That only made it all the more disturbing now. Disturbing that from the moment I walked in, I was off balance. Despite my efforts, Savannah and I hadn’t been able to talk, and the one chance we might have had was disrupted by Joseph, when he insisted on talking with me before the performance.
I watched her as I started Nocturne. As I played my soul out for her without much planning other than handing Grace Daniels the piano sheet music a few minutes before I went on stage. She’d reacted the way I’d anticipated … initially. She scrunched her eyebrows together and raised one all at the same time, the way she always did when something seemed completely preposterous. But, despite reason, which had left us long ago, she took a breath, closed her eyes like I’d watched her do at her conservatory audition several years before, and played.
Damn it, she played right along with me. A perfect accompaniment.
Except she refused to look at me.
She was my perfect accompaniment, and I feared that I’d ruined that chance forever.
It was so clear, the second she made her decision. Her posture, the pain in the notes, the look in her eyes when she’d finally opened them. Savannah was done with me. And as we played our final duet together, it broke my heart.
I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever. So I watched her for the remainder of the concert. She never looked at me again, her eyes occasionally moving to the audience, to Joseph, to the music on her stand, but never once to me.
Nathan saw me, however. He watched the entire time.
I slumped in my seat when the final crescendo was completed and the curtain closed for the last time.
But not for long … I breathed for maybe twenty seconds, four or five breaths, then I was on my feet. Walking the twenty-five feet across the stage floor to Savannah. She saw me. Her shoulders jerked as she caught her breath, and spots of color appeared on her cheeks.
Her eyes widened as I approached her in front of the entire orchestra.
“I need to speak with you.”
She darted her eyes toward Joseph, who raised his eyebrows much as he often raised his baton. The entire orchestra gathered in closer as Joseph began his end of tour congratulatory speech. Except for Nathan, who glared at me, and Savannah, who cut her eyes away.
I slipped a hand around her arm. “I mean it.”
“Can’t it wait?” Her voice was uneven, agitated.
Nathan began to push his way around her, toward me, and she elbowed him in the side. Joseph paused in his speech, and I straightened, standing next to Savannah and unfortunately practically on top of Olivia Mason, who had to scramble out of the way. Joseph gave me an odd look, uncomfortable in its intensity, but at that point in time, I really didn’t much care anymore. Because the one thing I was not willing to do was give up Savannah without us even talking. Without us having a chance to hash this out. Without at least trying to convince her to wait for me before she went and auditioned for Chicago.
I knew she deserved better than me. I knew she needed more than I had to offer.
But I wanted her anyway.
So Joseph continued. Platitudes about our fantastic teamwork, how we’d done more to raise the profile of classical music in the United States, a parade of unnecessary and simple-minded bullshit which might have seemed inspiring to the twenty-four-year-old set but had passed its time with me.
As he continued I leaned close and whispered, “When can we talk?”
She glanced at me with hooded eyes and replied, “Your wife is here, Gregory. Call me some other time.”
I frowned. She was right. As Joseph poured on more thanks and praise to the group, I noticed that some of the VIPs from the front row were now back stage. James and Madeline stood awkwardly next to Vita Carulli. All three of them were staring … uncomfortably … gazes alternating between Joseph, Savannah, and myself. Karin stood a little bit apart from them in a yellow skirt suit and matching heels.
“She can wait.”
A stab of … sadness … sympathy … ran through me. Because Karin’s face was twisted, grief showing in her eyes. Savannah saw it too. Everyone in the entire orchestra saw it. And in that moment I felt as if we’d been transparent. As if everyone in the room had known all along what was going on, as my actions here and now declared that Savannah, not my wife, was who mattered to me. It was a bitter choice, knowing I was hurting her and going forward regardless.
And in that moment I knew I had no choice. Whatever happened, someone’s heart was getting broken. Probably more than one. Probably mine. But I did the calculation of hurting Karin, who had lied to me just as I’d lied to her, or hurting Savannah, who meant everything to me, and there was never any choice, was there?
“Gregory …” Savannah shook her head and took a step back.
My whisper was failing, but I tried again. “She can wait, Savannah. You … I need to talk to you. Now.”
Nathan, still standing next to her, audibly gasped. “You motherfucker,” he said. His face went red, and he approached me. “I’ve fucking had it with you.”
Joseph stopped pretending to give his speech and stared, shocked.
“Nathan, stop it!” Savannah said through clenched teeth.
At that, I saw Vita and Karin meet each other’s eyes. At this point I’d made a hash of everything. I’d destroyed whatever speech our conductor was going to give, I’d likely destroyed what was left of my marriage, and, unless I did something about it now, I’d probably wrecked whatever chance I had with Savannah.
I turned to Joseph and said, “Forgive me, Joseph. But it’s urgent I speak with Miss Marshall right now.”
Nathan puffed himself up angrily. “You aren’t talking with any—“
Without thinking, I balled my right hand up into a fist and hit Nathan Connors in the face.
Savannah and several others in the orchestra screamed as Nathan went flying back from me, stumbling over a music stand and landing on his ass, one hand suddenly cupping his nose.
I took half a step forward and Savannah shouted, “Gregory, stop!”