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Opening the door, I spun to face him, grabbing the front of his t-shirt. I bit my lip, walking backwards, yanking him inside with me. As soon as he crossed the threshold, my mouth was on him.
18
SASHA
The nightof Feodor’s newest show arrived, after months andmonthsof preparation, listening to Roan play the same damn pieces again and again and again. I was beyond ready to hear something new, at least for a little while.
I stuffed myself into an all-black tux and kept my grumbling to an absolute minimum since Roan was flitting around the apartment on the verge of collapse.
“What if they hate it?” Roan asked for the hundredth time, fumbling with his cufflink.
I plucked it out of his hand and worked it through the slit, securing it in place. “They won’t hate it.”
“You’ve been to the rehearsals. What do you think?” His eyes were particularly blue, filled with equal parts worry and hope.
I didn’t know the first thing about music, but I knew I liked hearing him play. He truly had a talent for performing, even though Feodor hired him as a composer, not a violinist.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I managed to spit out, adjusting his bow tie. “Feodor likes it. You like it. That’s all that matters. Fuck everyone else.”
“You’re not really good at pep talks, you know that?”
I ignored the dig and tapped my watch.
He angled my wrist toward him and swore, tearing out of the bedroom.
Two seconds later, he was back, his hand on his nose.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, discreetly holstering a gun underneath my tux jacket.
“I forgot my nose ring.”
“Leave it. No one cares.”
“It’s the Adler. People care.”
“Feodor knows what you look like. Besides, it’s sexy.” I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, marching him back to the living room as fast as I could while my right knee throbbed. It hadn’t been right ever since the stunt I pulled in the stairwell the other day, but I’d be damned if I let Roan know that. “We’re leaving or you’re going to be late.”
For once, he didn’t argue.
He practically buzzed in the seat next to me the entire way to the theater, muttering, humming, hands gesturing through a series of musical ranges. I didn’t dare interrupt whatever process this was, so I kept my mouth shut and drove as quickly as I could. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could maybe take a full breath. Or a shot of something.
That hope was dashed the second we stepped inside the door. Kelly, Feodor’s assistant, was waiting for us. She grabbed his sleeve and dragged him to the side. “It’s about time!”
“What’s wrong? Is everything ok? Did they cancel the show?” Roan asked, his brow furrowed.
“Leonard is in the hospital. Of course he had to have a fucking heart attack today, of all days,” she hissed, taking a step closer to him as people bustled around backstage. “We need a conductor.”
“Me?” Roan practically squeaked the question. He looked at me, his eyes as big as saucers, but all I could do was shrug. Swallowing, he turned back to her, shaking his head. “I’m not a conductor, Kelly!”
“You’re the composer. Literally no one knows the music better than you do. And besides, you said you did it before.”
“In college! Not for a theater full of patrons and critics!”
“You’ll be great. Come on!” She tugged his sleeve again, dragging him a step in the direction she wanted.
“But, I…” He looked back at me and I could see the panic written all over his face.
I gave him a terse nod, willing him to believe in his talents as much as the rest of the world did. “Don’t be stupid, Solnyshko.”
