(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (23 page)

“You didn’t. It was too beautiful to waste on a boring contract.” He stood up and kissed Cary’s head.

“I’m playing it in an old monastery in Villefranche-de-Rouergue next month. The acoustics there are incredible. I’m hoping to get a good recording of the concert. Georges was able to arrange it to coincide with my concert in Toulouse.”

“I may have to tag along.”

“Would you?” It wasn’t often that Antonio traveled with him, but Cary loved it when he did.

“I’ll check with Valentia to see if she can cover for me, but it should be fine.” He walked over to the bedroom. “I’ve got a lunch meeting I need to get to. Where’s your father?”

“Sleeping in. Said he wasn’t feeling well. I guess the dinner last night was a little too rich for his stomach.” Cary cleaned the rosin dust from the strings and fingerboard, then wiped the wood beneath the strings and set his cello in its case. He inhaled deeply; he loved the familiar pine scent of the rosin. Then he laughed and added, “I personally think it was the three bottles of wine we polished off. John can certainly hold his alcohol, can’t he? And what would we do without you to pick the good stuff?”

“Right.” Antonio wore a faraway expression as he rubbed the stubble on his jaw.

“Everything okay?” Cary laced his fingers through Antonio’s and kissed him.

“Fine. Sorry,” Antonio said, clearly distracted. “I’d better get in the shower, or I’m going to be late. Are you eating here tonight?”

“Definitely. I told Roberta to cook something easy on the stomach. And maybe we’ll stick with water this time.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be home by seven.” He ruffled Cary’s hair and headed into the bedroom.

“
F
EELING better?”

John rubbed his eyes and coughed. “Just needed a little extra sleep, I guess. We’ve been going pretty fast and furious with the sightseeing since I got here last week. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“How’s your stomach? Can I get you something for it?”

“Stomach?” John looked surprised. “Nah, my stomach’s pretty much cast iron. But I’d love a cup of coffee, if you’re offering.”

“Sure,” Cary answered, thinking his father’s skin looked a bit pasty and deciding what John needed was food, in addition to the coffee.

“Antonio left?”

“About an hour ago. Lunch meeting.”

“He works a lot, doesn’t he?” John sat down at the table while Cary put the grounds in the espresso machine and heated some milk.

“I don’t know. I guess I never noticed. I’m gone a lot more than he is.”

“Well, that’s to be expected, isn’t it? What with an international solo career. Of course you’d travel.”

Cary set out a few dishes and began to pull some cheese out of the refrigerator.

“I’m sure it must be hard on him.”

“I… I guess maybe.” Cary had never really thought about it, at least not since they had first gotten together. Sure, Antonio always seemed happy to have him around, and he seemed happy when he returned from a gig out of town, but still…. “Did he say something to you about it?” Cary asked with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“No.” John took a piece of bread and spread some cheese on it. “But sometimes you sense these kinds of things.”

I haven’t sensed it
, Cary thought with some alarm.
Maybe I should have.
He wondered if John was right. It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Antonio had mentioned traveling with him to France. And that distracted look he had seen on Antonio’s face—was he disappointed Cary was leaving again?

The familiar guilt returned with a vengeance.
But he never
would
complain about my traveling.
Antonio never complained.

“So what are we doing today?” John asked, interrupting Cary’s thoughts.

“I promised to pick Massi up from school. I thought we’d take him for gelato. He’s been pestering me for it ever since his teacher told him it was spring.” Cary chuckled and sat down across the table. “I haven’t had much luck convincing him it’s still a little cold for ice cream.”

“I have to admit the kid’s cute. What’s his mother like?”

“Smart, like her son. Talented too. She’s an artist.”

“Really? So she and Antonio are divorced?”

“No. It’s a little complicated. Francesca’s a little older than Tonino. They grew up together in the wine country. She was single and she really wanted a child.”

“So Antonio got it up for a woman? Guess he’s more man than I gave him credit for. Interesting.”

For a moment, Cary was too stunned to speak.

“Oh, Cary,” John said with a laugh. “I was joking. Really, don’t look so offended.”

“Sorry.” Cary did his best not to reveal his true feelings. “I guess I’m just a little sensitive about the topic of sexual orientation.”

“I’m sure you must have slept with at least one woman,” John said as he brought the hot coffee to his lips.

Cary felt suddenly cold. “I don’t think this is something I really want to talk about.”

John looked at first surprised, then a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply….” His voice trailed off, and Cary wondered silently what other implication there might be other than that he and Antonio were somehow less “men” than their heterosexual counterparts.

“Look,” Cary said at last, seeking to dispel the uncomfortable atmosphere, “I guess you could say I’m a little thin-skinned about this. Mom wasn’t exactly thrilled when I came out to her.” He realized his hand was now clenched around his cup, and he forced himself to relax. He didn’t want an argument about this topic with his father, not when they were just getting to know each other again.

Besides, it’s not like he gave you any grief when you warned him about you and Tonino. He knew what you were, and he was at least okay enough about it that he still made the trip.

“Maybe if your mother had lived longer, she’d have changed her mind about gays. I’m sorry, though, really. I didn’t mean to offend you. Antonio is a wonderful man.”

Cary nearly sighed in relief. “I’m glad you think so” was all he said.

See? You overreacted. Next time, just give him a chance.
And yet he couldn’t completely silence the small voice in his mind that told him it wasn’t such a simple thing to dismiss.

“
D
UCK!” Cary warned as he carried Massi on his shoulders through the front door. “You don’t want to hit your head.” With a grin, John reached up and guided Massimo’s head under the doorframe.

“We’re home, Roberta,” Massimo called happily as Cary set him down on a counter in the kitchen. “Grandpa John bought me an ice cream on the piazza after school!”

“Lucky boy.” The housekeeper winked at Cary and his father as she joined them a moment later. “Would you like to come to the store and help me pick out some dessert for tonight?”

“Can we have chocolate?” Massimo asked.

“Are you kidding? What else would we have?” Cary asked. “You know how your papà loves it.”

“What does your papà love?” Antonio said as he walked into the kitchen. He nodded to John, kissed Cary, then grabbed Massimo and hoisted him up over a broad shoulder.

“Chocolate,” Massimo said between giggles. “Roberta and I are going to get some dessert at the store.”

Antonio reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills. “Is this enough?” he asked Roberta.

“I’ll need a few more this time,” she replied as she retrieved a pile of shopping bags from out of a cabinet by the kitchen door. “I need to buy a bit more cognac and limoncello while I’m out. We’re also out of beer again.”

“No problem.” Antonio handed her another fifty euros.

“
Grazie
,
signori
,” Roberta said. “We’ll be back in an hour. I’ve left some cheese out on the counter. Help yourselves.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Antonio said after Roberta had left. “I’ll join you both later.”

“Sure,” Cary said as he walked over to the fridge. “Water?” he asked his father.

“Sure. Thanks.”

As he poured their water, Cary was struck by the fact that Antonio rarely showered when he got home from work.
Strange. He almost seemed like he was avoiding us.
Cary brushed the thought from his mind.

“Enjoying your visit so far?” Cary asked as he and John settled down on the couch in the living room a few minutes later.

“Immensely. And you?”

“I’m having a good time.” He smiled at his father and put his feet up on the ottoman.

“But…?”

“But,” Cary answered with a sigh, “I’ve taken too much time off from practicing. I’m going to need to get back to it.”

“I heard you practicing this morning after breakfast,” John pointed out.

“Yeah. But an hour or two isn’t enough. I need more like six hours these days, what with the new composition David Somers wrote for me and the concert gigs coming up next month.”

John said nothing.

“We can still do some sightseeing,” Cary added. “I’ll need to schedule a bit more practice time into our plans.”

“Oh.” John leaned back against the cushions and sipped his water.

“Sorry.” Cary felt surprisingly guilty, although he was loath to understand why—his father knew his music was a job. He shrugged it off as his own natural tendency toward guilt, then continued, “So what would you like to see tomorrow?”

“I’ll have to look at the guidebook to find something that’ll fit into your schedule.” John looked toward the window but said nothing more.

Shit.
Cary fidgeted and did his best to get more comfortable on the couch, but with little success. “It’s not a problem,” he said at last. “I can skip tomorrow, if you’ve got something more time-consuming in mind. It’ll wait a day.”

His father’s expression brightened. “That’d be great. I appreciate it,” he said and launched into a discussion of a villa outside of the city he had been hoping to see.

“
S
OMETHING bothering you?” Antonio said as Cary rearranged his pillows for the fifth time since they had turned in.

“Nothing. Just restless, I guess.”

“How’s the new piece coming?”

“David’s piece?”

“Is there another one?”

“No.” Cary repositioned himself again. “It’s coming along fine, I guess.”

“You haven’t had much time to practice since your father came.”

“It’s okay,” he lied. “I’ve still got five months before the premiere.”

“How about I take your father out on Saturday? That’d give you some time to yourself, without any of us around.”

“But that’s not fair to you. He’s
my
father. I should be the one making sure—”

“And I’m your partner,” Antonio interrupted. “And I’m offering.”

“Sorry,” Cary said. “That’d be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“I don’t mind.” Antonio chuckled and rolled over to face Cary. “But if you’re thankful,” he continued with an evil grin, “I can think of a way you can show it.”

“Really? I can’t imagine how I might do that.” He nuzzled Antonio’s neck and began to lick around his ear, drawing a contented sigh from his partner.

Chapter 20

R
ETURN
OF
THE
T
HIEF

“
B
REAKFAST?” Cary asked as Antonio poked his head into the kitchen.

“Where’s your father?”

“Still sleeping. We got in a bit later than I’d planned last night.”

Cary’s head ached. He’d gotten out of the habit of drinking so much since he and Antonio had gotten together. Once he had given up the bar scene, he found he just didn’t need it. He’d taken a few headache pills, but they hadn’t kicked in yet.

“I noticed,” Antonio said with a quick kiss to Cary’s cheek.

Cary tensed and looked down at the stove, pushing around the egg he’d been frying. It had started out as over easy but was now looking more like scrambled.

“I’ll take some eggs, since you’re offering. Scrambled is fine.” He handed Cary the carton from the fridge, and Cary began cracking the eggs into the pan. “Something bothering you?”

“Nah,” Cary lied, kicking himself for being so obvious.

It’s just your own fucked-up guilt. He wasn’t complaining about the late night….

Antonio laced his arms through Cary’s, kissing him on the neck. “Careful,” Cary warned. “I wouldn’t want to burn you.”

“I’m already burned.” Antonio’s voice was husky. “But you’re avoiding my question.”

Cary pushed the eggs around again in the pan, although he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing. He was trying to figure out how he could avoid this conversation entirely.

“Please, caro. Tell me.”

Another moment of silence; then: “You never complain.”

“What?”

“I come home after midnight, I travel a lot, and you don’t say anything.”

“Why should I?” Antonio asked, frowning. “You aren’t a child.”

Cary wasn’t sure how to answer. The man had a point, didn’t he? Of course he didn’t have to ask permission to stay out late. And he had never made any bones about the demands of his career. “No. I guess you’re right. It’s just that sometimes… I don’t know… you’re
too
patient with me. Too… nice.” Cary had wanted to hear more. Maybe something like
I don’t like it when you’re gone,
or
I wish you wouldn’t stay out so late.