Loved by You (11 page)

She leaned in, interested. “So what’s your purpose? To make money?”

“Pretty much.” He smiled ruefully. “I take risky situations and find ways to win. Not the most politically correct purpose to have these days, but it’s what I’m good at.”

She wasn’t surprised when Chance looked her in the eye and asked, “What’s your purpose, KT?”

Music. The answer was immediate and irrefutable. But she just shrugged because she knew where this conversation would lead.

He squeezed her thigh. “Then what’s your goal in life?”

“I don’t have a goal.” At his baffled look, she shrugged. “I don’t need one. I’m happy as I am. It’s worked for me so far.”

“Aren’t you working on anything?”

“Well, sure.” She thought about her nearly-finished concerto.

“What are you going to do when you finish it?”

She frowned. “Is this a trick question? I’ll start something else.”

“And the project you’re working on now?” At her blank look, he gestured with his hand. “Will you perform it somewhere?”

“
No.
” She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t perform.”

“Why not?”

She studied him, wondering how much she should say. She shocked herself by blurting, “I have stage fright.”

His expression remained neutral, no judgement.

Which made it easier for her to continue. “When I was four, my parents were having one of their big parties. Mom wanted me to perform a song I’d written. She dressed me up in a fancy dress that itched and stuck me in the middle of the room.”

Just thinking about it made her begin to feel sick again—she could hear the tinkle of glasses and the muffled laughter, and then, absurdly loud, one man’s voice saying,
Oh save me from another spoiled brat’s god-awful recital.

People had laughed when she tripped and tore her dress, and then they’d laughed more when she couldn’t climb on the piano bench because of the puffy layers of her dress. She couldn’t play, paralyzed by the mocking laughter and the snide whispers.

“Hey.” Chance lifted her chin. “You’re not there anymore.”

But she was—every time she was in front of people all those emotions reared up like a monster hiding under her bed, ready to eat her up. “And I’ll never be again. It was humiliating.”

“You were four,” he pointed out gently. “Shouldn’t you give yourself a break?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t perform. Period.”

“So have someone else perform your music.”

“I used to. They don’t play it right.”

“You must have a goal for the songs you compose.” At her mutinous look, he gaped at her. “Seriously? You write them and then they don’t see the light of day?”

“Now you sound like my mom.”

“Maybe your mom is right.”

She glared at him. “Careful, or I’ll break up with you.”

“You can’t break up with me.” He pulled her stool closer to his. “It’s not a big deal if you don’t want to play in front of people, but if your music is important to you, there are ways of getting it out.”

“No label is going to sign an artist who won’t perform.”

“So stack the deck the way you want it. It’s your hand, play it any way you want.” He gestured to the disinterested bartender for another round. “Start your own label.”

“Right.” She smirked.

“I’m serious. Go indie. What do you have to lose?” He nodded in thanks and handed KT a fresh bottle. “Though if you don’t feel compelled to have your music heard, maybe it’s not your purpose.”

Not her purpose? She blinked at the ridiculous thought.

But she knew she couldn’t say anything to the contrary without backing herself into a corner.

She pouted.

He nudged her leg with his. “Maybe being a teacher is your calling.”

“Ha! Unlikely.” She considered it for two seconds and then shuddered in horror. “Not even.”

“It was just a thought.” He slid his hand up her thigh. “I have another thought I guarantee you’ll like better. It involves the fancy bra you’re wearing and me taking it off.”

“That’s something I can get behind.” She slid off the stool.

He caught her close, holding her gaze. “Maybe one day you’ll play for me?”

“Maybe.”
Not.

His lips quirked, as if he could hear her thoughts. Placing a kiss on her forehead, he vowed, “One day you will, and I’ll feel honored to be the one you trust.”

The tight feeling in her chest constricted—not at the thought of playing for him, but that she’d hurt him by not playing.

Chapter Twelve

Bijou strode toward the carriage house with purpose, practicing what she was going to say to KT to convince her to go to therapy with her. Only as she approached the front door, what she heard made her lose her train of thought.

Music. But not just any music—the most haunting music she’d ever heard.

Her ear pressed to the door, she tried to place the melody, but she didn’t recognize it. More complicated than Beethoven, less chirpy than Bach, more serious than Mozart. It was modern, but not Rachmaninov or Chopin, or even someone like Cage. There was a hint of the romanticism of Michael Nyman or Ennio Morricone, but without the sappy sentimentality. This was raw and powerful but still sweet.

She stood, cast in a spell by the rising music, when KT’s voice rose from behind the piano, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

Her sister’s voice was soft at first, mingling gently with the music, then suddenly soaring over the piano’s voice, strong and commanding.

Bijou’s heart thundered the same way it had when she’d kissed Will. Whatever this was, it was
good
. Why hadn’t she heard it before?

Knowing KT hardly ever locked her door, Bijou quietly twisted the knob and let herself in.

Her sister sat at the piano, rocking as she sang. Her hair was the perfect kind of messy Bijou spent an hour to achieve. Her eyes were closed, and she belted out the words from her soul.

It’d have been so easy to be jealous of her sister. KT didn’t realize it, but she was gorgeous and so talented it made Bijou’s teeth ache. As close as they were in age, they’d never had any sort of rivalry, probably due to their parents, who’d always encouraged them to be themselves and had never compared them to each other. But she knew a lot had to do with KT and her unwavering loyalty and love.

The piano screeched to a halt. KT whirled around to glare at her. “What are you doing here?”

So much for the love, Bijou thought with a wry grin. “I’m listening to you play. Before you explode in righteous indignation, tell me who the composer was.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never heard it before, and it was amazing.”

Her sister’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you just saying that?”

She shook her head. “Why would I? When haven’t I said if I thought something sucked?”

KT shrugged, looking indecisive. Then she muttered something.

“What?” Bijou cupped her ear and leaned forward.

“I wrote it, okay?” Her sister crossed her arms defiantly, glaring at her.

“
You?
” Bijou blinked. “Are you serious?”

KT’s face stormed over. “Are you saying I don’t have what it takes?”

“Of course not, but I’ve never heard you compose classical music before.” Bijou took her sister’s hand. “KT, that was the most amazing music I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you just saying that to be nice?”

“When have I ever been nice?”

“Well, that’s true.”

She pushed KT’s shoulder. Then she took her arms, shook her, and yelled, “That was the most amazing music
ever
! Karma Taylor,
where did that come from
?”

KT looked away, abashed but hopeful. “Really? You thought it was that good?”

“Don’t you?”

Her sister suddenly grinned. “I think it’s damn great.”

Everything suddenly clicked. “This is why you haven’t been worried about losing the gig with Jamila. You’ve been composing something different and all your own. Wait till Mom and Dad hear. They’re going to flip.”

“They aren’t going to hear.” KT grabbed her arms and looked her in the eyes. “You’re not going to tell anyone about my concerto, Bijou. Swear it.”

“You can’t hide that.” She pointed at the piano. “
That
won’t be stifled.”

“It’s not ready yet.” KT began to pace. “There’s still a section I’m not happy with, and I haven’t had much time to work on it. And you know Mom’s just going to pressure me about it, and who can create under that sort of pressure. Really, it’s—”

“KT.” She put a hand on her sister’s arm to stop her. “Breathe.”

She exhaled raggedly. “I’m just not ready.”

Bijou nodded, understanding that her sister felt that way, but at the same time wanting to call bullshit. KT was never ready. “Music that powerful can’t be stifled. Isn’t hiding something that beautiful a crime?”

Her sister shook her head. “It’s just a concerto.”

“It’s not
just
anything.” She held her sister’s face in her hands. “I got goosebumps listening to it, and you know how jaded I am. That’s the sort of music that changes lives.”

KT shook free stubbornly. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being serious. This can’t be tucked away in a drawer, forgotten. You need to do something with it.”

“That’s the thing.” KT frowned. “I haven’t decided what.”

“Do you have ideas?”

Her sister shot her a flat look. “It’s not doing live performances, if that’s where you’re going with this. I’m considering other options.”

Bijou wanted to ask what options, but she knew better than to push. “I hope you find the option that’s right for you,” she said, kissing KT’s cheek, “because it’s unforgettable.”

The concerto was so unforgettable, Bijou couldn’t shake it from her mind. That music …

Goosebumps broke out down her arm as she remembered it. And then when KT’s voice had joined it, adding another layer of haunting complexity.

Calling it a crime to hide it was an understatement. She walked down the driveway to her car, replaying it over and over in her mind.

It was general consensus in their family that KT was gifted, despite what KT herself thought. But they’d only based that on the pop music she wrote for other people and the rare moments they’d overheard her singing. None of them had any idea her true talent lay in neo-classical music.

Bijou stopped abruptly, staring unseeing at her car. KT’s classical music could be her salvation.

It could save Bijou, too.

Not that KT would ever show her concerto to their mom, but Bijou could.

She bit her lip. KT might never forgive her if she did that. Of course, she might also be eternally grateful, because it’d get their mom off her back. If Lara knew KT had a classical focus, she’d let her off the hook for the concert. It was a rock concert, after all, not a night at the symphony.

“What are you doing, Ruby Red? Is something wrong with your car?”

She looked up to see her dad, hands in his pockets, glasses askew, watching her with bright interest. “I’m thinking, Daddy.”

He tipped his head. “As long as you’re plotting for the good of the world.”

“It’s for KT’s good.”

“Karma is a tricky creature.” Anson pursed his lips. “She’s always walked her own path, that girl.”

“Mom doesn’t think she’s walking down that path fast enough.”

A soft smile lit her dad’s face. “Yes, well, Lara is her own creature, as well. Amazing woman. You’re so much like her.”

Bijou wished she could believe that. She doubted her mom would ever have let someone steal her ability to create.

Her dad patted her arm. “Lara forgets some of us take longer to come into our own, but it’ll all work out, sweetie. Your mom always makes sure of that.”

She was going to make sure, too, because she had too much riding on this. “Do you ever wonder about your path and what would have happened if you hadn’t met Mom?”

“If it weren’t for her, I’d probably still be playing guitar on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. Karma and I are alike that way. We’re happy to play our music for no one but ourselves. Lara thinks that talent shouldn’t be bottled and put away, but I don’t know.” He shrugged, straightening his broken frames. “Who are we to say what’s right or wrong for someone?”

Normally, Bijou would have agreed with him but not when her future was on the line—and especially not since telling their mom about KT’s music would benefit them both.

That was a decision, she guessed.

Her dad tiptoed up to kiss her on the cheek. “Your mother gets that look, too, and it’s always my cue to run and hide. Do good, Ruby Red.”

He didn’t say it, but she heard the underlying words nonetheless: because karma was a bitch, and
her
Karma was going to be annoyed. But in the end she’d thank her. Bijou nodded confidently. She’d take care of both herself and her sister.

Chapter Thirteen

When KT opened her door, her happy smile was for Chance. They were going out for dim sum and beer in Chinatown.

Only instead of Chance at her door, it was her mother. The bright look in her eyes made KT instantly wary. The fact that Bijou brought up the rear looking very worried did nothing to reassure her.

“Karma, I just heard.” Her mother grabbed her in a fierce hug. “I’m so proud of you, sweeting.”

KT looked questioningly at her sister, who ducked her head like she was guilty. What would Bijou be guilty about? She shook her head and awkwardly patted Lara’s head. “Um. Great, Mom. Thanks.”

Her mom took her by the shoulders. “When can I hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“Your concerto, sweeting. What else would I be talking about?”

“Concerto?” Her gaze flew to Bijou’s, who grimaced.

“Your sister told me you were working on a masterpiece and that it was beyond anything she’d ever heard.” Her mom went to the piano and began rifling through the scattered sheet music there. She lifted a sheet and began reading it, humming the notes as she went along.

Hands on her hips, KT faced her sister. “What the hell?”

Bijou stepped closer, her hand out imploringly. “Just go along with it. I have a plan.”