“Two words. Unequal yoke.” Matt shook his head at Ivan. “You cannot fall in love with an unbeliever, Ivan. It will hurt both of you. Ask me how I know.”
“I hear you, Matt—”
“I don’t think you do, Ivan. When Giselle and I married, I was unsaved. We couldn’t agree on anything. Whether we should go to church at all. How we were going to raise our future kids—which we ended up not having. See what I mean? If you can’t agree on the basics, your marriage has no foundation. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”
“Marriage?” Ivan asked. “We’re just going out. Nothing might come of it.”
“So you’re just friends?”
“Pretty much.”
“Haven’t held hands? Kissed?”
Ivan knew he couldn’t tell Matt. It would only work against him. Matt was on a roll here.
“Dude, all I’m saying is that, inherently and innately, you two come from different perspectives. It’s inevitable that you’ll disagree on God, on Jesus, on church, on life, on everything.”
“Not everything.” They seemed to agree on their comfort level with each other though Ivan would have to admit that was basal and physical. Then again, the kisses meant something to him. “She came to our church Sunday. You saw her.”
“Whether she went to church or not, her heart is not in it.” Matt didn’t let up.
“You don’t know that, Matt.”
“She is unsaved. Her heart does not belong to Jesus.”
Well, okay. Matt has a point there.
“When did you meet this woman?”
“Brinley, Matt. Her name is Brinley.”
“When did you meet this Brinley woman?”
“Last year, but we were dating other people. We saw each other again at my sister-in-law’s birthday party last week. That’s when things happened.”
“Like what things?”
“Matt.”
“Come on.”
“Dude, your sister-in-law’s party was Thursday.” Matt ticked off his fingers. “Not even five days ago.”
Only five days? “It felt longer than that.”
“You’re putting a new spin on whirlwind, dude.”
Next to Matt, Sebastian slid his iPad across the table toward Ivan, nearly missing his coffee cup. “Check that out.”
Ivan looked at the iPad screen as Sebastian kept talking. “She made the news. See the headline? Buddy Billionaires.”
Ivan frowned as he scrolled down the entertainment web page. The photograph of her dancing with Jared Urquhart six months before messed with Ivan’s head. He didn’t want to look at it, but Brinley was quite photogenic.
“Read it,” Sebastian said.
“No.” Ivan put the iPad down. He had to admit he was curious, but he didn’t know if he wanted to know whatever it was Sebastian was trying to tell him. Sebastian often agreed with Matt, and this time, Ivan knew they were right.
It’s inevitable that you’ll disagree on God, on Jesus, on church, on life, on everything.
Still…
“Says here that Jared Urquhart is the poorer one. He’s got a billion dollars to his name.”
“One billion dollars?” Ivan tried not to freak out.
“Got your attention, huh?” Sebastian went on. “Says here that Brinley Brooks stands to inherit nine billion dollars from the Brooks family fortune.”
Nine billion dollars.
That was news to Ivan. “No way. She looks so…”
“Plain? Looks can be deceiving,” Matt said. “Ask me how I know.”
“I was going to say normal, man. Normal.”
“What are you going to do?” Sebastian interjected. “Her family could say you’re a gold digger. Sure, we know you don’t care about money. That’s how you ended up in that hole you’re in, but they don’t know you as well as we do.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment, Seb?” Some friends I have.
“You tell us,” Matt said.
“Nothing is going on.” Uh, other than the two kisses.
Ivan couldn’t remember the last time he had tried to kiss a woman he had barely known, and then did it two days later, twice.
Only Brinley.
Something about Brinley had drawn him to her. He prayed to God it wasn’t the attraction of wealth. She seemed unassuming, honest, brave enough to eat in his run-down kitchen. She even helped to dry the silverware and plates. All in all, Brinley was very down-to-earth.
Strip away all that money and she’s just a commoner like the rest of us.
Only she wasn’t common or ordinary.
Something about her tugged at Ivan’s heart.
“Dude, I don’t want you to get hurt, and I don’t want you to hurt the girl,” Matt finally said.
“Yep, don’t get hurt.”
Ivan glared at Sebastian. Mr. Echo was still glued to his iPad.
“Whoa,” Sebastian said. “Look at all the men she has dated.”
“I don’t care.” Oh yes, I do.
“She was engaged to one Phinneas Farragut IV, another bazillionaire. They broke off dramatically in the summer.” Sebastian looked up. “Ivan, you sure she’s not going out with you on the rebound?”
Rebound? “Can’t be if it’s been months.”
“I don’t know,” Sebastian said. “Sometimes people never quite get over someone. Ask me how I know.”
“We’re not attached to other people.”
“How do you know you’re not a filler, Ivan? Maybe she’s waiting for a better offer later and you’re available now.”
Available? I’m easy?
“I don’t have to listen to you insult Brin.” Ivan dropped his iPad into his shoulder bag.
“Brin? It’s one syllable now?” Matt looked worried. He had never looked worried. “Sounds dangerous.”
Ivan ignored him. He glanced at the clock. It was past seven. “You two are going to have to pray without me. I have to run. Have a bus to catch.”
“You said that’s not until after lunch.”
Ivan could see that Matt was getting into his big-brother mode. He looked for a way out. “I have to pack and we have a rehearsal at ten. I’m telling the truth.”
“With lots of hours to spare,” Matt said. “I’m saying that you’re not facing the problem.”
“Brinley is not a problem.” Or is she?
“Famous last words.” Sebastian whistled.
“Some friends you are. Look in the mirror, you two.” Ivan got up and walked off.
He could hear their voices behind him as he opened the glass door to the sidewalk. Something about “praying for him big time” and “thinking with his emotions.”
He grunted.
What do they know?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Matt’s words ricocheted in Ivan’s mind all the way to the SISO studio off Frederica Road. He chained his bicycle inside the building by the stairwell. What Matt had said still bothered him as he pounded the steel treads up the stairwell to the third floor, where the string section was rehearsing.
Dude, I don’t want you to get hurt, and I don’t want you to hurt the girl.
Ivan knew that Matt meant well. He always did. He had been a better older brother to him than Quincy could ever be.
Still…
Brinley isn’t a Christian.
That was Matt’s whole point.
Ivan flung open the door to the third floor. He panted and stopped to catch his breath, his violin case heavy on his back. As he dragged himself across the old harlequin floor to the practice room, the elevator in the hallway opened. Emmeline O'Hanlon backed out of the elevator, rolling her enormous concert grand harp.
Ivan held the door for her.
“Thanks, Ivan.”
“No problem.”
Emmeline leaned against her harp. “I don’t know why the brass section gets the first floor and we get the third. It’s a pain to drag this harp up and down the floors.”
“Get minions to help you.”
“I’m not your minion, Em.”
“You’re nobody’s minion, Ivan.”
What does she mean?
Emmeline tipped her eyes toward him. “You were amazing last night.”
“Huh?”
“Paganini. Rimsky-Korsakov.”
“Oh.”
Emmeline smiled that sweet, ethereal, siren smile.
Ivan didn’t return it. Never return Emmeline’s smiles. He did it once eight or nine months ago. Next thing he knew they had ended up an item for at least several months afterwards. Maybe it had something to do with their proximity in SISO. Oh yes, and that purely emotional kiss backstage after that giddily exuberant summer concert in Jacksonville.
Purely emotional.
That was what his two best friends had tried to warn him about.
Do I think a lot with my emotions?
Ivan shoved his hands into his pockets.
Emmeline had gone ahead, chatting with some cellists. Ivan didn’t follow them as he made an abrupt turn into the men’s restroom. He washed his hands and dried them thoroughly with paper towels. He did that so that he could have clean hands before he touched the violin, especially since it was borrowed. He treated the Vuillaume as if it were a Stradivarius. He might never be able to play a Strad again after the auction last night, but at least he could try to make the best of what he had been given.
Grandma Yun had taught him to be thankful to God.
He was thankful for Brinley too.
Are Matt and Seb right?
Well, the difference between those summer dates with Emmeline—who was a nice Christian girl—and the winter introduction to Brinley—who was nice but not a Christian by her own admission—was that he had felt nothing for Emmeline. It was just that. A platonic fling, if it had been such a thing. Nothing happened between him and Emmeline.
Well, nothing’s happening between Brin and me, either, right?
Yeah. Except for two kisses and half a cookie.
Slowly, Ivan made his way to the practice room. They had left the door open and he could hear them now, starting without him. A Christmas medley.
One good thing about the SISO Christmas concert series was that they almost always played the same carols and same classical arrangements everywhere they went. Conductor Petrocelli was smart enough to make a big deal about their annual themes. The only deviation from that was Zoe’s birthday party, where she had made certain requests.
Speaking of Zoe, Ivan wondered how she and Quincy were doing in Paris. Ivan had been so preoccupied with SISO—and Brinley—that he hadn’t had a chance to email or text Quincy to see how he was faring, preparing to be a new father.
Can’t imagine being an uncle soon.
When he reached the practice room, he found Conductor Petrocelli standing there tapping his feet. Ivan nodded to him as he took off his backpack to get to his violin. Petrocelli motioned for him to follow him out of the room.
They turned down the hallway toward Petrocelli’s office.
This can’t be good.
Ivan prayed to God to protect him from whatever it was. His tardiness had done him in this time. He was sure of it. Warren Yamaguchi was going to take over as concertmaster. Ivan was going back to the second string. Forget ever trying for even the principal second string position. He’d better build up his music studio because SISO was coming to a close.
Ivan stopped at the door.
There was a man that he had never seen before in Petrocelli’s office. Thick neck. Thick arms. Thick chest. And probably thick thighs. He was built like a linebacker all the way. Even his cropped blond hair looked intimidating. Ivan had bounced off a few of those walls of bricks on the football field years ago. The pain had always been his to bear.
Whassup?
“Sit down, Ivan.” Petrocelli rounded the table to his side of the desk.
Ivan sat down at the only chair left in the office. The seat felt awfully hot.
Why am I sweating?
“This is Mr. Art,” Petrocelli said.
Art? Is this a joke?
“Nice to meet you,” Art said.
His hands were huge. Ivan almost didn’t shake it. Wanted to tell Art that even though both his own hands were insured, he still had to protect them from getting hurt.
“Art is here on a special delivery and he’ll be working with us for a while.”
“A special delivery?”
Petrocelli had always been a calm man, Ivan thought, except when he was yelling at the brass and woodwind. He hardly ever yelled at the string section, being a violinist himself who had duetted with Itzhak Perlman. Now Petrocelli seemed to be trying to keep it all in instead of jumping around in great expressive animation as he sometimes did when he had exciting news.
For that reason, Ivan was sure the news was bad.
Like I’m going to be fired and this bouncer is escorting me off the island.
“The auction last night was a great success,” Petrocelli began. “Netted millions of dollars for historic preservation.”
Whew. I’m not fired.
Thank God for the Sea Islands Preservation Society.
“Sounds good, sir.” Ivan calmed down, crossed his legs, and relaxed a bit.
“The new owner of the Schoenberg Strad has decided to loan it to SISO.”
“Wow. How generous. Who is he?”
“Don’t know. Only a patron of the arts who wants to remain anonymous.”
It made sense. Ivan thought that anyone who had over five million dollars to throw into the ring for a Strad had the right to remain anonymous. Maybe out of embarrassment at being the “winner” in the bidding war.
“Now we have the Strad. Our first ever Strad. The stipulation is that only SISO’s best violinist gets to play it.”
“Warren?” Ivan cringed. Aargh. Don’t give the man ideas!
Petrocelli laughed. Then just as quickly, his face returned to its normal sour disposition. “You, unfortunately.”
“Me?”
Petrocelli pointed to the big guy. “Mr. Art here is the string—”
“String? What string?”
“String attached.” Petrocelli frowned at Ivan the usual way. His eyebrows came together and his nose bridge wrinkled, his eyeglasses rising up. “Everywhere the Schoenberg Strad goes, Mr. Art goes.”
I bet Art isn’t even his real name.
“I hope you packed, Mr. Art.” Ivan looked at his new escort. “We’re going out of town for four days.”
“I’m always packed.”
Somehow Ivan suspected it was more than a suitcase full of clothes.
Chapter Thirty
“What did Grandma tell you about me?” Ivan had to know. Here he was in his three-star hotel room in Savannah resting before tonight’s concert thinking the whole world was well only to find out that his very own flesh-and-blood had tattled on his colorful childhood on St. Simon’s Island.
“You’ll have to talk to her about it.”
He could hear Brinley snicker on her end of the phone. He didn’t like it at all. He made a mental note to text Grandma to tell her to stop regaling Brinley with his past. He wanted Brinley to think the best of him.
“Maybe she shouldn’t spend so much time at your house, Brin.” In the distance he could hear Brinley telling Grandma that Ivan wanted her to go home. He heard the response. Something about “no fun.”
“What did she say?” Ivan asked, stretching out on top of the covers on the double bed in the room he shared with another violinist.
Art had taken the Schoenberg Stradivarius to the hotel vault. He had no idea how Art could sleep at night with that five-point-four-million dollar burden on him.
“She said you’re no fun and told me to hang up.” There was amusement in Brinley’s voice. “We have to go now. We’re having dinner at the Brunswick Senior Living Community. By special invitation, no less.”
“Let me guess. Hiram Jacobs.”
“The very one.”
“All right. I guess I’ll let you go.” No, I don’t want to let you go. “It’s good to hear your voice, Brin. I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Did you sleep well last night?”
“My roommate snores in quarter-note fortissimo.”
“Sorry. Earplugs?”
“No help. They fall off.” Ivan reached for his iPad. “We’re going to post some photos of our events to the SISO website. I’ll email you when they’re up. Also various members will probably update their Facebook pages. Are we friends?”
“You mean on Facebook or in real life?”
“I’d like to think we’re more than friends in real life.”
“Do you, Ivan?”
“I mean, we’ve done more than just hold hands.”
“You mean what happened at the pier?”
“And the lighthouse. I know we didn’t make any commitments.” Ivan could feel her lips on his. The memories were vivid. “When I get back to town, let’s talk.”
“I’m flying out to Vienna to join my parents after Christmas. I’m going back to Atlanta from there.”
“When do you come back to St. Simon’s?”
“Usually, a few times a year.”
“Your next time back?” Ivan tried to keep his cool but he knew he was getting anxious inside.
“End of January.”
“I’ll be home on Saturday, and we have about a week before you leave.”
“I’m afraid so, Ivan.”
Ivan’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure if he wanted a long-distance relationship. He couldn’t change his trajectory now, not even if he took Grandma with him. He was a rising star in SISO. It had taken six years to stabilize his music studio. He couldn’t move to Atlanta just to see if there was something between him and Brinley.
Or could he?
Not with Grandma Yun in tow.
Maybe his friends from his Bible Study were right. This seemed to be a dead-end relationship. Tragically, almost all his relationships the last six years had led nowhere. He could count on three fingers how many girlfriends he’d had. The last one, Emmeline, had parted ways with him amicably. He had been too busy for her. Now that he thought he had more time, Brinley was too busy for him.
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