Nocturne (23 page)

That did it.

I reached for the nearest object, which happened to be my composition notebook on the desk, and sent it toward his head. His hands couldn’t move up in time so he overcompensated with an exaggerated duck, knocking him off balance and planting him on his ass.

There.

“
Stop
!” he yelled. “Stop throwing shit at me for a second and listen to me.”

Not trusting myself, I crossed my arms in front of me and took a step back as he righted himself on his feet, dressing the rest of the way. He pulled his shirt over his head and walked toward me, tentatively bringing his hands to my shoulders.

“
Don’t
touch me.” I didn’t attempt to move out of his hold, though. He just needed to know that I didn’t
want
to want him to touch me.

But I did. Still.

“Savannah.” He took a deep breath and, instinctively, as if we were starting our piece together, I took one in time with him. “You asked what I’d call last night. Fucking amazing. That’s what last night was.” His voice shook as his hands worked over my shoulders in a conciliatory manner I didn’t care for.

“Don’t you dare tell me you just got swept up in the moment, Gregory. What you did in that bed was more than getting
carried away.
” My goddamn chin quivered then, but I bit the inside of my lip to make it stop. It didn’t work.

Gregory shook his head. “I didn’t get carried away this morning Savannah. I got carried away by you long before last night. That alone doesn’t mean this can go on …”

“Then why did you stay when we were finished?” I whispered, looking down.

“Look at me.”

It was in a different tone than a couple of hours earlier but caused the same internal reaction in my gut. I lifted my eyes.

“I stayed because I love you, and cutting the past few hours even minutes shorter would have been excruciating.”

“You don’t tell someone you’re in love with them and take it away all in the same breath, Gregory. That’s not fair.”

“I haven’t taken anything away, Savannah. I do love you.”

“Stop saying it!” I stepped out of his grasp and ran a hand through my hair as I walked out of the bedroom and headed down the stairs, trying to distance myself from the oncoming tears.

I heard him sigh with a little growl at the tail end of it as he followed me down the stairs. That better not have been directed toward me. He was the one ruining everything.

“I need you to leave.” I
hated
that my voice shook as I spoke the words. I reached for the doorknob, but his hand stopped me, fingers wrapping tightly around my wrist.

“Don’t do this, Savannah,” he pleaded, tilting his head to the side the way he had before he kissed me last night.

“You don’t do
this
then, Gregory. Don’t tell me we have to leave what happened between us upstairs.”

I knew if I didn’t blink then the tears couldn’t fall, and he couldn’t watch my heart breaking all the way down my cheeks. But, we all have to blink sometime.

Gregory grabbed me and pulled me in, holding my head against his chest. “You know we have to, Savannah. At least for now.”

I nodded. He was right. There was no way we could continue while I was still in school. I scrambled around inside my brain, searching for a way.

“You … you’ll still work on the piece with me, though. Right?” I was committing emotional suicide inside my request, but there was no other way for us to be … an
us
.

“Are you sure?” He held me at arms’ length and seemed to be studying my face.

I nodded my head, rapidly, unsure of my words. I chewed on them for a moment, and then I said, “Just … one thing. You never … asked me how long.”

“How long what?” He gently shook his head in apparent confusion.

“You didn’t ask me how long I’ve been in love with you.”

I reached for the doorknob again, allowing us onto the porch and into the thick late-August air.

He swallowed hard and looked past my shoulder for a split second before meeting my eyes again. “How long have you … been in love with me?” It was like he was afraid of my answer, the way he had to pull his own words out of this mouth.

Leaning forward, I took both his hands in mine, looking up just slightly, and waited for his eyes to fall on me. When they did, I took a resolute breath. “I think always.” With a puzzled look on his face, he looked like he was going to respond, but I cut him off. “Let me finish. I remember staring at you during my audition. I knew who you were and I knew how tough you were. I wanted to get in, more than anything, but I also wanted to impress
you
. Then I didn’t see you again until class last semester. I still had this desire to make you notice me, to make you notice my music. Then, you hated me.”

“No, I never hated you, Savannah. I was just—”

“Falling in love with me,” I whispered.

He just nodded.

“So, what now?”

He sighed. And my stomach sank as he reached up and moved a piece of hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. “Now? Now we practice together. We spend the year preparing you for your senior recital. I can help you work with Madeline to select pieces to audition with, if you’d like. But, we respect each other. I respect your position as a student, and you respect mine as a professor. We move forward cautiously and responsibly. No surprises. You’re a student.” He seemed to be reminding himself of that measly little fact any chance he got.

Grasping at straws, trying to fight my way back through the wall he was slowly rebuilding, I blurted out, “Not for another two weeks.”

“What?”

“Until classes start again. Not until we start practicing together. I’m not a student for another two weeks.” My tone may have sounded slightly panicked.

“Savannah, I don’t see what that has—”

Before I could think further than the next ten seconds, I shook my hands from his and placed them on either side of his face, pulling his lips to mine. His lips were tight as he inhaled sharply through his nose. I wasn’t letting go. Not until he kissed me back. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sinking as he ran his hands up my sides and wrapped them behind my neck. As his fingers knotted gently through the back of my hair, his mouth opened slightly. Just barely. It was enough for me to deepen the kiss, so I did. A soft and low moan, barely audible, vibrated from Gregory’s throat as he pulled me in even tighter, his soft tongue gently caressing mine.

In two weeks we would have to pretend. To ignore how we felt. I wanted to perform with him, without question. But, during those few seconds kissing him, I had the fleeting desire to walk away from everything and run off with him. With that thought I hastily pulled away from our kiss, resting my forehead on his, both of us breathing heavily. Before either one of us could say anything, before we could even open our eyes, the shutting of a car door kicked us back to reality.

Madeline. Shit.

Gregory dropped his hands to his hips and looked down, closing his eyes tightly as if trying to wake himself up. Unfortunately, this was no dream. Madeline was walking toward us quite calmly. Rather than cross my arms in front of my chest as if I’d done something wrong, I stood a little straighter and gave her a smile.

“Good morning, Madeline.” My voice was embarrassingly squeaky.

“Morning, Savannah. Gregory.” Her tone was darkly playful.

Gregory slowly turned around. “Madeline,” he said through clenched teeth, as if he were trying to prevent himself from throwing up.

Madeline looked between the two of us a few times. Smacking her lips and arching her eyebrow, she finally spoke. “I trust that now that the two of you have gotten that out of your system, there won’t be any problems this semester?” It was less of a question, and, really, more a statement. A requirement. She didn’t wait for our answer before turning on her heels and walking inside, closing the door I’d left open behind her.

Shit. I blew it. I thought for sure Gregory would be incensed that I could have just caused a
major
problem for the both of us. We were lucky, all things considered, that it was Madeline who happened upon us. And that it had been out here on the porch and
not
the second floor of her house. I felt my cheeks heat as I nervously looked at him.

“I’m sorry, Gregory,” I cleared my throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure, “I didn’t mean to—”

Gregory’s index finger lifted my chin. “Don’t be.” His thumb gently stroked my cheek, as his eyes danced back and forth across from mine. His tone was gentle, soothing. Reassuring. “It can’t happen again, though, Savannah. Understood?”

I bit my lip and nodded. “Understood.”

The next five seconds held us in space, looking into each other’s eyes at the truths we were going to have to ignore in order to come out of the next year in one piece. With our careers intact. Finally, Gregory let his hand drop from my face, and without another word, he put his hands in his pockets and turned away from me, walking gracefully down the stairs and toward his car.

I watched until he was out of sight. Just standing on the porch in my t-shirt, with the memory of his touch burned into my body.

Gregory

I
t can’t happen again.

Walking down the narrow hall to the practice rooms, I mentally repeated my command to Savannah from the front porch of Madeline’s house two short weeks ago. She had nodded her understanding through flushed cheeks and those wide brown eyes of hers before responding. I had to repeat it, because I was about to see her for the first time since that morning.

We’d managed to arrange our practice session with a minimum amount of awkwardness. Granted, the exchange was through email, but her language suggested she was ready to forge ahead with the Assobio a Jato piece in preparation for her recital without hesitation. I planned to suggest pieces for her to audition for orchestras. I’d been through and to enough auditions to know what would easily get her a spot.

She
would
be auditioning for major companies. I would see to it with everything I had. If Nathan Connors could land Chicago—the thought caused me to roll my eyes as I rounded the corner—Savannah could have her pick of orchestras. 

I saw the door to the last room on the right was open, and I knew Savannah would be in there. She often left the door open while practicing. Not all the way, but enough that I could hear a bit of her sessions if I happened to pass by, the way one might catch the scent of the tulips as they walked through the Common in the middle of spring.

The sound coming through the space in the door wasn’t her flute, though it was equally as beautiful. It was her voice. She was on her phone. Despite the carefree resonance of her laugh, I felt rising irritation that she wasn’t warming up in preparation for our session.

At the sight of her, I had to immediately suppress my thoughts. Her bare skin, and how it felt under my fingertips. Her hair, damp with sweat, splayed out on the pillow as she arched her head back. The soft heat of her lips as they pressed into mine, breaking every code of conduct I’d established for myself. I had to force my mind away from all of that. This was about the music. This was about our lesson. I reminded myself that her discipline to the craft needed some serious attention.

Savannah sucked in a quick, startled breath as I unceremoniously marched through the door, set down my cello case, and pointedly closed the door behind me.

She smiled when she saw me, and I almost regretted my gruff entrance. “Hey, uh, he’s here. I have to go. Good luck tonight, we’ll talk more later. Love you.”

She shut her phone and leaned over to set it in her bag. Her yellow tank top clung to her body in a way that recalled how she looked without it. Flawless. Sun-kissed skin from her head down her breathtakingly long legs.

Love you? Who is she talking to? Who makes her face light up like that?

“Turn it off first.” I used the same tone with her that I used with all of my first-time students. I knew she wasn’t a student of
mine
, but she was a student I was working with, and I intended to hold her to the same expectations. Regardless of how her skin felt beneath my lips.

It can’t happen again. Ever.

Her eyes shot to mine as her smile faded. “Sorry.” With blushing cheeks, she turned off her phone before tucking it into her bag. I was the one who was sorry, in that instant.

I hated seeing that smile leave her face.

But we’d been wrong. And I had to be the one to set the expectations and tone of our relationship. It killed me to hurt her. But I couldn’t give her any illusions at all. Our relationship
would
be professional.

“I expect that when we practice together, Savannah, you’re ready to go at the start of our time. I know I suggested we collaborate on this piece for your recital, but neither of us have an excess of time. I’ve been playing all morning, so I’m warmed up. I expect you to be warmed up, as well.” While this was my normal spiel, and it usually produced the same sheepish response from students, it lit a familiar fire in Savannah’s eyes.