(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (10 page)

“Funny, isn’t it? And I remember thinking how much fun it would be to play football. My brother was really good. I tried, but my mother always worried about me. She didn’t want….” Cary’s voice trailed off at the realization that he had told Antonio far more than he intended.

“We all wish we could be someone else sometimes.” Antonio squeezed Cary’s hand gently and met his gaze.

“Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

More than you know.

Cary wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He wanted to tell Antonio the truth, but the fear that Antonio would push him away was more than he could face. In the end, he said nothing.

Just one more night. The clock strikes midnight and Cinderella is dressed in rags.
Tonight, he wanted to enjoy the music with someone else who loved it as much as he did. Tomorrow, he’d come clean.

T
HE Milan Auditorium looked different from the vantage point of their orchestra seats. Cary had never attended a concert here, but he had played several, including one three months before.

“What do you think?” Antonio asked as they took their seats.

“I love this place.” Cary looked around the hall with genuine appreciation. “Modern, but the wood makes it feel warm.” Antonio’s thigh was warm against his own, as well. “The acoustics are amazing.”

“It’s my favorite hall,” Antonio said.

“Really? I’d have thought you’d like La Scala better.”

“I love La Scala, but it’s a little like listening to music in a palace. This is more accessible.”

“So what are they playing tonight?”

“The Shostakovich Fifth Symphony and the Mahler Fourth.”

“Do you like twentieth century music?”

“The earlier works, yes. Romantic, with a bit of a modern edge. Mahler, Strauss, Sibelius, Dvořák. I prefer this style to Mozart or Beethoven. How about you?”

“Love the Shostakovich. I’m not as big a Mahler fan.”

“What kind of music do you write?” Antonio asked.

“I haven’t really written anything since school,” Cary admitted.

“I’d like to introduce you to the conductor. He’s a wonderful composer, as well. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Maestro David Somers? I met him a few years ago through a mutual friend. David’s the one who gave me the tickets.”

Cary did his best not to gasp. He had known David was in town rehearsing the opera with Aiden. He just hadn’t figured on David conducting this
particular
concert. He too counted David Somers as a friend and not just a colleague. He even stayed with David and his partner, Alex Bishop, when he played in Chicago. The same Alex Bishop he had played with in this very hall. And it was David who had encouraged him to move to Europe after school. When Cary had first moved to Milan, he had stayed with David until he had found an apartment. He was even planning on having Thanksgiving dinner with David at his villa outside Milan in just a few weeks.

“Wow,” he said, doing his utmost to sound excited. “It’s pretty cool you know someone like that.”

Antonio shrugged. “We can go backstage after the concert and I can introduce you.”

Holy crap.
A vague thought niggled at the back of his brain, but he promptly shoved it away.
Of course he doesn’t know. It’s just a coincidence.
“I… I…,” he stammered, but before he could manage a single coherent word, the lights dimmed.

He had wanted to enjoy the concert. He
really
had. He had also wanted to enjoy Antonio’s company. Instead, he spent the entire second half of the program working out a plan to avoid being “introduced” to David afterward. That was, after he spent the entire
first
half of the program trying to decide if he should just come clean and tell Antonio who he was.

And what then? You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t dump you in the Po River and watch you drown. And with a smile on his face.

“Something wrong?” Antonio asked after Cary spent the better part of intermission in the men’s bathroom, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Pain medicine makes me sick sometimes.” He didn’t have to fake the pain in his gut, either, although he could hardly lay the blame on the meds.

“I can take you home, if you’d like.” Antonio eyed him with concern, putting his hand on Cary’s clammy forehead. “Maybe the wine and the pills were a bad combination.”

Oh God. You are
so
screwed. Now the guy is worried about you!

“I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t entirely convinced he would be fine after the evening played out, but he wouldn’t add pulling Antonio away from the concert to his growing pile of guilt.

Before Antonio could protest, the lights dimmed once more.

T
HERE were few conductors Cary admired as much as David Somers. And when the orchestra began the first movement of the Shostakovich Fifth Symphony, he nearly forgot the mess he had managed to get himself into. The dark opening with the lush strings and poignant dissonances of the canon seemed to mirror the turmoil in his own heart.

By the time the concert ended, Cary was ready to cut his losses. It was one thing to lie to the nameless, faceless fucks who didn’t give a shit about Connor Taylor. It was entirely another thing to lie to the oh-so-fucking-gorgeous, nicest-man-in-Milan-and-maybe-on-the-planet with the cute little brat of a kid who had done nothing more to warrant this idiocy than take care of him. Not that he wanted a relationship with the guy, he told himself, but he couldn’t just keep lying to him like this.

“Antonio,” he began as Antonio offered him the scarf from around his neck, “I really need to tell you something. I’m not—”

“I’m taking you back to my apartment,” Antonio interrupted, steering him into a taxi. He gave the driver the address; then, over Cary’s protests, he tucked the scarf under Cary’s jacket.

“I can’t do this, Antonio. You need to hear—”

This time, it was Antonio’s big arm around his shoulders that silenced him. The faint scent of aftershave settled between them, and he knew he had no strength to fight. He was so far gone, wanting this beautiful man, lusting after him like he had never lusted before. He just couldn’t tell Antonio the truth.

“Shh.” Antonio moved closer until Cary couldn’t help but put his head on his shoulder. Well, he
couldn’t
help it, could he?

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into that strong shoulder. And he
was
too. Sorry he didn’t have the guts to be honest about who and what he was.

“You don’t need to apologize. I understand.”

“
H
EY.” He peered into the living room, having spent yet another night in Antonio’s bed while Antonio slept on the couch. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen, and his stomach rumbled in response. Antonio lay on the couch, hands supporting his head. He was smiling.

Cary hadn’t even attempted to make a move after they had gotten back the night before. It had been all he could do not to sneak out of the apartment with his tail between his legs after Antonio had fallen asleep. In the end, he still wasn’t sure why he had stayed.

“Feeling better?”

“Sort of,” Cary admitted. A good night’s sleep and eight hours without alcohol had helped, although they'd done little to assuage his guilty conscience. “I’ll just get dressed and get going.”

“I was hoping you’d spend the day with me.” The smile on Antonio’s face faded, replaced by a look of hopeful anticipation. “Do you have any plans?”

“No,” Cary admitted without a second thought. He had been occupying his time with studying some new music he’d been considering adding to his repertoire and working on exercises for his bow arm, but without the use of his left hand, there hadn’t been much else for him to do. That had just given him more time to think about Antonio, and what a shithead he had been to lie to the man in the first place.

“Good. I don’t have to work today, and I was thinking we could do some shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“Christmas shopping,” Antonio explained. “One of the disadvantages of having a large family—I do a lot of it. There’s this incredible toy store that Massi and I found.”

“Sounds like fun.”

They ate a light breakfast and were out of the apartment by ten. Cary decided he most definitely could get used to borrowing Antonio’s silk camp shirts—they were soft, and they smelled like Antonio. And even though he had gotten better about buttoning things for himself with his cast, Antonio had insisted on buttoning the shirt for him. Even now, as they walked to the red line Metro station from the apartment, Cary imagined the feeling of those fingertips against his bare skin.

The toy store, housed on the ground floor of an old building, was already full of people when they arrived. Children were everywhere, much to Cary’s chagrin, scooting about, shouting in delight with each new discovery, always underfoot. They walked around, getting the lay of the land. Antonio had some very definite ideas for a few of his nieces and nephews: dolls and wooden models of buildings and bridges, paints and oil crayons, outdoor toys for vineyard visits.

At one point, Cary became uncomfortably aware that Antonio was studying him as they explored the store. “What?” he asked at last, unable to restrain himself.

“You look like the children.”

Cary shot Antonio a confused and slightly irritated look.

“You look as though this is your first time in a toy store. How do you Americans say it, ‘like a child in a candy store’?”

“I’ve been to a toy store before,” Cary snapped, feeling suddenly defensive. Well, he
had
to have been to a toy store before, right? Every red-blooded American kid made at least a few trips to Toys“R”Us with his or her parents. But when he thought about it some more, he realized he didn’t
remember
ever having gone himself. Sure, he’d ordered toys online for his nephews, but…. “Or, at least, I’m pretty sure I’ve been,” he added, knowing he sounded far less convinced than he had just a moment before.

“If you don’t remember, then it’s been far too long.” Antonio took Cary by his good arm and dragged him off toward the back of the store.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Antonio just grinned like a fool.

Cary raised his eyebrows and sighed as he allowed himself to be pulled through the store like some of the children pulled their parents.

Their destination became obvious at the doorway to a large rectangular room that took up nearly the entire back of the building. Behind the railing that ran the length of the room was an enormous model railroad complete with mountains, lakes, and waterfalls. Overhead, a make-believe sun had begun to set, casting shadows over the miniature cities and towns. The lights dimmed, and stars were now visible overhead.

Cary knew he must look like an idiot, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wider than some of the children nearby, but he’d never seen anything even remotely like this. “Wow,” he muttered in English, at a loss for words.

Antonio put his arm around Cary’s shoulders and beamed. “You like it?” It was clear to Cary that Antonio already had his answer.

“It’s incredible,” Cary whispered. He leaned over the railing to get a better look at a bus stop where people were unloading skis and snowboards. A tiny chairlift rose on a nearby mountain slope, carrying its occupants to the top.

“I was hoping you’d like it. Massi and I spent a few hours here, just trying to see everything.”

“Justin had a train set when we were little. I used to love to watch that thing just go around and around and around. But
this
….”

Antonio, too, leaned over the railing, his left arm pressed against Cary’s right. Cary repressed a sigh at the feel of that solid arm. In that instant, he envied Massimo. He tried to remember a time when he had ever felt as happy as Massimo had seemed at the circus. What did it say about him, he wondered, that apart from his music, this was the closest to happy he had ever really felt?

C
ARY sipped his hot cocoa and watched the flames dance in the fireplace of Antonio’s apartment a few hours later. The vestibule was filled with bags of toys, including those Cary had chosen for his nephews.

“Good?” asked Antonio.

Cary nodded. “Reminds me of when I was really little, at my grandmother’s house.” The memory warmed him, and he smiled. “She died when I was about seven, so I don’t remember much about her. But she’d make me hot chocolate and she never asked me to—” He broke off, realizing he had almost said,
She never asked me to practice when I visited her.

“Never asked you to do what?” Antonio repeated.

“Never asked me to do the dishes.”

“My nonna used to knit me sweaters.” Antonio settled down beside Cary, appearing pleased that the fire was now managing quite nicely without his help. “You know,” he added, closing his eyes and tilting his head backward as a grin spread across his face, “I still have a few. Massi’s almost big enough to fit in them now.”

“He’s lucky, to be able to spend time with his grandmother.”

“Grandmothers,” Antonio corrected. “Francesca’s mother is almost as doting as mine. They spoil him.”

They watched the fire and sipped their cocoa in comfortable silence, their shoulders touching. The firelight made Antonio’s blond curls look almost orange.

“Do you mind if I put on some music?” Antonio asked after a few minutes had passed.

“That’d be great.”

Antonio picked up the remote and clicked it several times. The sound of mellow jazz was a perfect complement to the warmth of the fire. Cary recognized the music:
The Lake
, David and Alex’s jazz album.

The music simmered softly in the background as Antonio leaned back on the sofa once more, this time putting his arm around Cary and drawing him against his broad chest. The sigh that escaped Cary’s lips came as a surprise. He had never been one to snuggle, but somehow this just felt
right
. He looked up and realized Antonio was watching him with an odd expression, as if he were unsure what to do with this strange creature who had somehow insinuated itself into his life.