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“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I like it. I never know what you’re going to say.” Milo trailed off on a vibrato, lifted the bow and rested the instrument on his knee. “In the car, when you said you thought of your violin as a heart that’s beating…” He fixed his eyes on mine, dark and fierce. “It’s what I’ve always thought too, the exact metaphor, and you put it into words.”
The hair on my arms rose. “Well, you played like that for my father, like everything was from the heart. You played like that just now.”
“It’s a Stradivarius. If you’re not going to play it with heart, why play it at all?” He handed it to me, forcing it into my trembling fingers when I shook my head.
“I can’t. It won’t be as beautiful as you. I mean, as the way you played.”
I was coming apart and I didn’t know why. As I stood there, helpless, Milo guided the violin up under my chin. “Play it, Alice.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
We stared at each other. I’d never been good at hiding my feelings. He had to know I desired him with every cell of my being, and that I was too frightened to play because there was so much longing and meaning in this moment.
“I wish wecouldget married,” I said, another renegade tear rolling down my cheek. “I don’t want to play your violin. I want to…”I want to play you. I want your face to look that way because you love me.“If we got married, I’d be able to hear you play like that anytime I want.”
“I’ll play for you anytime you want.” He touched my cheek to banish the tear before it dropped on the Strad. “You don’t have to marry me for that.”
My breath caught in my throat, making me give a weird little cough. “But I would marry you, Milo. Don’t you think we’d be good together? Your mother would be over the moon.” I was pretending to joke, badly. “And our kids would be great at the violin.”
I had this image of him showing a child, our child, how to play the violin with his depth of skill and feeling, and I lost it. He stared at me, mute.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying this stuff,” I said, swiping away another tear. “Maybe the wine. I’m not a good drinker. Forget everything I just said, because I’m stupid.”
“You’re not stupid. Music makes people emotional, and high-tier instruments—”
“Youmade me emotional,” I said, cutting him off. “You, and the way you played.”
He looked away again. “Alice…”
“Please take this violin. It scares me.”
I gave him the priceless Stradivarius, and he stood to put it away. “Milo,” I said when he turned from me. “I do love you. I’m not exaggerating.”
“I love you, too.” He said it to the cabinet as he arranged the violin in its case and loosened the bow. “I’ve known you longer than just about every friend in my life.”
Everyfriend. He emphasized the word. He wanted me to stop my dramatic nonsense before I embarrassed both of us beyond bearing, but I couldn’t stop. Like the Prokofiev in the car, my feelings spilled out, sweeping, jumpy, vibrant. “I would actually, literally marry you tomorrow,” I insisted. “I’ve felt that way since the first day I saw you. I would marry you now, this second, not just because of our parents and our friendship, but for so many things.”
He locked the cabinet and turned to me, his expression guarded. “Why are we talking about marriage? I think you’ve been swept up in the magic of the Stradivarius and Bach.”
“Ugh. No. Bach’s violin pieces are trash compared to Tchaikovsky or Mozart.”
“Holiday magic, then.”
I waved a hand, wondering what was in that wine, that a few sips would make me embarrass myself this way. “No, it’s the magic of you being so freaking gentlemanly and handsome and talented. Whenever I’m around you, I feel this pull to you, this excitement to be around you.”
“Because we’ve known each other for so long. That’s all it is, Lala, excitement because we haven’t seen each other in a while.”
Lala.The childhood name both thrilled and infuriated me. I knew he meant to push me away with it. His hard, dark gaze gave me nothing. No words, no agreement or disavowal. It just left me flailing in the open, my hyper-emotional words out there, impossible to take back.
“I’m sorry. I always blurt out this crazy stuff.” I forced a laugh, flushing hot.
“It’s not crazy. We’re good friends, and we share an intense love of music. I’m glad you came to see my Strad, and I’m flattered that you were so moved, but it’s getting late.” I could tell from his tone that he desperately wanted to get rid of me. “I should take you home now,” he said, gesturing for me to precede him out of the room.
We walked back down the hallway to his living room, where Blue sprawled in a dog bed beside the giant fireplace. When he saw us, his tail thumped the floor.
