“Wait.” I planted my palms against his shoulders, keeping him at arms’ length. “You can’t leave because of me. You’ll resent me for it. I’ve seen it happen, Gregory, and I can’t let you do that to yourself. Or me.”
“I’d never resent you. I didn’t leave because of you, Savannah. I left because of me. Because of the person I’d become, and the one I want to be. I’m no longer willing to spend my life walled away with just my music. You’ve taught me that life can mean so much more than that.” He leaned in to begin kissing me again, but I turned my head.
“I live here, Gregory. I have an apartment, and a job that fulfills me, and a life that’s mine. I don’t know,” I paused and looked to my left and right before whispering the rest of my sentence, “I don’t know if I’m going to stay with the Bolshoi, but I plan on staying in Europe for a while.”
He gently grabbed my chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned my head so I’d look at him. “Savannah, haven’t you listened? I’m … I want to be with you. I can play anywhere. Or not. Even if I never join another symphony I’ve had a career I can be damn proud of. I want to support you and love you and … be with you.”
“That’s what my dad said to my mother.”
“Jesus,” he sighed, pulling me into a hug once more and resting his lips against my neck. “This isn’t the same thing. You know that. There’s nothing else I can say to … hey, dance with me?”
“What?” I wiped a stubborn, and slightly frozen, tear from my cheek.
“Come dance with me. Inside.” Gregory stepped toward the door and held out his arm, saying no more.
Wiggling out of his tuxedo coat, I said, “You’re going to need this.”
After fastening the button and adjusting his cufflinks, he placed his hand on the door handle, but paused and took my hand in his. “Before we go in, I want you to know how absolutely stunning you look this evening, Savannah. Now and every other evening since I’ve known you. I never said it enough, because you struck me speechless more than I care to admit.”
My cheeks welcomed the blush overcoming them, and I kissed him softly before opening the door myself. “Thank you.”
Inside he took my hand, pulling me toward the still crowded dance floor. My chest tightened a little as I followed him. Despite his words, the fear of ending the night, once again, with a broken heart, pulled me back. I would dance with him. But I needed more. I needed to know I could depend on him. I needed to know that this was actually going somewhere.
My trepidation ceased as he took my right hand in his left, and put his other hand on my waist. Seconds later we were dancing, and it was as seamless as it had ever been. He stayed quiet, but his eyes said everything. He still loved me, but I wasn’t sure that was enough.
Neither of us really led, because we didn’t need to. Just as we responded to each other without words on the stage, communicating with the notes, the tempo, the harmony, so we communicated on the dance floor with our bodies. Our feet and legs and bodies moved together in unfaltering rhythm, and the longer I looked at him, the longer I felt his body against mine, the longer I smelled him, the less I could imagine letting him leave when the song ended.
As the band played its final note, he leaned close, his lips near my ear, and he whispered, “Savannah, I want you to be mine.”
I sucked in a breath at his words. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even see. My emotions were overwhelmed. I was overwhelmed.
“You can’t leave your life ...”
He kept one hand firmly at the small of my back and said, “I already did. I want you to be my new life.”
I felt my pulse in my neck as my hands slid down his shoulders onto his chest. “But ... where will you work?”
He chuckled softly. “I was principal cellist for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. I can work anywhere I want.”
I shivered, because I knew he was right. And I could not get my mind around the idea that he’d walked away from it.
“I … live in Moscow. I’m not planning to be here for long, but I’m not going back to the States.”
He shrugged then whispered in my ear, “We can go anywhere we want, Savannah. Anywhere. Just … let it be together.” His voice dropped to a low growl, the same early-morning voice, which sent shivers down my spine every single time during our months together. “Savannah ... I’m begging you.”
I pulled him tighter, and his arms tightened on me as I whispered, “I’m afraid, Gregory.”
“Don’t be afraid. Because I’ll always be there. I belong to you now. And forever.”
My chin quivered as I briefly examined what my life would look like without him. Always wondering. Wishing. Regretting. My lips twitched into a smile, my eyes filling with tears.
“Forever,” I whispered, pulling back so I could kiss him the way I’d wanted to since I spotted him across the ballroom.
The room had emptied, the call for dinner had come and gone, but Gregory and I held onto each other, and our promise, until the musicians took their places once more. A waltz closed out the last portion of the evening, and Gregory led me. The music sounded different, even though the same ensemble was on the stage.
Music always sounded better with him.
With us.
Gregory
The cool September breeze blew off the River Thames to the fifth floor balcony where I sat, drinking a cup of tea. Our flat on Chicheley Street, right in the heart of London, was little more than six hundred square feet. Six hundred square feet of joy that we’d rented not long after Savannah was offered first chair with the London Symphony.
I’d never forget the day she got the call. The pride in her glistening eyes as tears ran down her face. The pure joy I felt for her at the realization of her dreams.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she’d asked.
As if I could possibly mind. Savannah was at the top of her career. Every single day I was stunned by her talent, her beauty, her love. Every day.