Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Thankfully, she’d managed to beat the brutality of Boston’s rush hour and within ten minutes, she pulled up in front of a corner residential building in Beacon Hill. The awning read The Tudor. Um, what? Was she in the right place? She’d expected a music school or a Berklee-owned rehearsal space, but that’s not what this was.
Chloe triple-checked the address listed in the email from her conservatory instructor and climbed out of the Uber with a murmured thank you to the driver. A doorman asked for her name, verified she was on the visitor list, guided her to the elevator, and hit the button for the penthouse—and okay, even having only a fleeting concept of money, Chloe knew the top floor in this building had to be wildly expensive. Apart from being the first chair harpist with the Boston Symphony Orchestra, who was this mentor?
The elevator doors opened to reveal a pretty Chinese woman who appeared to be in her early forties kneeling in front of a grand piano. She was willowy and elegant—and she was slamming a high heel against the gleaming hardwood floor with enough force to summon a demon from the pits of hell.
“You’re late, Chloe Clifford.” She pointed the heel at Chloe. “You better hope you have the talent to make up for it.”
Chloe almost swallowed her chin. “I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that.”
“Oh, I will.” The woman stood up and, walking toward Chloe with an extended arm, realized she was still holding the high heel—a Louboutin, by the way—and dropped it so she could shake Chloe’s hand. “As of now, I’m your judge, jury, and executioner.”
“Oh dear.”
“‘Oh dear’ is right. I’m Grace Shen, and you’re mine now.” She ended the incredibly firm handshake, turned on a heel, and stalked past the grand piano. “The harp is this way.”
Chloe hustled after her. “What is your grievance with the Louboutin?”
“It belonged to my girlfriend. She sent me a WhatsApp message from Berlin just before you arrived. She decided to take a position with the Philharmonic.” Grace shot her a too-sweet smile over her shoulder. “And one beneath a cellist, as well. A cellist,” she repeated with a groan. “Four strings? Not exactly brain surgery, is it?”
“Well . . .”
“Now, forty-seven strings and seven pedals?” Grace stopped on a dime, turned, and gestured to one of the most beautiful harps Chloe had ever seen in her life, made even more majestic due to its position in front of a panoramic view of Boston. “That’s a little more like it, right?”
“Yes,” Chloe breathed, dropping her purse, her fingers already beginning to tingle. “Holy Connecticut, this is an antique. You play this?”
“That is its purpose. To be played.”
“But—”
“Look at your fingers. They’re shaking with anticipation. If this were sitting in the Smithsonian, you still wouldn’t be able to walk past this instrument without playing it.”
“Yes, but I would fully expect to serve jail time.” Chloe ran the tip of her index finger down the gilded column of the world’s most beautiful harp, marveling over the leafy motif that appeared to be hand-painted. “It would be worth it.”
“Funny. Have you been to jail?”
“Not yet.”
A laugh shot out of Grace, followed by a long pause wherein, without even turning around, Chloe could feel her new mentor considering her closely. “I’d like to hear Handel. Passacaglia, please.”
There was only one other thing in this world that could make her heart speed at a relatively similar tempo to Sig—and it was the instrument sitting in front of her. The baroque piece rolled out in Chloe’s mind like a red carpet being kicked long, unfurling with a smooth whip, and her fingers lifted on their own, elbows pointing outward and firming. Confidence straightened her spine. This was her world.
Unlike her relationship with Sig, she knew how to navigate these strings, as if she’d been born nestled inside of them. When she’d been lonely as a child or an adult, isolated by the prodigy label, this is where she’d escaped. Into the notes. They were always there for Chloe and they were there for her now, her mental gymnastics stilling while her fingers gently plucked the opening notes, wind filling the sails inside her chest, the full, timeless sound of the antique wrapping her in melancholy and elation, all at once.
She lost time, vanishing into the romantic piece as she tried to communicate her love to the harp, to show it her appreciation for being so beautiful. For letting her play its strings.
When she finished, it took her several moments to open her eyes, her spine slowly losing some of its stiffness, her fingertips still buzzing from the experience.
“Fine, you’re worth my time, Clifford. But if you’re ever late again, I will beat you with my ex-girlfriend’s shoe.”
“Fair enough.”
Grace sighed.
A ribbon of smoke sailed over Chloe’s shoulder and she turned around to find her new mentor hitting a vape. “Save your judgment.”