RUSH (City Lights, #3)(99)
*
Sunday night. My last night, and I let myself cry into his pillows. I’d spent the entire day in preparation to leave the next morning, and he hadn’t called. Was he really going to let me leave the city without saying goodbye? Or was I the one who was leaving without calling him, without telling him that I loved him too. More than I thought possible.
It didn’t matter. I couldn’t get on that plane the next day without hearing his voice and knowing what he thought or felt. I grabbed my cell phone off the side table, found his number in my cell and punched it.
He’s not going to answer. Because it’s over. I just know it.
“Hi, babe.”
I closed my eyes against the swift rush of emotion that swamped me at the sound of his voice. And he sounded terrible, hoarse and tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m sorry to call you so late. Or at all. I didn’t know if you wanted to talk to me…”
“Of course, I do,” he said. “I’ve wanted to talk to you every day the last few days. But I was afraid to make it harder on us.”
“It’s already too hard.”
“I know.” He inhaled sharply. “Lucien told me about your audition. That’s incredible and yet I’m not surprised at all. I’m so proud of you.”
“I leave tomorrow,” I said. “Did Lucien tell you that too?”
“Don’t cry, baby,” Noah said, sounding anguished. “Please don’t cry.”
“I don’t have much say in the matter. Noah, is this the right thing? Because it feels awful.”
“It is. Please trust me.” He made a harsh sound, clearing the tears out of his voice. “Lucien is going to take you to the airport tomorrow. He’ll meet you at the townhouse around eleven.”
“And where will you be?”
“Wishing I was there, to kiss you and hold you one last time before you go. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whispered. “I love you, Noah. So much.”
“Have a safe flight, Charlotte,” he said and then the line went quiet.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Charlotte
Lucien drove me to JFK for my four o’clock flight to Vienna, Austria. I was grateful for the ride, and glad he was there, so I could thank and say goodbye to the man I considered my fairy godfather in many ways.
“Oh, wonderful,” I groused, wiping my eyes. “I’m a mess already and I haven’t even gone through security.”
“Charlotte, my dear, it has been an honor knowing you,” Lucien said, his own eyes wet. He bent in a formal bow and kissed my hand. “You will no doubt be as bright a shining star to the audiences of Europe as you have been in our lives here.”
I threw my arms around his neck, inhaling his cologne and his smoky elegance. “Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything. For him.”
I felt him shake his head. “It is you who has given Noah back to us. For that, I can never repay you.”
“Keep him safe, Lucien. Whatever he does or whatever he thinks he has to do, you keep him safe.” I smiled through my tears. “That’s how you repay me.”
*
Noah
I had my ear buds in, listening to the computer read back the prologue when Lucien returned. I felt his hand on my shoulder and shut off the translator.
“Did she make it through okay?”
“Yes, yes,” he said. I heard him lower himself into the chair across from the desk. “She made it fine.”
“How did she look?”
“Lovely, bien s?r,” Lucien replied, I heard him shift, pull out his package of Dunhills longingly, but my parents didn’t let him smoke in the house. “Are you quite certain that you wish to do this?”
I barked a short laugh. “Hell no. But you know what’s at stake. You just took her to the airport.”
Lucien made a noise but I could hear he was smiling. “Indeed.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Charlotte
Vienna, Austria
The Vienna Touring Orchestra practiced at the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, a gorgeous coral and white architectural marvel on the outside, and a gilded concert hall on the inside. Sabina Gessel toured the foreigners in her new ensemble through the hall, our necks craned, our tongues practically lolling. It was where we were to begin our tour—in two weeks’ time; with a series that was almost entirely Mozart.
“A Viennese critic once said the Gesellschaft was Mozart’s “Jupiter” symphony come to life.” Sabine winked at me. “We’ll find out, shan’t we?”
For our Vienna stay, the entire orchestra—all sixty of us—were set up in the Hotel Domizil, a charming little hotel that was a short walk to the Stephansplatz station from which we could explore Vienna, and a literal two minute walk from Mozarthaus, the flat where my beloved composer lived for a time while he wrote one of his most famous operas, The Marriage of Figaro.
The jetlag hadn’t even worn off when I walked down there with my roommate, Annalie Dalman, a chain-smoking, red-headed flautist from Innsbruck. I suspected Sabina paired me up with her because of our close proximity in age, and so that Annalie could help me with my German, which was terrible.