Staccato (Magnum Opus #2) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,111

I think we should hire someone to come in and get the place put in order.”

“Okay,” Van said softly—too agreeable.

“And I figure you’re probably going to want to head to Dallas for work so…”

“I quit,” Van said, his tone flat, and Nik took a startled step back.

“You what?”

“I quit. That was all bullshit—just something to do because Mama was sick, then she died, then Papa wasn’t getting better.” Van let out a sharp breath. “I don’t know what my plan is right now, but I’m not going to just take off and leave all this on you.”

Nik didn’t quite know what to say to that, so for the moment, he chose nothing. “Can you please point me toward the door? I think I’m going to work upstairs for a bit.”

He knew Van was probably looking at him strangely—it had been more than decades since he’d needed that kind of direction. But he’d never had to deal with anything like this before, and he was lost in every single way. Van’s touch was careful and light, and the world righted itself once he knew he was facing the door.

He made it out without issue—the map of the house coming back to life under his feet, his hands, the way the stairs creaked under the weight of him. The practice room was cold from the window being left open, but he didn’t bother to close it as he slid onto his bench and pulled his sheet music close. His fingers ran over the notes—light and airy, then swirling with confusion. The rest had come to him the moment Adam walked out. It was like it all fell into place. A full circle—or at least, it would be. Someday, when he stopped feeling like he was bleeding to death from the inside.

For now though, he could write. There was nothing left for him here and everything waiting for him beyond the stoop of this old house that no longer held any meaning. He flipped the pages over and hummed to himself as he pushed the stylus in.

Again. And again. And again.

The music wrote itself, and his fingers were ready to play. It was not his Magnum Opus. It was his Requiem.

Chapter 26

Apaisé

Nik had been taken to lunch like this before. Fancy restaurants with no real menu to speak of. The clink of expensive stemware filled the air as people lifted and lowered their glasses filled with pretentious wines. Once upon a time, Nik wanted this. He wanted to be wooed, to feel important enough to drop too much money on food that wouldn’t fill a rabbit’s stomach.

Now, it felt wrong—he felt out of place in his starched shirt and fitted trousers. Alessio had sent a car for him, and he was waiting for him outside the restaurant when it pulled up to the curb. He was skilled with obvious experience at guiding Nik through the restaurant where he made introductions to both Rémy—his partner in both business and in life, it seemed—and then to Ben, who Nik couldn’t quite figure out where he fit in.

But all three were kind, if not hesitant with him as they discussed the menu and placed their orders. It had been exactly two weeks, and though the composition wasn’t entirely finished, it was close enough to give an answer.

“I appreciate the lunch,” Nik said after some stilted small talk, “but you didn’t need to go to the trouble. I could have given you my answer over the phone.”

“Ah,” Alessio said, “I was afraid you’d say that, so I’d hoped to put you on the spot by making you refuse us in public.”

Nik’s brows lifted, then he laughed. “I see.”

“He doesn’t mean that, mate,” Rémy said, and Nik enjoyed the soft lilt of his London accent. “He likes to show off. Bit spoilt, this one.”

Nik shook his head and tried not to feel the fresh wave of pain at being near two people so in love. “I rarely say no to a good meal. But I meant to say, I could have told you yes over the phone.”

There was a faint thud—someone had slammed a glass down—and then Alessio laughed heartily. “I was so sure you’d turn me down.”

Nik shrugged one shoulder and fiddled with the edge of the table. “I would be a fool to do it. I’ve admired your work for most of my career,” Nik confessed. “I worked with several of the pieces you wrote with Monsieur Michaud.”

“Oh, Nicolas is going to be beside himself,” Alessio