“Rest,” I say, pulling the blanket under her chin.
It’s always a little disconcerting when I tuck her in, the reminder that I was her guardian before I was her lover. Those two roles are entirely different, except for one thing—that I can take care of her in both.
The suite features a balcony with a view of the Sydney Opera House. Night fell in the span of a shower. Water and night create a dark tapestry. The white arcs of the theater glow against the backdrop. In the safe bubble of the hotel, we can’t feel the extreme heat from outside. The smoke that hangs is temporarily sieved from the air due to a light shower this morning. Hard to believe that in the same state firefighters still battle bushfires.
Outside the bedroom my brother Elijah waits at the gleaming dining table. We have men and women working for North Security. One of them stands in the hallway. Another’s in place on the living room balcony. More are positioned around the hotel. I hired and trained most of them myself. I’d trust any one of them with my life. But Samantha’s life… that’s different. For that I’d prefer to have one of my brothers on duty.
“She asleep?” Elijah asks, his voice and expression casual.
Of course he’ll know what happened the next room over. It’s not hard to deduce, and Elijah’s a skilled operator. “Out like a light. Hopefully she’ll stay that way the whole night. It’ll help with the jet lag.”
“But you’re not going to join her.”
“I need to hit the gym. All those hours in a tin can.”
My brother snorts, aware that our tin can was a large Gulfstream with plush leather seats and a private room with a queen-size bed. “God forbid you go for twenty-four hours without pummeling your body in punishment for… for what, exactly? I’ve never been sure.”
“Don’t start,” I say, crossing the suite to the bar area. I twist the top off an ice-cold bottle of water and gulp it down. That’s the problem with brothers. They know too damn much about you.
“Still feel guilty about Sam? You should.”
Elijah’s the youngest North brother, which makes him closest in age to Samantha. They had more of a friendship. I was the one who met with her teachers and set the curfew. Elijah was the one she talked to about… hell, I don’t know what they talked about. Boys she had a crush on?
Now she’s all grown up, a celebrity violinist and soon-to-be mother of my child.
“Don’t worry about my shit. Worry about yours,” I say, which is a low blow. That’s brothers for you.
“She doesn’t need you to have an eight-pack. Being able to survive three months in a desert isn’t going to make you a better husband.” He points to the bedroom. “Go back in there. Sleep.”
“You don’t give the orders around here, little brother.”
“I should,” he mutters.
Hell. “If you were in charge, North Security would have gone up in flames years ago. We’d have done some heroic rescue, probably saving a bus full of nuns from a grizzly fate. Not all of us want to be heroes, Elijah. Some of us just want to survive.”
We stare at each other. I’m breathing hard. This is maybe the most honest I’ve ever been with him. We were raised like a litter of stray dogs, the three North brothers. Each of us went into the military and forged our own path. You don’t go into battle and walk away without scars.
I don’t judge my brother. He’s right about me. Guilt? I don’t need a single reason. There are a hundred. I think of them when I go downstairs and run fifteen miles on an inclined treadmill and do hundreds of reps at the bench. Every time Samantha’s feet hurt or she can’t sleep. Every time she has morning sickness. My fault, because I made her pregnant. I fucked her without a condom again and again and again. I wanted her to have a child so I’d bind her to me, so I’d make her mine.
And in doing so I may have ended her career.
Samantha
The charity concert was put together quickly. Major pop stars and bands have flown in for a single night. We don’t have time to rehearse or plan any kind of smooth transition, but it doesn’t matter. The koalas and the kangaroos need our help. The people here need it, too. Money will go to the local volunteer firefighters and a wildlife rescue organization.
When my last tour ended, I didn’t know it would be the end.
I didn’t know that two months later I’d pee on a stick and see two pink lines.
That makes this concert different. It’s the last time I’ll perform in front of people… for how long? I’m not sure. I grew up being dragged by my father from one country to the next, more like a piece of heavy baggage than a child. I won’t do the same thing to the baby growing inside me.
How long until I’ll feel comfortable leaving him or her? Five years? Eight? Ten?
It’s something that isn’t written in the What to Expect When You’re Expecting book. Being a solo violinist isn’t the kind of job you can leave and come back to. In ten years no one may buy a ticket with my name on it. Most likely they’ll forget about me in two years. There’s an endless line of talented, ambitious violinists waiting to take my seat.
A limo takes us the short distance to the Sydney Opera House.
My violin case rests in my lap.
Liam sits across from me, wearing a tux and a grim expression. “Nervous?” he asks.
“The usual.” Every crowd brings its own energy to a concert. Some are boisterous and engaging. Others are pensive and serious. It interacts with the notes in a way I can’t predict. Live music is fundamentally more raw, more expressive than when its recorded. I’ve played this song a thousand times, but in a couple hours, when I play onstage, it will become brand-new.
“The Paganini?” he asks.
It’s one of the pieces I often play when I’m in a lineup of modern music. It can feel like a drag to go from an upbeat hip-hop song to a slow classical piece. The Paganini has energy and melody that feel accessible, even if someone doesn’t usually listen to the violin. I shake my head.
“One of yours?”
I’ve been exploring my own compositions. “A new one.”
That sharp green gaze takes me in. “When have you been practicing?”
By the time you see someone play the piano or the cello or the violin onstage, they’ve practiced that same song until they hear it in their sleep. They know the precise fingering they’ll use. They’ve breathed every single beat. Liam would have heard me play a piece before I perform it, but he hasn’t heard this one. “When you’re working, usually. Or when you’re working out.”
The admission sits between us, thick as butter. It’s a secret. Not the first secret that’s been between us. Not the most dangerous or illicit secret, but the first one since we’ve been married. There’s a cushion-cut five-carat ruby on my finger surrounded by pavé diamonds. Unconventional as wedding bands go, but it’s perfect for me. For us. It wasn’t about secrets. We’ll always have those. It’s about love. Unconditional love. The kind Liam North showed since I stumbled my way into his life.
He leans forward. The back of his fingers brush my knee. “Did you think I wouldn’t like it, sweetheart? You don’t have to hide anything from me.”