‘Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart and relax.’
‘I’m holding the three-hundred-year-old instrument of a renowned violinist, Lucy. I’m unable torelax.’
That, and he could sense her warmth. The knowledge of her standing close was sending a shiver down his spine.
She snorted. ‘Fair point. Now, put the violin on the top of your shoulder, cheek and chin on the rest, try not to tense up...’
He simply listened to her lilting voice, followed what she told him to do.
‘I just need to adjust you a bit, okay?’ she said.
‘Of course.’
Her hands were on him then, and he was captive to her gentle touch, changing his position. Hers to move however she pleased as she murmured words of encouragement. He lost himself in her, forgetting about the valuable instrument he held, focussed entirely on her because nothing else existed. He wondered if anything ever would again after this. It was as if the longer she was here, the more she was changing him.
Lucy stood back a little, inspected him. ‘You’re perfect.’
He wished he was...but that man didn’t exist any more. Still, he would pretend—for her.
She approached again, from the front. ‘Now, draw the bow across the strings.’
Stefano did, and the violin gave an unearthly screech. He stopped immediately.
Lucy laughed. ‘Everyone does that the first time they play—even me. It’s not about failing; it’s about not giving up. Here.’
She adjusted the bow’s position a fraction, her fingers warm on his skin.
‘Try again.’
He did, and the note reverberated through him, a clear, crisp sound. One. Perfect. Note.
‘You did it!’
Her smile was like the midday sun hitting snowfall. It blinded him.
‘A beautifully played D! I know it’s not a piano, but you said you’d always wanted to play an instrument. Maybe you can learn?’
He handed her back the violin, her bow, and she did what she needed to with them before placing them safely back in the case.
‘Thank you.’
His voice sounded cracked. He’d enjoyed many advantages of his birth, his position, but of all the things he’d been able to do this moved him more than any other. Her thoughtfulness, everything about her, called to him. All he wanted to do was reach out...touch. Let her brilliance cleanse him of his many sins.
Lucy shifted her violin out of the way and flexed her hand. Pressed her thumb deep into her palm.
‘You do that often,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘I suffered an injury and I’ve had to rest it. But since I’ve been here it hasn’t been too bad.’
‘And I asked you to play for me. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
She’d been reluctant to play when he’d asked and perhaps this was the reason why.
‘It was good. I’ve been at a...a crossroads. Playing hasn’t been as joyful as it once was. I’ve been wondering if I should stop—but then who would I be?’
It was a terrifyingly familiar sentiment.
Lucy continued working her thumb into her wrist and then into her forearm. He hoped her playing today hadn’t hurt her. If it had, it was just another thing to feel guilty for.