She wondered if another violinist played it now, in Lasserno’s orchestra, or whether it was locked in a glass case somewhere, on display for all the world to see, with the story of the coronation ring and her grandfather.
The loss of Stefano and the violin was woven into the fabric of her recent past. She didn’t understand how she could unravel it, so all she did was stand there, basking in the acclamation of the crowd, until the applause died away.
Her time was done. She took her final bow and went backstage, handing the Stradivarius to a team of security guards, who locked it back in its case and whisked it away. She accepted congratulations, said goodbye to those in the ensemble who’d played with her, and then exited through the stage door.
A small crowd stood there waiting for her. She smiled. Signed autographs on programmes until the well-wishers thinned. If she’d been carrying her own violin she would have found some transport to take her back to her accommodation. But tonight she would walk.
It was a cool evening, with a chill reminiscent of the mountain castle which had changed her for ever. She wanted that chill to seep into her bones. A reminder of what she’d lost in those beautiful, frozen days in Lasserno.
As she stepped away from the stage door, ready to walk to the boutique hotel the organisers had arranged for her, she glimpsed a final person standing in the shadows, waiting. She readied herself with one more smile for one more autograph. Then the person stepped out of the darkness into the light.
Stefano.
He stood immaculate in a dinner suit, white shirt and black bow tie. The cloth lovingly clasped every inch of his impressive frame. The perfection of his suit was in vivid contrast to the rest of him. His hair was more unruly than she’d seen it before, teasing the neck of his collar. And the ever-present shadow of stubble on his face was now more of a beard. The temptation to reach out, to touch and see if it still prickled under her fingers, almost overwhelmed her. Instead, she clenched her fists tight.
‘Your performance was magnificent,’ he said in a voice that was rough, as if he’d almost forgotten how to speak—just like that first day she’d met him in the doorway of his castle, looking like some gothic hero.
But he wasn’t any kind of hero. He was just a man. And she knew that her performance, the emotion and the ache of it, had all been down to losing him.
‘Thank you.’
She wondered if he’d heard it in her music. What he’d thought if he had.
A sharp breeze gusted down the narrow street past the stage door. She trembled, but not from the cold. Stefano blazed in front of her. He’d always been heat enough to keep her warm. She dug her fingers reflexively into the palm of her hand.
A deep frown interrupted his brow as Stefano took a step forward. ‘Are you hurting?’
Hurting? The ache was relentless—almost like a living thing, gnawing at her insides, day after day. If not for her music it would have broken her irretrievably. And, yes, she still felt as if parts of her were missing.
Lucy took half a step back. Better that than running into his strong arms and hoping he’d catch her when she fell against him.
‘I’m doing fine.’
That was the partial truth. She wasn’t hurting herself in a quest for perfection, or at the demand of another, because she realised now that she wasenough. She always had been. And she deserved someone who could love her with an open heart. No artifice. No agenda.
She was someone with a warm heart herself, brimming to give away some of the love it held. This man in front of her didn’t believe that he could give her that...that he was deserving of what she offered. And she wanted the love, the adoration... Everything she believed she’d experienced in a week trapped in a castle with him.
‘What are you doing here, Stefano?’
‘I came here for your performance. I came here to see you.’
Her heart jumped as if it had been shocked. Behind her, light spilled onto the road as the stage door opened. A few of her fellow musicians came out, stopped.
‘You okay, Lucy? Sure you won’t come for a drink?’
This was her perfect escape. She could leave with these people whose company she’d come to enjoy and escape Stefano for ever.
But she needed closure. She hadn’t had it when she’d fled Castello Varno in those icy mountains. When a sympathetic Bruno had heeded her call, picking her up and driving her to thepensione. Maybe seeing Stefano would help plaster over her damaged heart—because whilst she hadn’t been broken, she’d been left emotionally bruised and bloody.
‘No, thanks. I’m fine,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got things to do.’
They nodded. Said their final goodbyes. Stared at Stefano.
He didn’t acknowledge them at all. His gaze didn’t leave her. It was intense, almost...hungry. Scanning over her as if he was looking for missing pieces. He shouldn’t look for them here. She’d left them behind in his castle, when she’d walked out through the great wooden doors trying not to look back to see if Stefano was watching her.
‘Allow me to give you a lift to your hotel.’
He motioned to a black limousine, which sat cloaked in darkness. She shook her head. Standing metres away from him was bad enough. She’d never cope being cooped up in the cabin of a car with him.