Page 107 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Chapter Forty-Seven
Iris
Six thirty a.m. No contact from Tony after his rather abrupt departure. I want to stay in bed and wait…except that seems entirely too pathetic and needy.
He’s probably just busy.Whatever pulled him away last night must’ve been important. And I know how high-powered business guys can be. Sam and Byron sometimes leave or cancel plans abruptly because of work.
I force myself to get up, shower, have half a bagel and coffee. Afterward I practice, working on the “Mazeppa” étude because Cziffra’s performance put some fire in my veins. He didn’t even use the pedal and still played at tempo with amazing clarity and precision. I can play the étude pretty well, but suddenly, “pretty well” isn’t enough. I want to reach Cziffra’s level just to prove to myself that I can—the way an eagle soars just because it can.
But that’s not all. There’s a small part of me that hopes snippets of my old memories will surface like they did before. It was such a breakthrough, and I want more.
I stop around noon, mentally and physically exhausted. I’ve made some progress, so that’s a plus, but God, whoever said that the piano is a percussion instrument and requires a lot of strength was right. And “Mazeppa” is notorious for being physically demanding. Maybe I’m just getting old and decrepit. I should start hitting the gym to build up my stamina.
I wipe the sweat off my face and neck, then flop down on the couch, my knees over the armrest. Nothing came to me during practice. Still, it’s best not to be too impatient. I’ve never been able to force myself to remember.
Relax. Let your mind work itself out. It’ll come.
I close my eyes and breathe slowly and deeply. The memories feel like they’re getting closer to the surface every day. I just need to let them come. Even the most difficult symphonies are played one note at a time.
The intercom buzzes, and I heave myself up off the couch. Tony.
As I open the door, pleasure is warring with a tiny bit of exasperation that he didn’t call after he left last night. But my irritation doesn’t last when I see the haggard lines on his face, the faint circles under his eyes.
He comes in, takes one look at me and frowns. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Just a little tired. How about you? Everything okay from last night?” I say, peering at his troubled bloodshot eyes.
Resignation crosses his face. “Yes.”
“If you need more time to take care of—”
“I don’t. Not anymore. I just need to see you.”
He hugs me tightly, and I hug him back, wishing I could take away the thing that’s bothering him. Whatever called him away last night no longer seems like business. He’s too tense, too brittle, and he doesn’t seem to be the type to get worked up over money. He’s spending a lot of time with me—lunch and the rest of the day. He was almost cavalier when he talked about his clubs, as though they aren’t the main focus of his life.
Eventually he lets go, and we walk over and sit on the long couch. I peer at him. “Are you really all right?”
“Of course.” A faint smile, then very deliberately, his face relaxes. But I know it’s not a genuine reaction. There’s a tight, slightly discordant undertone in his voice.
“Why are you faking it?” I ask.
“Um… What?”
“Something’s bugging you. It’s in your voice. We decided to be honest, right?”
He takes my left hand and massages it. “We did. It’s just… I can’t tell you.” He looks at me, a little wary. “Are you upset?”
“N… Okay, yes.” It’s surprising how many responses are automatic, like my mind just knows what’s appropriate to say regardless of what I really think. “A little. I mean, I wish you could tell me, but I understand if you can’t.”
He looks away, his shoulders collapsing a bit, like a man who’s failed.
“Tony, I’m glad you said you can’t tell me rather than lying about it. I’d be more upset if you lied and I found out later.”
He pulls me closer, placing my head on his shoulder, and kisses my hair.
I close my eyes with contentment and snuggle closer. At least he wanted to tell me and was upset he couldn’t. The fact that he doesn’t want to keep secrets from me makes me feel better.
I sense the weight of Tony’s gaze on me even through sleepiness. I sigh softly, wondering what’s going through his head right now. Is he thinking about the kiss from yesterday? Or is he thinking about whatever it was that stopped us?
