” I say, motioning to the right before leaning in and shining the light once more. And there it is. The watermark.
“It’s real,” I say, leaning back on my haunches. “It’s real.” I stand up and then sit next to him, stunned, truly stunned. “I haven’t seen a real Stradivarius since—” I stop myself just in time, so close to saying too much.
Kace tilts his head and studies me. “Since when?”
“A very long time,” I say quickly. “It’s a majestic instrument.”
He’s still watching me with such intent I swear it feels like he’s going to crawl under my skin and sink straight into my soul. I’m panicking, not sure what I will say if he pushes me for more, so I just give him more on my terms. “Antonio Stradivari placed a unique watermark in each instrument, his signature. No mark is in the same place. All are quite hard to find. The instrument up for auction at Riptide didn’t have it. This one does.”
“How do you know about the watermark when clearly many experts don’t?”
“My client, the person who taught me what to look for, was intimate with the family before they disappeared.” And then because I’m walking a line between truth and lies, I quickly add, “I can’t believe I’m looking at the real deal.”
He watches me for a moment, weighing something in my words, his expression unreadable, but he doesn’t push. He grabs his bow and scoots back a bit to give himself space. “I believe I can tell a real Stradivarius by the sound.” He plays a few notes, beautiful notes, soft and then rugged. “The richness it delivers is like that of no other instrument.”
“And now I am one of the few people who have heard a Stradivarius played this close and thirty-thousand feet up in the air. How do you feel about the other two you have at home? Are they real? Do they sound the same?”
“No two Stradivarius violins sound exactly the same, but I’m not a fan of one of the two which now has me curious about your future assessment. In fact, I never use it but then, I’m partial. This one,” he says, running a hand over the wood of his instrument, “the tone is magnificent, and that’s why I stick with it.”
“Do you use a practice instrument to limit risk of damage to the Stradivarius?”
“Only when I was on tour and forced to practice on a plane, which meant I could be jolted about and damage the violin. I adjust how I play based on what the instrument delivers and my primary instrument delivers at a high level. I deliver at a higher level when I’m playing it. I want to practice at the same level I perform.” He returns the violin to the case and seals it inside.
“How many hours a week do you practice?” I ask.
He leans his shoulder on the seat, facing me, and me him. “Most people think I no longer need to practice that often.”
“Because you’re Kace August the Great? No longer human? No one stays the best, and you are the best, if they don’t improve their craft.”
“Very few people understand that or the pressure that puts on me.”
On some level I know he knows I am not what I seem. I know he knows I come from his world. And I know he wants answers, ones he hopes I’ll offer. I don’t offer any. Not now. “How many hours do you practice a week?” I ask again.
“Every day, even when I travel.”
“Being on the road really does sound challenging,” I say, and before I can stop myself I add, “Unsettling, though I bet exciting. Adventurous. Lonely.”
“It is all of those things and more. Sometimes all at once. Sometimes