Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
The concerto’s first movement is majestic and allows the pianist to show off quite a bit before soloist and orchestra together settle into a stately theme reminiscent of an army marching to battle, ending with a big chord. Thank God Alissa told me not to applaud, because I’d be jumping out of my seat right now. A few people do start clapping, but quickly stop when they realize that the piece isn’t yet over. Alissa gives me a side-eye which says aren’t you glad I schooled you in the correct etiquette?
The second movement is more introspective, almost prayer-like, and when the pianist enters, it’s in a dream-like whisper. It continues to pulse gently, growing quieter and quieter until the composer jolts us into a jubilant and triumphant third movement. With a final wave of his baton, the conductor cuts the orchestra off, and the audience roars with applause, some of them even hooting and hollering. I need no cue from Alissa—I jump to my feet immediately with applause.
I’ve never heard music like this before. I mean, I’ve been listening to the classical station in my car ever since I drove Alissa home that first night we went to Aces. But to actually hear it performed live, see the violinists and cellists moving their bows in perfect synchrony, watching the woodwinds players taking long breaths before playing into their instruments, seeing the percussionist bang between timpani drums in real time—it’s magnificent.
The conductor and the pianist take several bows along with the orchestra as a whole, returning to the wings several times just to come back for more applause. The clapping goes on for six or seven minutes total before things finally die down and the lights in the concert hall come back on.
“That’s intermission,” Alissa says. “How’d you like the Beethoven?”
I turn to her, my eyes wide. “It was fantastic. I’ve never heard music like that live before. Truly remarkable.”
She smiles, but there’s something distant—yearning, perhaps?—in her eyes. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? The way it just…breathes life into you.”
I grab her hand. “That’s exactly it. It took me away from everything we’ve dealt with the past few days. Made me realize that life is worth living. That… That…”
That I love you, Alissa.
Those are the words I want to say, but they’re caught in my throat.
I want to say them more desperately than I want my next breath.
When she was explaining the differences between a symphony and a concerto, I saw the light in her eyes. The joy that the simple act of discussing the music brought her.
I’ve seen that light a few times before. Whenever she’s talked about her education at Northwestern. Her two degrees in flute performance.
This woman belongs on the stage of this concert hall, not in the audience.
She’s a musician. Not a nurse, but a woman with music coursing through her veins.
And fuck. I want to live the rest of my life with her.
14
ALISSA
Maddox has been staring into my eyes with his mouth open for a solid thirty seconds now.
I grin at him. “Cat got your tongue, darling?”
He breaks eye contact and casts his gaze to the ground. “I’ve just… Words can’t express how much I enjoyed that.”
I tip his chin back toward me. “I’m so happy. It was a wonderful idea to come here. At first I resisted it, because of… Well, you know.”
“Of course.”
I place my hand over my heart. “But this is just what I needed. Something to remind me of the beauty that exists in our world. The way music can fill your soul to the brim with purest joy. And we’re only halfway through. Just wait until you hear the Shostakovich. It’s simply marvelous.”
He smiles at me. “I can’t wait.” He checks his watch. “How long is intermission?”
I flip through the pages of my program. “Twenty minutes, I believe.”
“Could I buy you a drink?”
“I appreciate the gesture, but I want to keep my wits about me for the Shostakovich.” I gesture toward the lobby. “But I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to purchase me a little goodie from the snack bar.”
“Gladly.” He leads me up the aisle back to the concert hall lobby and we get in a line in front of the refreshments station.
I scan the display. “That brownie looks pretty good.”
He kisses my neck gently. “A brownie it is then,” he whispers into my ear.
A rush of warmth floods my cheeks at his public display of affection. But I’m not embarrassed. I’m turned on.
Normally I hate when people are touchy with each other in broad daylight. I used to scowl at all the couples in secondary school who were snogging up and down the hallways between classes.
Maddox isn’t making out with me. That would hardly be appropriate.
But kissing my neck is still a rather intimate act.
And I want him to do more.