I’ve practiced for at least five hours a day, every single day, over the last three weeks. Ivy scoffed at first, but when she realized I was actually doing the exercises she set and practicing all the time, she started to help, giving me pointers and feedback.
And at my request, she played the other waltz—the one in C-sharp minor that Yuna likes even better than the one I’m practicing. Ivy told me it’s too technically demanding for me to attempt, so I should stick to the A minor waltz.
Then, when she thought I was ready, she set this up so Yuna would come over and listen to me play. Ivy told me if I went to the hotel to play, Yuna would never give me a chance. And given how things went at the Aylster, I’m sure Ivy’s right.
I feel like I’m suffocating as the silence stretches. Cold sweat coats my palms. Shit.
My mouth dries. I swallow. I wish I brought a bottle of water with me. Did she hate it? I
s it why it’s taking her so long to give an opinion?
She might as well criticize it harshly. She was pretty tough on Melvin’s daughter. And I’m nowhere near good enough to apply to a conservatory.
Finally, Yuna’s voice comes from the other side of the partition. “Not bad.”
That’s all? Not bad? Am I just totally fucked?
“Actually, I’m pretty impressed,” she adds.
I sag with relief. Okay, not fucked. I’m at some level above “fucked.”
She continues, “The tempo was good and the interpretation was sensitive and delicate, as it should be.”
I let out a breath I’ve been holding. She liked it! That means I have a chance at getting her back.
“The only thing that was a little jarring was the twenty-first measure, where he lost control of the notes.”
I stiffen. Twenty-first measure? Ivy wasn’t kidding when she said this is Yuna’s favorite, because she knows the piece measure by measure. I look at the music and cringe. I thought I had that part down pat. I put in extra practice on it because it was a little awkward.
“Yeah, but other than that, I think it was good,” Ivy says.
Thank you, Ivy!
“I’m not saying it wasn’t good. But I wanted to be thorough. You know I’m always thorough.”
“You are.” Ivy’s phone rings. “Sorry, I have to take this call. Excuse me.”
That’s the cue for me to do the rest, because I’m the one who has to close this out and talk to Yuna. My heart starts racing even faster.
When Ivy’s steps fade away, I stand up and walk around the partition. Blood seems to thunder in my ears with every step.
Yuna is simply stunning, sitting there in a pale teal maxi dress that flows over her like a waterfall. The sight calls out to me, making me want to run over and hold her. But I restrain myself. That would likely only earn me a figurative slap in the face.
“Yuna,” I manage to rasp.
She stiffens. For a moment, she can’t say anything. Then… “What are you doing there, hiding like a thief?”
“I wasn’t hiding, exactly. I was playing the piano.”
She looks from me to the rice-paper screen, putting it together. “You played that Chopin?”
I nod. “You said you would consider forgiveness for a perfect Chopin waltz.”
“It wasn’t perfect,” she says softly, then stands and walks around me to gaze at the piano for a moment.
My lungs tighten. This hurts worse than seeing the first shitty review of my acting performance. It’s so damn personal, and the pain hits right in the heart. “Then I’ll practice more until it is.”
“How much did you have to practice to get this far?” She steps closer to the piano and runs her fingers gently along the keys.