Aldo stumbled and said, “Are you thriving?”
“Excuse me?”
He smiled and said, “Um ... are you well?”
Aldo had been studying his vocabulary, apparently. “I’m thriving,” I replied. “Excuse me.”
There was no question it was him. He didn’t see me yet, so I slowed my pace as I crossed the floor. And watched him.
He wore a simple tuxedo, and his shoulders were pulled back and tense. His head was moving fractionally back and forth, as if he were scanning the crowd. Gregory’s hair had grown enough to reveal a slight wave that I didn’t know existed. He bore a relaxed look I’d never seen before.
As I stood in what felt like the center of the room, but was far off to one side, he turned around. He was twenty feet from me, but from the emotion that passed between us, he might as well have been touching me. Unlike most of the men at the ball, he wore no mask. His eyes, startling blue in this light, arrested me.
And I froze.
Impervious to the ballerinas, their dates, and people who thought they ought to be ballerinas circling around me in vodka-sponsored jubilance, I fought to hang on to some sense of composure.
Gregory took a deep breath, his shoulders rising, then lifted his chin slightly and walked directly toward me. I was in a trance, afraid that if I looked away even for an instant he would disappear.
“Savannah.” He reached out a confident hand and ran the tips of his fingers along the jewels of my mask.
I nodded and then shook my head. Yes. No. Contradictory actions mirroring my emotions. “What … how … why?”
Slowly, his other hand came to the other side of my mask and with painful deliberation he lifted it until it rested on top of my head. He slid his hands down the sides of my face, stopping when he reached my jaw where he held them there. Held me there.
“What are you doing here? Don’t you have shows this week?” I continued, as his eyes fell on my lips.
“There are no more shows for me. I resigned, Savannah.”
Of course. I knew that, but it still didn’t explain what he was doing here, holding my face. Or tracing my bottom lip with his thumb.
Snapping back to reality for a moment, I was again aware of the party surrounding us. I reached up to my face and grabbed his hand and led him out the nearest door, which spilled us out onto a narrow balcony. I barely noticed the icy wind that blew along the outside wall of the building. “You left? What the hell do you mean you left?”
“It was time for me to make some changes in my life.”
I stopped my unattractive pacing and held out my hands. “And the cello?”
“I have another cello ... one that isn’t so priceless that it becomes more valuable than the people in my life. I sold the Montagnana—”
“Auctioned it,” I cut him off, “and gave the money to the conservatory. For the new program you’re funding. I read the article in the Globe. You can’t leave the BSO, Gregory.”
He shrugged. “I’ve already left.”
“It makes no sense.” I was breathing faster, sending small white clouds of frozen breath into the space around us. A chill ran through me and I wrapped my arms around my body.
“It makes perfect sense, Savannah.” He shrugged off his tuxedo coat and wrapped it around my shoulders, leaving his hands on my upper arms. “I can play the cello anywhere.”
I didn’t want to bring it up, but for once I had to. “But, your wife …” I swallowed the pain of that phrase and stared straight ahead.
“We divorced. It was final a few days before Christmas.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back.
“So … you didn’t leave because you stayed with Karin and decided to have children?” I’d intended that to be more of an internal, rhetorical thought, but it spilled out anyway. Gregory’s eyes bulged as he leaned his head forward as if he hadn’t heard me properly.
“Children? Savannah—”
“I know,” I cut him off, “I know you said you don’t want kids, but there was no reason for you to leave the BSO, or to sell your cello … or to come here.”
I sniffed as the wind bit at my eyes and nose. Finally directing my eyes back to him, I said, “What are you doing here?” My teeth chattered in the pause before his answer.
“I came here to ask for your forgiveness.”
My forgiveness? “I don’t ... forgive what?”
He stepped closer to me ... an inch? More? I have no idea how close. Then he said, “I wasn’t there when you needed me. I couldn’t put you first. I had … too much … weight in my life. The cello, the career, Karin ... all of it. I … I’m asking you to forgive me for not doing what I should have done five years ago. Because I love you.”
“You—” I wasn’t given the opportunity to finish my thought as he pulled me to his body.
For months I tried to forget the feel of his shoulders and chest, but they felt the same. Just as I’d remembered. He smelled the same, felt the same, and, most disturbing of all, made me feel the same as he always had. Not only could I not look away, not fight him. I didn’t want to. One of his hands slipped around the back of my neck, causing me to lean my head to the side.
“No … you.” His hand gently led me forward, and as I watched his lips part, mine did, too. Then our lips were touching, tentatively at first, and then he pulled me tight against him, his lips insatiable against mine.
I couldn’t have fought it even if I'd wanted to. My lips molded with his so effortlessly, it was like they hadn’t missed a day. Only, they had. They’d missed the last four months and most of the five years before that. Just as the tip of his tongue grazed my bottom lip, I pulled away.