Chapter 3
“Do you want it?”
She drew out the last syllable deliberately, letting it drip with provocation.
Deacon’s expression turned icy. “It was just a coincidence running into her. That’s enough, Kristen. Not here.”
But Kristen stomped her foot lightly and pretended to scold him. “Babe, how can you be like that? Nina used to be my
mentor. She’s not doing well now. What’s wrong with helping her?”
Then she leaned in and kissed Deacon’s cheek.
“You said you’d support anything I say, didn’t you?”
I understood perfectly. She was performing for my benefit. I slipped Deacon’s jacket off my shoulders and returned it to
her. “You misunderstood. I’m doing very well.”
Both she and Deacon glanced at my clothes again. Suddenly, I understood what they were thinking. “This outfit was a birthday gift from my mother. I didn’t want to throw it away.”
At my words, Deacon’s brow tightened. He remembered.
The day I fell from the balcony was my birthday. He had left me home alone, emotionally unstable and spiraling, so he
could accompany Kristen to her performance.
And because Kristen had low blood sugar, he even took every housekeeper, every guard, and the family doctor with him.
ready to tend to her the moment she needed.
It was only because my mother worried and came looking for me that she found me on the ground below. I
remembered her voice through the haze, wrapping her coat around me.
“Nina, why are you so foolish? Open your eyes. Look at the birthday gift I bought you. Don’t fall asleep. You still have me.”
“Nina, I told you not to choose Deacon. He doesn’t deserve you. Wake up. I only have you left. Don’t leave me alone.
Please, I’m begging you.”
Later, after my divorce, she stormed out wanting to confront him. She never reached his door. A speeding car slammed
into her, and she never woke up again.
Deacon finally seemed to return to the present. He let out a quiet sigh.
Almost guiltily, he changed the subject. “Nina, Kristen meant well. She only wanted to help. Where are you working now?
If you don’t mind, my company-
“Piano instructor,” I interrupted calmly. “A student of mine at Alderwyn Hall won first place in the youth plano
competition this year.”
These hands might never grace a stage again, but I could still teach. They didn’t know that now I was one of the world’s
top instructors, Boston’s most sought-after piano teacher.
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The Brahmin elite of Beacon Hill vied for a spot on my waitlist, and most still couldn’t book a lesson.
And my daughter was my finest student. The piano I bought today was simply for her one-on-one training at Alderwyn
Hall.
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