Broken Chords (Songs and Sonatas Book 4)

by Jerica MacMillan

  “Yeah. True. That resort’s not cheap, though.”

  “You already looked at it?”

  He cracks a grin. “That was the first thing that I did. It’d be fun, though. Swanky resort. Bring Tamara. You gonna bring Charlie if you go?”

  I nod, my gaze falling to the invitation again. They’re requesting donations to a charity in lieu of wedding gifts. I suppose that they have enough money to buy whatever they might need already. And they spend most of their time on a bus or in hotels, so it’s not like they need the traditional gifts of china or towels or whatever. No need to register at Target or Bed Bath and Beyond.

  I haven’t been to a wedding where I didn’t play in years. Even my sister had me get a quartet together to play her wedding last year. It’d be fun to see Gabby again. Plus a weekend away with Charlie before we go our separate ways for Christmas break? Who’d say no to that?

  If we split a room, it’d be more affordable. Maybe …

  I’ll have to take a look at the money details and talk to Charlie. But if we can swing it, I want to make it happen.

  Later that night, I’m naked in Charlie’s bed, spooning her, running my hand over the silky skin of her torso. It’s been over a week since we first made love, and we’ve fallen into an easy routine where we spend our days in class and doing homework, sometimes getting together for a quick lunch or study session, practicing, then dinner together with naked time after. She still plays those chord progressions, usually at the end of her practice time. I hear her when I finish practicing and go retrieve her from her practice room. Sometimes I stand at the door and listen for a few minutes, seeing if she’s doing anything different. The last few nights her playing has started to take more melodic shape than just a series of chords sliding into one another. It’s interesting. But when I ask her about it, she brushes off my question and insists she’s just messing around.

  Soon I’ll have to extricate myself from Charlie’s embrace to practice again tonight. I’m recording my audition for the Gem State Concerto Competition next week. The recital hall is reserved for the recording, and my teacher will be there to make sure we get the best take possible.

  But for now, I’m sleepy and sated, relishing the soft give of Charlie’s body against mine.

  She sighs and snuggles back into me, the sound a combination of contentment and something else. My hand brushes up her rib cage again then slides around her, squeezing her against me. “Everything okay?”

  I feel her nod more than see it because of the way her head is tucked under mine. She scoots away from me a little and turns onto her back. I prop my head on my hand, looking down at her, enjoying the way the soft light from her lamp plays over her features, tinging them with a golden glow that makes her seem even more ethereal and otherworldly.

  A crooked smile tips up one side of her mouth, drawing my attention to her pink lips, still slightly swollen from our fevered kisses. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Ah.” I brush the hair off her forehead, running my fingers down her cheek and leaning in for a kiss. “I’ll come back when I’m done practicing. Or you could come with me. Practice too or do homework or whatever you need.”

  She nods, her gaze going abstract. “Yeah. I think I will. I’m not ready to go yet, though.”

  “Me either.”

  Her arms wrap around my torso, and I lay back down, holding her to me again. If this goes on much longer, I’ll be gearing up for round two, which I don’t object to on principle. But I’d rather wait till later when I don’t have the specter of practicing hanging over my head. That can be my reward for ripping myself from her bed to get work done.

  “So I got something interesting in the mail today.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  I nod, releasing her, and she scoots over to lie on her side, propping her head on her hand like I was doing a second ago, our positions now reversed. I both miss having her against me and am grateful for the slight distance to keep my dick from getting hard again. Though the way the sheets slip down, revealing her soft pink nipples, the only way to prevent that may be to get dressed and leave.

  “Remember Gabby? Lauren’s roommate before you? I think you said you met her once, right?”

  Something flashes in her eyes, and she drops her gaze to her hand on the bed between us, sucking her lower lip into her mouth as she nods. “Yeah. We’ve met. I remember her. What about her?” Her blue eyes are more distant than usual when they meet mine again.

  Weird. Maybe it’s because they met before Charlie came to Marycliff. And I know she doesn’t like thinking or talking about her life before when she was working with her parents. So I push on, glossing over that.

  “I got an invitation to her wedding. It’s the first week of Christmas break.”

  Charlie’s eyes widen and her nostrils flare as she sucks in a breath, but then her controlled face slips on. “Oh?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “What’s that face?”

  “What face?” She gives me a look of such guileless innocence that it’s hard to believe she’s hiding something.

  I shake my head slowly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. “You looked … I dunno. Surprised, maybe? Then it was like you shut down all emotion in your face. Did you not like Gabby when you met her?” That seems unlikely. Gabby’s sweet and friendly. I can’t imagine someone disliking her on the basis of one meeting. But maybe she was having a bad day. It happens.

  Charlie shakes her head, dislodging my hand. “No. I like Gabby fine. I obviously don’t know her the same way you or Lauren do, but she was always nice to me, and she seems good for Jonathan.” She presses her lips together and rolls them between her teeth like she’s stopping herself from saying anything else. Or regretting what she’s already said.

  I prop myself on my elbow, my eyes skating over her. But she’s back to not giving anything away. She does this sometimes. Usually when someone prods at her life before Marycliff. I’ve discovered that she opens up easier if I come at the topic sideways. She’ll let little details of her life slip out before she realizes it and changes the subject. So I don’t push. Pushing straight on gets me nowhere. As evidenced by this conversation.

  “Okay. Like I said, I got an invitation to their wedding.”

  “Are you planning on going?”

  I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together. “I’d like to. And I’d like you to come with me.” Her eyes widen again, but this time she’s smiling instead of locking down her face. “It’s in California. We can either drive down together, or I can watch out for deals on airfare. The hotel’s on the expensive side, but if we stay together and split the cost of the room, I think I can manage it. Would you be interested?”

  Her smile grows even wider, and she leans in to kiss me. “I’d love to go with you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Allegrezza: joyfulness, cheerfulness

  Charlie

  A knock on my practice room door pulls my head up and around to see Damian’s face peeking in the window. He’s smiling. I smile back and squeeze around the piano to push the door open.

  “Hey! You done?”

  He nods, pulling me close for a hard kiss. “Done.”

  “I take it you’re happy with the recording.”

  “Yes. That’s the best I’ve ever played the Dvořák.”

  Still propping the door open, I pull back an inch. “Perfect. I’m sure you’ll make the short list for the contest.”

  He chuckles, a sound of self deprecation. “I don’t know about that. These things are fiercely competitive. But I should have a fighting chance. My cello professor was thrilled with my performance, so that’s good.”

  “That’s awesome. Hang on. Let me grab my stuff and put away the piano. Then we can go celebrate.”

  Damian stands in the door, propping it open while I slide my glasses back onto my face, pack my books and loose sheet music into my bag, close the keyboard cover, and fold down the music stand. “Alright. Let’s get out of here.
Go crazy. We need to blow off some steam. Between midterms and you recording your audition, I have a ton of nervous energy I need to burn off. You?”

  He grins. “Sounds good. What did you have in mind?”

  Stepping past him as he holds the door for me, I look him up and down as he pulls it closed, testing to make sure the handle is locked before we head for the stairs. “How do you feel about dancing?”

  He laughs, the sound echoing through the open staircase and wide lobby that’s more concrete walls and hard tile, giving plenty of hard surfaces for sound to bounce around the space. “It’s been a while since I’ve been dancing. But I’m up for it. Any particular place you have in mind?”

  I nod, threading my arm through his as we walk down the stairs. “I found a salsa club downtown. They have lessons for five dollars and then open dancing. I’ve always wanted to learn to salsa. Let’s go. My treat.”

  His grin is pure happiness. “Look at you, big spender.”

  I shrug. “I don’t hear you turning me down.”

  He laughs again, leading me to my car. “I’ll meet you at your house in about half an hour. If we’re going dancing, I need to change into something better. You should change too. Wear something with a twirly skirt.” His eyes skate down my body, bringing heat everywhere it touches at the possessive glint in his eyes. “If you have any of those tiny yoga shorts, wear those under the skirt. Unless you have an exhibitionist streak I don’t know about and you like flashing your panties while you dance.”

  His voice dips low on the last sentence, making me want to squeeze my thighs together. “Thanks for the tip. I have some of those shorts.” My exhibitionist streak is strictly limited to quick costume changes backstage and the tiny, sparkly outfits picked for me for my shows. But all of those are designed to stay put so there aren’t any wardrobe failures in the middle of all the singing and dancing. I do not want pictures of my private parts splashed all over the internet. While my mom is always after more publicity, that isn’t the kind of publicity she wants either. I can’t say any of that out loud, though.

  He nods. “Good. I’ll pick you up in thirty. We’ll grab a quick dinner, take the dance lesson, and go dancing.”

  He waits until I’ve buckled myself in before he leans down, kisses me deeply, then pulls back and closes the door. Standing off to one side, he lifts a hand as I pull out of my parking spot and head for home.

  Lauren’s car is in the driveway when I pull in, but she’s not in the living room when I get inside.

  “Lauren! Do you have a twirly skirt? I don’t think I do.”

  She pops out of her bedroom, eyeing me up and down. “A twirly skirt?”

  “Damian and I are going dancing. He recorded his audition for the Gem State Concerto Competition today. He said it’s his best performance of the Dvořák yet. So we’re going out to celebrate.”

  A few different emotions cross her face in the span of a second. “Good for him,” she says softly.

  I stop in the middle of putting all my things away to really look at her, and it dawns on me what her problem is. “When do you record yours? Are you guys competing in the same category?”

  She bites her lip and nods. “Yeah. Strings. I record tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” Damn. I want them both to do well. But if they’re in the same category, if one wins, that means the other loses. I swallow. “Well, good luck.”

  She flashes me a tight lipped smile. “Thanks.” Then she seems to shake off whatever combination of things she’s feeling, morphing back into the sparkly Lauren everyone knows. Does anyone else notice that that’s mostly an act? Or do I only recognize it because I do it too? “Twirly skirt, you say? What kind of dancing?”

  “Salsa.”

  “Ooh. Fun. Let’s go look in my closet and see what we can find. How long do you have?” She turns and heads for her room, and I follow behind her.

  “Less than half an hour.”

  She glances at me over her shoulder, eyes wide. “Seriously? That’s not much time.”

  I shrug. “We’re going to grab dinner first. Then the lesson at six. The open dancing starts at seven. No time to waste.”

  “No kidding,” she grumbles as she starts sliding hangers around her closet. She takes a couple off, hooking them over her fingers. Tapping her fingers on her lips, she stares into her closet for another moment, then looks me over with a calculating eye. She grabs one more thing and marches to the door. “Come on. We need to look in your closet too.”

  I trail after her as she takes decisive action to get me ready. Mostly I dress myself these days, which is a level of freedom I didn’t realize I’d missed while under the thumb of my mother and her chosen stylist. My stylist was awesome and she took my preferences into account, but everything I wore had to fit the Charlotte James brand. Now I don’t have to worry about that. I can try new styles, new colors, even if they don’t fit with my “signature look.” But it’s nice to have someone else tell me what to wear to make sure I look my best sometimes.

  By the time Damian knocks on our door, I’m dressed in a short, flouncy skirt that’s made of layers of light pink and fuchsia paired with a slim-fitting black tank with a deep V neck that highlights my newly abundant cleavage with just enough sparkle.

  Lauren answers the door as I buckle on my nude T-strap heels and double check my makeup. Swiping a few stray crumbs of mascara off my cheekbones, I admire the smokey eye Lauren did in record time, all bronzes and pinky browns that make my light blue eyes bright and striking. That woman could seriously get a gig as a makeup artist on tour with me. She has a good eye for color, a steady hand, and she’s lightning fast. I’ve never had a flawless smokey eye done so fast. The rest of my face is subtle—light pink blush and ice pink lips to compliment my skin tone and outfit.

  Damian’s back is to me when I enter the living room, dressed in his slim black dress pants and a navy blue button down shirt, the sleeves cuffed at his elbows. He’s chatting with Lauren, who’s leaning against the arm of the couch. When she glances at me, he stops talking and turns. His eyes flash hot as they rake over me, taking me in from head to toe. God, I love when he looks at me that way.

  He holds out a hand, and I place my fingers in his, letting him draw me closer, his hand lifting and twirling me slowly, making my skirt flare out as I execute a turn.

  “You like?” I ask when I come to face him again.

  “Very much.” His voice has that low pitch to it he gets when he’s suggesting something dirty. Or when he’s buried inside me. My cheeks flush and my breath comes faster just from that tone of voice and the way his eyes hold mine.

  “Well.” Lauren’s voice is loud in the crackling silence between Damian and me, reminding us that she’s in the room. “You kids better get a move on if you’re going to have time to eat dinner before your dancing lesson.”

  Damian blinks like he’s coming back to himself, and his chest rises with the deep breath he takes. “Right. Good point. You ready, Charlie?”

  With a pleased smile at his reaction to my outfit, I nod. “Let me just grab my jacket.”

  He nods, releasing my hand and grabs his own jacket off the back of the overstuffed chair, his eyes still lighting a fire under my skin as he watches me pull my jacket out of the coat closet behind the front door.

  “See you guys later,” Lauren calls after us as we head out.

  “Bye, Lauren. Don’t wait up,” I throw back over my shoulder.

  She laughs as she closes the door behind us.

  Damian leads me to the car, looking me over from head to toe again before he opens the door. “Damn, Charlie. You sure you don’t want to just stay in?”

  The small smile that’s been on my face since I left my bedroom grows wider. “We’ll have plenty of time after we go dancing. We always stay in. We need to go out to celebrate properly.”

  He lets out a deep sigh, like taking me out is a huge chore, but the spark in his eyes and the tiny curve of his lips gives away that he’s teasing. “
If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Moto: motion; usually seen as con moto meaning with motion or quickly.

  Charlie

  After a chicken apple pecan salad for me and a grilled sandwich for Damian from a little quick-service place, we head downtown for the salsa lesson. The address I found online is for a large, nondescript gray building. But following the hand painted sign down the stairs to Mario’s Salsa Studio takes us to a wide, low ceilinged space, with mirrors on one wall and hardwood floors darkened with age.

  A slim man dressed all in black with silver threading his black hair and trim goatee greets us as we enter through the heavy wooden door. “Hola! Welcome. I am Mario. You’re here for the salsa lesson?”

  At our nod, he holds out a hand to me. “And you are?”

  I place my hand in his to shake it. “Charlie.”

  He wraps his other hand over mine and pulls me in, pressing his right cheek to mine and kissing the air next to my face. “Mucho gusto.”

  Releasing me, he turns to Damian and holds out his hand again, giving Damian a firm handshake as he introduces himself.

  “So glad you could make it,” he says as he ushers us to a row of chairs against the wall where three other couples sit, a few of them filling out papers on clipboards. Mario hands us a clipboard as well. “Just some basic information for the class. You can leave a check or cash in the bucket on the desk.” He gestures to a small desk in the corner holding more clipboards and a coffee can. “We’ll learn to dance to recorded music for the next hour, but a live band will be here for the open dance session after. There’s a fifteen minute break between the lesson and the open dancing. Do you have other dance experience?”

  I nod, thinking over years of choreography. It’s not quite the same, but I know how to move.