Page 216
Ipluck a grape from the cluster and chew it slowly while my left hand slides over the sheet music. The loggia is cold, the lanterns flicker against the beams, casting warm glows that mingle with the dull green of the woods.
I lean over the paper, writing, erasing, and rewriting. The grape seed falls without a sound. I look up, the trees tremble in the mist, the afternoon light barely filtering through.
I cannot stop.
This melody claims me.
I pluck another grape, bringing it slowly to my lips, the juice exploding on my tongue. My fingers graze the score as I reread the notes.
I have never composed like this.
Every line seems a struggle of overlapping sounds that chase and collide with one another. The rhythm accelerates, more insistent, more pulsing, almost... carnal.
Was a single kiss from that man truly enough to ignite all this in me?
I turn the page over to hide what I have seen.
No—it wasn’t just a kiss. It was never… it was never about that with Dorian.
Footsteps echo on the wooden boards of the loggia. I turn slightly, my mother is standing at the entrance.
I straighten in my chair.
“Mother.”
She approaches slowly, her dark eyes sliding over the scores.
“Is everything proceeding as it should?”
“Yes, Mother.”
She lifts her gaze toward the mist-veiled woods.
“You must be impeccable, Evander.”
“As always.”
She presses her lips together.
“No. Much more than that.”
I nod and lower my head.
Her gaze slides to the grapes scattered on the table.
“You told me I was mistaken, yet here you are, actually doing it again.”
I take the performance scores into my hands.
“Doing what?”
She narrows her eyes, plucks a grape, and holds it between her fingers. Then she squeezes slowly, letting the juice drip onto the polished wood.
“Accepting inappropriate attentions.”
Then she shifts her gaze toward the forest. “You must go to see Mademoiselle Agnes.”
“Mother, you will not choose for me.”
