Page 5 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
I still remember the first time I saw her. Elegant in a classy black dress, she was breathtakingly beautiful, and I thought maybe she was an angel who had come to put the pieces of my broken world back together.
She took one long look at me, then knelt, hugging me tightly and whispering into my hair, “It’s okay, Ivy. I’ll make everything okay. I promise.”
She kept her word over the last eight years, and I’ve done everything in my power to make sure she’ll never regret making the vow.
“Hey, Aunt Margot,” I say cheerily.
“What’s the hurry?”
“Nothing. Just got done with practice.”
“Any improvement on Liebestraum?” She’s always expressed a great deal of interest in what I’m working on, and I give her daily updates.
“Um. Not really.”
“Don’t tell me you’re mentally blocked by what Tatiana said.” Tatiana is my teacher at Curtis. Unlike most professors and teachers, she hates being called Ms. Seger. She says it makes her feel old, like her mom.
“I’m not. I ended up working on Schubert instead.”
“Oh. You were going to play with Harry.” She sighs, vaguely irritated. Although she pays for his lessons, she doesn’t think much of his musical talent or discipline. “Don’t waste your time and effort on him. He’s too lazy to be any good.”
“Actually, it wasn’t Harry I was practicing with. He couldn’t manage the secondo, so I ended up playing with Tony.”
The pleasant mask slips a fraction. “You met him already? When did he arrive?”
“At least an hour ago.” Why doesn’t she know the son she hasn’t seen in nine years is back? Didn’t Tony text or call her when he landed? If not, shouldn’t Uncle Lane have done that?
Then I notice she looks anything but thrilled, even though she’s still smiling. “I see.” She turns toward the stairs, then stops. “I’m thinking about driving down to New Orleans tonight, and would like some companionship. Want to come along?”
“I’d love to, but I’m going to a party with Sue Ellen.” She’s my best friend and the first girl to befriend me when I came to Tempérane. When we realized we both played the piano, we grew close—almost inseparable, really—until I went off to study three years ago.
Aunt Margot makes a vaguely disapproving noise. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? She hasn’t been the same since you left for Curtis.”
“She was probably just disappointed, that’s all,” I say loyally. We auditioned at the same conservatories. Unfortunately, she got rejected, while I was accepted at all of them. She tried again year after year with the same result. “It’s her dream to be a concert pianist, and it’s got to be frustrating.” I sometimes feel terrible I’m living my dream while she struggles. I haven’t mentioned the competitions I’ve won out of respect for her feelings.
Aunt Margot places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Ivy. You are the average of the company you keep. Sue Ellen will never amount to anything, and she’s in your past. You’re a smart girl. Don’t let her drag you down.” Then she turns and goes up the stairs.
I sigh. Aunt Margot is never overtly rude to Sue Ellen, but she’s never cared for her, either. Aunt Margot considers Sue Ellen lazy and undisciplined, much like Harry. “If she practiced like her life depended on it, maybe she would’ve gotten in,” she said after one of Sue Ellen’s failed auditions.
That may be true, but I’m not ditching one of my closest friends whose only sin is she doesn’t play well enough to get into a music program. Friendship should be more lasting than that.
I walk up to my room, put the music back on the bookshelf and go to my walk-in closet to pull out the black and white dress I wore on stage at a competition last year. It’s sophisticated, with an off-shoulder asymmetrical neckline. It isn’t too long, either, ending two inches above my knees. Aunt Margot bought it for me, calling it classy and fashionable. Although it’s not as risqué as Sue Ellen would like, it’s a bit tight around my breasts, since I’ve filled out more in the last two years, and combined with a push-up bra, it shows some pretty spectacular cleavage. It should be okay for the “awesome, hot” party Sue Ellen swears is going to blow my mind. She explained breathlessly it isn’t an event with “idiots,” a.k.a. high school boys, but “college men,” and I need to look my age. It’s like she’s forgotten I’m eighteen because I left high school three years ago.
I hold the dress in front of me and study my reflection in the full-length mirror. Is Tony going to be there?
I shake my head. He’s in Tempérane only because he finished college and the local TV station might require a shot of the entire family for its feature on Uncle Lane. Tony’s been gone long enough that probably nobody knew when he’d be town to invite him. Even Harry and Aunt Margot didn’t know exactly when he’d be back, since Uncle Lane just said Tony was returning—without any specifics—at our last Sunday dinner.
Harry, on the other hand, will definitely show. He’s good-looking, fun-loving and popular, just the kind of guy you want at a party.
Maybe he can bring Tony.That’d be nice. I’d love to get to know him better, in some place more neutral.
Getting too close to him would mean…
I purse my lips. Why does Harry think his mom’s going to be upset if Tony and I get close? She encouraged Edgar and Harry to befriend me as quickly as possible after bringing me to Tempérane. The only reason I never met Tony was because he was away, but if he’d been home, I’m sure we’d be close the way his brothers and I are.
Maybe she has some kind of grand plan for Tony. After all, he’s good-looking, smart and magnetic. And Edgar mentioned once that Tony speaks five languages fluently. So Aunt Margot might have somebody else in mind.
Oh my God. I pat my cheeks a few times. What the hell am I thinking? I’m mulling over this whole thing like Tony and I are Romeo and Juliet. We just met.
Focus, Ivy. You have more important things to worry about than Tony.
Like the party and having fun. After all, Tatiana always says one of the best ways to improve at music, other than practicing, is to live. Experience life at its best and worst.
And this party is going to be me living.
