Page 41 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
Tony shrugs. “Sun’s over the yardarm somewhere.”
Yuna asks us what we want on our sandwiches and then says something to her man in Korean. He leaves, and we move to the dining table. Excitement is buzzing inside me, making me feel almost drunk at the possibility of learning more about my past—my real past, not Sam’s fiction. I pull Yuna so that she’s sitting to my left. Tony sits on my right.
“Who’s the man who came with you?” I ask.
“Mr. Kim, my dad’s chief secretary. He’s here because Dad was so worried. He didn’t think I could handle the disappointment.” She sniffs. “When I thought you’d died, I was inconsolable. I even had to take a year off from school. My parents were so freaked out, they even stopped giving me a hard time about my music.”
Yuna’s talking like I should know this already. It takes me a moment to catch up and piece things together. Still, I’m glad she isn’t treating my memory loss like some big deal she needs to tiptoe around. “They didn’t want you to do music?”
Yuna gives me a look. “They didn’t. That’s why the only school I applied to was Curtis. You can attend there for free.”
“Oh.” I nibble on my lower lip. “Did I know this? Before?”
“I mentioned it to you once, but it was in passing.”
Regardless, it can’t feel good to realize your friend doesn’t remember things she should. Now I almost wish I hadn’t met her until I knew more. She hasn’t given any indication she considers me damaged or weird, but how will she feel if she learns how little I can recall? I can’t even play along like I remember what happened between us, because the only memory I have of us is watching bad porn. After a moment of hesitation, I ask, “Do you remember where I was accepted? For college, I mean.”
She nods. “Curtis. That’s where we met.”
“Curtis?” I wait for something, anything to surface from my mind, but nothing comes. The name is completely unfamiliar.
“It’s the most competitive conservatory in the world. Small. Full scholarships for everyone who’s accepted. It’s easier to get into an Ivy League school than to Curtis, admissions-rate wise. I gave my brother crap about that because he was insufferable when he got into Yale.” A smile ghosts over her lips.
“And I was there?” It’s crazy that I was that good. Despite what Sam said, I know I’m pretty decent because of the way people who’ve heard me have reacted. And the pieces I’m able to play—Liszt, Chopin and Rachmaninoff—are technically demanding. But there’s good and there’s good.
She nods. “You were one of the best. We were awesome.”
While my mind sorts through the information, I wait, hoping something will pop into my head. My parents, who must’ve been proud. The excitement I must’ve felt when I got accepted and started the school. But nothing comes.
Give it time. Not every word out of Yuna’s mouth is going to give you back a memory.
I take a breath. This isn’t just about me. This is about Yuna, too.
“So what are you doing now?” I ask. “Professional musician?”
“No. I was hoping to do that, but when I heard you were gone, I just couldn’t. I still play, but not at concerts. Instead, I started the Ivy Foundation in Korea with my dad’s help. It provides financial help to people pursuing careers in classical music so anyone with enough talent and discipline can study without worrying about the cost.”
“That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you,” I say, even though I didn’t miss the part about my untimely “death” derailing her aspirations. Damn you, Sam. I hate it that he ruined another life with his lies. But this isn’t the time for anger. It’s time to reconnect with an old friend. She knows so much about me, and I so little—about myself or her. It’s kind of awkward, but I’m not letting my discomfort keep me from reconnecting with someone who obviously cares so much about me.
“You should come and visit the office someday. See what we do. It’s named after—” Suddenly Yuna clears her throat, then her gaze darts toward something behind me. “That’s yours, isn’t it?”
I frown at the abrupt change in topic, wondering what caught her attention. I turn and see the white baby grand. “It’s actually Tony’s.”
She swings her attention to him. “Do you still play?”
He nods. “But the piano is really for Iris.”
Some understanding passes in her eyes, and I can’t sense what she’s thinking at all. Before I can puzzle it out, Tony places a hand gently on my shoulder. “Told you you were brilliant.”
“Seriously,” Yuna says. “You have talent, drive and discipline. Not everyone has all three.”
I stare at her, speechless. She isn’t just flattering me. It’s so weird to go from being told I was just an average pianist who did okay because of hard practice, to being told I’m freakin’ brilliant, with everything I need to be a successful classical musician. It’s like living your entire life thinking the sky’s green, and somebody yanking yellow glasses off your face and showing you it’s really blue.
Then I remember another person—someone we’re both aware of, if I’m remembering correctly. “Do you know who Tatiana is?”
“You remember her, too?” She shoots a quick glance in Tony’s direction before adding, “Our piano teacher at Curtis. She was such a character.” She stands and starts to speak with a horrible accent that’s somewhere between Russian and French. “All this education wasted! You haven’t lived enough to know true love!” She starts gesturing, her hands fluttering wildly above her head. “How can you understand the meaning of ‘Liebestraum’ without having loved and lost? Pounding the right notes on the piano at right pace won’t make people feel the excruciating, heart-breaking pain.” She throws a hand over her forehead, her spine bent backward in a dramatic pose.
I laugh, even as frustration tears at me for not being able to recall someone so colorful and memorable. “No way. Really?”
