Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
As the work drags on, I think of earlier, sitting in Bella’s apartment and listening to the song they were practicing. It took me a while to place it. It was clear, sitting outside the room, when Bella was playing and when it was Sofia.
Whenever Bella took her bow, I felt a strong urge to push the bedroom door open and watch her again. Taking out my phone, I clench my teeth, feeling like a stupid teenager. After everything I’ve done, my chest gets tight over a text.
I can’t get that Paganini piece out of my head.
Once I click send, I work for another ninety minutes before my phone vibrates. I snatch it up instantly.
Yes, it’s quite a piece, she replies. The technicality is impressive, but I’ve noticed something about how most violinists play it.
There’s something impressive about her confidence level and how she feels free to offer her opinion on such a well-respected piece of work.
What do you mean? I ask.
Many performers focus so much on the technical challenges that they sometimes miss the expressive potential. It can come across as cold, almost mechanical.
A smile spreads across my lips. At the same moment, a shaft of sunlight spears into the office. If I were superstitious, I’d almost think the two were connected.
Interesting. So, do you think they emphasize the virtuosity over the emotion?
Exactly! I imagine her bubbling with excitement, maybe causing those ample tits of hers to bounce. It’s like they prioritize the flashy parts over the nuances. There’s a depth to the music that’s often overlooked. The shifts in dynamics and phrasing can convey so much more.
That makes sense. Do you have an example of a performance that does it right?
There are a few, she replies. Some older recordings capture the feeling better, but it’s still rare. It’s tricky because the piece is technically demanding, but it also needs a kind of … lyrical touch?
My smile widens even more. When I took a serious interest in this, it was always for Sofia. I don’t hate the music, but I never loved it either. Yet with Bella, somehow, I care.
So it’s more about balancing the technical and emotional aspects? I ask.
Yes, that’s it! Again, I can see her glowing with enthusiasm and imagine her body shivering temptingly. There’s a sort of storytelling in the piece that gets lost when it’s played too precisely. It needs a bit of freedom, a bit of personality.
I get what you mean. It’s like they’re playing all the notes but missing its soul.
It’s like reciting poetry without feeling the words, she replies, and suddenly, I wish she was here. I wouldn’t overthink it. I wouldn’t care that she’s a stranger. I’d pull her into my lap, hold her, and savor her vivaciousness.
I’d love to hear an example of what you’re describing. Do you have a performance in mind you could share?
I delete the message, wondering if I should cross this line. So far, we’re still within the realms of music. Whatever happens, we have that as an excuse, a get-out-of-jail-free card if things get too … What? Romantic? I almost laugh at myself just thinking about it.
Instead, I write, It sounds like you’re the expert, Bella. You’ll have to send me a video of you playing it sometime.
After clicking send, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Sofia has finally found somebody who can bring out the best in her. Even after two days, I’ve noticed a difference in my little sister. If I get close to Bella, at some point, it will erupt, and then Sofia will be back to secluding herself in her room—back to being lonely because of the life she was born into.
I can send you a video later, but I haven’t got one prepared and ready to go.
I swallow, my chest thumping. It’s innocent, I try to tell myself. Or she’s just trying to keep her highest-paying client sweet. Maybe I’m taking advantage without realizing or even meaning to.
I almost want to tell her yes, send a video, but wear the sexiest outfit she can find. Something lacy that hints at the curviness of her body, the fabric fluttering around her thickness, begging me to grab her, to—No, stop.
Record one just for me, then, I text, even if it’s against my better judgment.
CHAPTER TEN
BELLA
When I return from the restaurant, I find Mom in the living room, textbooks sprawled on the coffee table. I know Emily is out tonight. On a date, she casually texted as if it was the most regular thing in the world. For her, it is. For me, it would be a huge event.
“You look tired,” I tell Mom, leaning down, hugging, and sitting beside her. “I’ve got some leftovers for when you’re hungry.”
“You’re going to make an amazing mom one day,” she says, then yawns.
“You don’t have to study all the time, Mom,” I reply. “You’ve got two more years to go. You don’t want to burn yourself out.”