Page 5 of Pervade London
I closed the lid on my glass jar. It had five pounds in it—the same fiver I’d put in there to entice people to give me tips. I threw the jar irreverently into my violin case and clipped the lid closed. When I hoisted it up, its lightness reminded me of my stupidity.
I couldn’t remember how I’d arrived at my stop at Gloucester Street, but somehow I’d made it to the Tube station I always used to get home.
Numbness settled in my bones, but I left my coat hanging open because I deserved to be assaulted by the chill.
I trudged down the pavement, each footstep feeling unbearably heavy as I made my way past the row of terraces to the old Victorian house where I lived. The room I rented wasn’t much and the plumbing was noisy, but my bedroom window overlooked the garden. I always enjoyed the view while I practiced my lessons.
How was I going to practice now?
How was I going to explain this to Mr. Penn-Rhodes, my tutor at the Royal Academy of Music, when I faced him tomorrow?
Someone might as well have ripped my right arm off. Playing that violin had gotten me a scholarship into one of the finest music academies, and though it wasn’t worth much it had become my world. I’d bonded with it. Loving fingertips had traced each ripple in the wood and each flame in the maple. That instrument had warmed to me personally, too, and like an old friend it always came through.
That instrumentwasmy life.
I’d also taught countless children with that precious violin. Those hour-long lessons had been their introduction to one of the most difficult instruments to master. And though teaching helped pay my rent, it also felt good to know I was making a difference.
What the hell was I going to do?
Waves of grief drenched me in sorrow. I’d suffered a terrible violation by a person who had no idea that they’d stolen part of my soul.
Three doors down, Mrs. Kaminski’s golden retriever, Charlie, was barking at something. I usually didn’t mind him going wild over the occasional horn or even another pet, but today it grated on my nerves.
What was I thinking leaving my precious violin unattended?
“No more Good Samaritan,” I muttered.
Unlatching the brass gate that squeaked on its hinges, I continued on between the hedges, trudging down the cobbled pathway that felt uneven beneath the worn soles of my shoes. I lifted my gaze to the door.
No way.
Xander rose from where he’d been sitting on the front steps.
“Hey, Emily.” My violin was in his hands. “Forget the five-course. I’m craving a curry.”
“How did you…?”Get here before me.
He turned the instrument, showing me the front and back. “Undamaged.” He held it out to me with both hands.
I set my empty case down and moved quickly to claim it, hugging the violin to my chest as though my lost child had been returned.
My cheeks flushed with relief. “How’d you get it back?”
“Trade secret.” A wink of mischief was followed by a drop-dead gorgeous smile.
Wait…how the hell did he know where I lived?
Six Months Ago
Ithought my life would fall into a downward spiral after my violin was stolen. To be honest, I’d not believed this stranger could save it. Yet here he was standing in front of me, having delivered what seemed like a miracle. I’d last seen him half an hour ago outside Piccadilly Circus, when he’d sprinted off to save my violin like a beautiful angel stripped of his wings.
His eyes lit up as he grinned. “My good deed for the day. Though nothing tops yours.”
I studied him. “Xander, right?”
“Right.”
“I never told you my name.” I narrowed my gaze on him.
