Page 108 of The Princess and the Fraud

I had a feeling he was beingfartoo generous using the wordnailed. It’d been too fast-paced; I’d poured far more emotion into it than I should’ve. And besides, Elgar’s Concerto held too much weight for me; I couldn’t imagine cracking myself open again to perform it. Especially not with Aaron on the piano to match. Extra especially not with a crowd watching. I finally worked myself up to an audience of one last night, and Aaron thought I could perform in front of all these people? I almost started hyperventilating just thinking about it.

But… Ihadfantasized about this moment. Performing with Aaron. When I’d heard him play the piano for the first time, I’d almost obsessively imagined what it’d be like to play the cello alongside him, to hear our notes intertwine. This was my chance now, the opportunity to share a stage with him.

My opportunity to return to the stage for real.

Even if there were so many reasons why I shouldn’t… I couldn’t pass it up.

I pulled one wrist free from his grasp, in turn gripping onto his arm. The fabric of his suit jacket crinkled beneath my grip, and I dug my nails in firmer, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise higher in my throat. “Do you know ‘Méditation’fromThaïs?”

And in Aaron’s eyes, for the first time since he’d walked into the ballroom, gleamed.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

Iwas no stranger to performing for crowds. When I was fourteen, I’d performed at the International Tchaikovsky Competition for Young Musicians. The stage had felt endless, the audience’s gazes sharp and expectant. The hall had been massive, and every note I’d played seemed to echo back at me, magnified and critical. The judges were some of the most esteemed names in classical music, their eyes hidden scribbling notes as if my entire future depended on their inked observations.

I’d been just a kid, yet I’d felt like I stood at the edge of something much bigger than myself. All I could think about was how small I’d felt, like I’d stood on the edge of a precipice, uncertain if I could leap or if I might fall.

That was how I felt now as I stood on the side of the Alderton-Du Ponte stage. The crowd was far, far less, and even less important, but I couldn’t shake the nerves.

“You’re more nervous than you should be,” Aaron whispered to me, his presence a looming, warm shadow behind me.

I scoffed, focusing on where Mrs. Conan stood on stage. She was going on about the hall and its history, rattling off the significance like it all meant something to her. “Easy for you to say,” I hissed back, readjusting my grip on my cello bow. Aaron held the cello for me, probably because I was trembling so badly he was afraid it’d slip through my fingers. “You’ve been practicing for the last five years. And if you make a mistake, who cares? You’re Aaron Astor.”

“You’re not doing this for them,” Aaron murmured, and this time, his lips were directly beside my ear. “You’re not even doing it for me.”

I fought the urge to shiver, and fought back the memory of those lips from last night. “Are you sure, because the voice that pressured mereallysounded like you?—”

“You’re doing it for yourself.” I turned to look at him, to give him a ‘you’re kidding, right’ glare when he reached up and pushed my bangs out of my eyes. The touch was tender, his gaze even more so. In that moment, the distant expression from the night before was absent, leaving nothing but pride in its wake. “And for your mother.”

That settled something in me. My soul called out for the cello, but it was those words—for your mother—that suddenly made it feel okay to want it.There’s always tomorrow.

My gaze dropped to his lips, where they were inches from mine. “If I mess up?—”

“I’ll make a bigger fool of myself to take the attention off of you,” Aaron finished, and those lips tipped into a half-smile, a secret one just for me. Aaron held out the cello. “I’ll pretend there’s a spider crawling out of the piano, or I’ll pretend to faint and fall on the keys. I’ll make sure they all laugh atme. Promise.”

“—our first special performance of the night,” Mrs. Conan called out from the stage, pulling our attention. “By Aaron Astor, and Alderton-Du Ponte’s very own Lovisa Hahn.”

“I think that’s the first time she’s ever said my name,” I huffed underneath my breath, taking the cello from Aaron. I was suddenly glad I’d gotten a feel for it last night, that I wasn’t going into the performance blind.

Aaron’s soft laugh echoed in my ears. “She’ll remember it after this.”

All I could think as I walked out underneath the stage lights was that at least tonight’s uniform was all black. Sure, I’d rather have worn something a bit grander—especially for this crowd, who sneezed into twenty-dollar bills—but at least it wasn’t the teal polo.

Someone had brought out a chair and set it a bit in front of the piano, so Aaron would be behind me, the crowd ahead of me. I sank into the seat, relieved, because my legs felt like they’d been seconds from giving out.

Whenever I’d performed in front of a crowd, no matter the size, my mother and I had made up a deal—she would always sit in the last seat on the far right of the front row. She’d ask people to move, and sometimes even bribe them. Whatever it took, she made sure to be in the exact spot every single time, so that when I looked out into the crowd, I’d never have to worry about finding her.

She wouldn’t be there now, and I knew that, but as I settled the cello between my legs, it was instinct that had me seeking out the very last seat to the far right of the front row. My heart clenched, prepared to be let down.

Annalise sat in that seat, her hands on her stomach, excitement lighting every inch of her face as Aaron and I settled in. When she caught me looking, her already wide grin stretched further, and she gave me two thumbs up.

Pressure pricked behind my eyes.

I drew a deep, deep breath in, and let it out just as slowly, and muscle memory kicked in. I straightened my posture, settling the top shoulder of the cello against my breastbone, its C-bout resting on my knee. I rounded my fingers and placed them to the fingerboards, drawing in one more breath in, slowly letting it out. And then I held perfectly still.

Aaron took the cue. His piano accompaniment started softly, setting the emotional tone for the piece. The arpeggiated chords traveled from the depths of the piano directly to me, sinking in on contact, sparking me to life. He played the flowing pattern twice, and then my body moved, the cello and I becoming one.

The previous night, when my only audience had been Aaron, playing had felt slightly different. It’d been more of a homecoming last night, the passionate greeting of seeing an old friend for the first time. I’d played with abandon, performing solely with my heart.

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