time for yourself. The last few years—grueling, I know. But this benefit is important.” He cleared his throat with three distinct clicks. “And the princess is very stubborn.”
Reluctantly Vanessa smiled. “Yes, I know.”
“It’s only one performance,” he continued, sensing a weak spot. “Not even a full concert. You’ll have carte blanche on the material. They’d like you to play two pieces, but even one would make such a tremendous difference. Your name on the program would add so much.” He paused only long enough to suck in a breath. “It’s a very worthy cause.”
“When is the benefit?”
“Next month.”
She cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Next month. It’s practically next month already, Frank.”
“The third Saturday in June.”
“Three weeks.” She let out a long breath. “All right, I’ll do it. For you, and for Princess Gabriella.”
“Vanessa, I can’t tell you how much I—”
“Please don’t.” She softened the order with a laugh. “It’s only one night.”
“You can stay in Cordina as long as you like.”
“One night,” she repeated. “Send me the particulars here. And give my best to Her Highness.”
“I will, of course. She’ll be thrilled. Everyone will be thrilled. Thank you, Vanessa.”
“It’s all right, Frank. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
She hung up and stood silent and still. Odd, but she didn’t feel tensed and keyed up at the thought of a performance. And a huge one, she considered. The theater complex in Cordina was exquisite and enormous.
What would happen if she clutched in the wings this time? She would get through it somehow. She always had. Perhaps it was fate that she had been called now, when she was teetering on some invisible line. To go forward, or backward, or to stay.
She would have to make a decision soon, she thought as she walked to the piano. She prayed it would be the right one.
She was playing when Brady returned. He could hear the music, romantic and unfamiliar, flowing through the open windows. There was the hum of bees in the flowers, the purr of a lawn mower, and the music. The magic of it. He saw a woman and a young child standing on the sidewalk, listening.
She had left the door open for him. He had only to push the screen to be inside. He moved quietly. It seemed he was stepping through the liquid notes.
She didn’t see him. Her eyes were half-closed. There was a smile on her face, a secret smile. As if whatever images she held in her mind were pouring out through her fingers and onto the keys.
The music was slow, dreamy, enriched by an underlying passion. He felt his throat tighten.
When she finished, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Somehow she had known he would be there when the last note died away.
“Hello.”
He wasn’t sure he could speak. He crossed to her and lifted her hands. “There’s magic here. It astonishes me.”
“Musician’s hands,” she said. “Yours are magic. They heal.”
“There was a woman standing on the sidewalk with her little boy. I saw them when I drove up. She was listening to you play, and there were tears on her cheeks.”
“There’s no higher compliment. Did you like it?”
“Very much. What was it called?”
“I don’t know. It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. It never seemed right until today.”
“You wrote it?” He looked at the music on the piano and saw the neatly written notes on the staff paper. “I didn’t know you composed.”
“I’m hoping to do more of it.” She drew him down to sit beside her. “Aren’t you going to kiss me hello?”
“At least.” His lips were warm and firm on hers. “How long have you been writing?”
“For several years—when I’ve managed to sneak the time. Between traveling, rehearsals, practice and performances, it hasn’t been much.”
“But you’ve never recorded anything of your own.”
“None of it’s really finished. I—” She stopped, tilted her head. “How do you know?”
“I have everything you’ve ever recorded.” At her smug smile, he continued. “Not that I actually play any of them.” He gave an exaggerated yelp when her elbow connected with his ribs. “I suppose that’s the sign of a temperamental artist.”
“That’s artiste to you, philistine.”
“Why don’t you tell this philistine about your composing?”
“What’s to tell?”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it. It’s what I like best.”
He was playing with her fingers. “Then why haven’t you finished anything?” He felt the tension the moment it entered her.
“I told you. There hasn’t been time. Touring isn’t all champagne and caviar, you know.”
“Come on.” Keeping her hands