Her heels click across the stage, and then I’m left sitting there alone. The concert hall stretches out in front of me, empty and yet full of promise. The idea of putting myself out there—not just auditioning, but trying to lead the orchestra—is terrifying, but when I remember playing with LGC for the first time and filming the music video, two things I had no experience in doing, the thought of being concertmistress is a little less daunting. The fear of never trying, of watching my dream slip away because I let my worries hold me back—that’s scarier than anything.
Heat rises in my chest as I look out at the empty seats and imagine the hall filled with people. This is what I’ve done since I graduated, since I moved to LA. The stage is home to me, and in a weird way, the orchestra is like my family. And I think my family would want me to succeed.
Before I can lose my nerve, I stand and stride directly to Mr. Edrington’s office. The door is open, and he’s sitting at his desk when I knock gently.
“Ms. Miller, come in.”
I step into his office, my eyes sweeping across the many framed awards and accolades hanging on his walls. There’s a picture of the orchestra on his desk, and there I am in the front row, right next to Eleanor, smiling but looking a bit unsure of myself.
I want to do this for that girl, for the girl who yearns for more but feels constantly weighed down by fear, by the opinions of others, by the little voice in her head that whispers “you’re not good enough.”
Tearing my gaze away, I level a confident look at Mr. Edrington. “I’d like to audition for the concertmistress role.”
chapter 26
IT’S A WARM DAY AT the end of May, and driving to the concert hall with my windows down and the radio on, something feels . . . alive. The air holds the promise of a hot summer, and the sunlight looks brighter somehow, more golden.
Last week I auditioned for the concertmistress position, and Mr. Edrington called three days later to tell me I got the job. My parents were thrilled when I told them. They want to come out this summer to celebrate, and the thought makes my chest buoyant with excitement; I’ve not visited them since the holidays, and I can’t wait to see my dad’s smiling face and feel my mom’s crushing hug.
After telling my parents, I briefly considered unblocking Dex’s number and texting him to share the news. He encouraged me to go after this role, to put myself out there, and some small part of me wants him to know, wants him to be proud of me.
But that was only a brief consideration, and I wiped it from my mind as quickly as possible.
Jordan and Alisha have texted me a few times since the shoot for the music video, and they even convinced me to go to the beach with them this past weekend. None of the guys were there—I made them promise Dex wasn’t going to show up—and it was actually . . . fun. I ended up telling them about my new role, and we celebrated afterward with strawberry margaritas. It felt good, like an actual friendship, and thinking about it now, I’m proud that I put myself out there with them, that I didn’t hide away when they reached out a hand.
There’s a smile on my face as I pull up at the concert hall and park my Civic. This is the last show of the season, and we’ll go on break for the summer before starting up again in the fall. I’m actually looking forward to the summer, which isn’t usually the case. I’d typically hole up in my condo, grumble to Margot about the heat, and generally count the days until the season started again. But I want to do things differently this year. I want to go outside, even if that does mean some people might recognize me and ask for photos. I want to soak up the California sun, and I want to feel the joy of just being alive.
I’m reaching to turn the ignition off when a familiar voice comes out of my car speakers. Dex’s voice is a bit gravelly as he sings the opening lines to “Ghost,” and instead of hurriedly turning it off, like I usually do, I sit back in my seat and listen. The song makes my body remember, and I remember everything: the smell of the recording studio, the taste of Dex’s lips the first time we kissed, the color of the morning sunlight as I watched DTLA come alive from Dex’s back patio. The memories still hurt, are still entwined with the want I have for him, but over time, it’ll ease, and maybe one day I’ll be able to hear him on the radio without wanting to feel his lips on my skin or his hands in my hair.
Unfortunately, I’m not quite there yet.
I turn the car off, and in the silence, I take a deep breath and remind myself that everything is going to be okay.
Grabbing my phone from the console, I call my parents to tell them I’m heading in for my last show of the season. But after five rings, the voicemail picks up. My brow furrows; they rarely fail to answer the phone.
A knock on my window has me turning my head, and Eleanor is standing there, holding her violin case, smiling and waiting to walk into the concert hall with me. So I toss my phone into my bag, open the door, and head in for the last show of the season.
IT’S A FANTASTIC SHOW, AS the last of the season typically is. The concert hall buzzes with the energy of change, of one thing coming to an end in order for another to begin.
Mr. Edrington bows to the audience amidst a roar of applause, then gestures to the orchestra to do the same. The applause grows a little louder, and I think I hear a whoop in the cacophony of sound.
Smiling, Mr. Edrington holds his hands up, and though it takes some time, quiet eventually settles over the audience once more.
“As some of you may already know, our concertmistress, Eleanor Scott, has decided to retire to spend more time with her family.” Mr. Edrington gestures to Eleanor, and a small wave of clapping goes through the hall. “After an arduous audition process, I am truly delighted to announce our new concertmistress, who’ll be taking over for Ms. Scott this fall season. Please allow me to introduce you to Ms. Nora Miller.”
I expect polite applause, but when Mr. Edrington gestures for me to take a step forward, a raucous cheer goes up in the audience. It draws my eye, and though I struggle to make out any faces or shapes with clarity given the bright lights illuminating the stage, a jolt goes through me.
There are eight dark figures standing one row back from the front, and one in particular draws my focus. The person is tall, broad shouldered, and looks suspiciously like—
“Go, Nora!” yells a familiar voice, and my gaze snaps to another figure, this one much wider, built more like a truck.
Sebastian.
Why is he here? And who is he with?
Gentle laughter rolls through the audience, and then Mr. Edrington is bidding everyone good night, telling them we’ll see them this coming fall. The lights in the concert hall slowly rise, and I’m still standing there, staring into the audience, when the figures and faces come into view.
I draw a sudden breath.
Because blue eyes are staring back at me, and they’re so intense, so focused, that they hold me frozen where I stand.
He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing in the audience wearing a suit so tailored it looks like it was hand stitched specifically for him. Shouldn’t be drifting closer, slipping through the surprised and awestruck concertgoers with his gaze firmly holding mine.
The world around me goes quiet, seems to slow as Dex makes his way toward me. And I’m still standing in shock when he uses one hand to boost himself up onto the stage, ignoring all the wide-eyed stares he gets along the way.
Now he’s only a few paces away, blond hair turned gold under the stage lights, and he’s looking right at me, holding me hostage with his intense gaze.
“Congratulations, Nora.”
His voice sends a tremble through my body. A wave of yearning rises up within me, so strong it could sweep me out to sea. But I push it down, restrain it.
It’s been months. I shouldn’t still feel this way.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper. I can feel curious stares, know people must be watching, but I don’t care. All I see is him.
Now he’s taking a step forward, slowly closing the distance between us. He’s so close that I could reach out and brush my thumb against his lip ring, could trace my fingertips across the shell of his ear. But I don’t. I stand still, body tense, confusion and desire warring for control of my racing heart.
