My parents breeze into the front entrance. I close the door behind them.
They continue their conversation, but even though they're right before me. Their voices sound distant and distorted like words spoken under water. Subconsciously tuning everything out. I've been in trapped in a daze since Vanko contacted me. I can't believe he would do something like this. He wants to talk? Have a nice old chat about the good old days like he gives a damn over what he did to me. He doesn't. Kenji was right. The mere glimpse of his return is already foreshowing disaster.
I have a feeling that no many how times I evade or reject him. He won't take no for an answer. Some things never change. But I have. And I'm not that little victim he once knew.
"Amara."
My head whips in his direction. Both of them are staring at me with worry lines etched between their brows. My eyes skim over the kitchen, oblivious to when I walked in here.
"It's what I've been telling you," she says to my dad, but she fixes me with a hybrid look of reproach and concern. "She's been like that throughout the entire service. She don't know what he was preaching."
My mouth rounds. "I do. Pastor Summers gave a moving sermon, as always. I was just... thinking about my recital on Tuesday."
Concern dissolves into calm. "No need to worry about that. You'll knock 'em dead as always, baby."
I offer an elastic smile. My gaze falls on my dad. My smile tightens. "Are sure you I was the one that was distracted?"
Mama looks at my dad, on his phone again, his expression growing with grim solemnity.
My brows furrow with joint worry. "Pops?"
He tears his gaze away from the screen to look up at me.
"You good?"
He gives me a rueful smile, shaking his head stiffly. "No, you know the interview I have this evening?"
My mind reflects back. I nod carefully. "Yeah, with that niche blogger?"
"A heavyweight on the activist scene with millions of followers on social media." His hand massages his forehead, rumpling the frown lines. "It's imperative that I gain her support. She wants updates on the new environmental endeavors that I said I'd launch. Last year. She is on the younger side, and I'll think she'll be more receptive to Braidwood's princess."
"No," mama shuts down.
"The meeting is this evening." He passes her, meandering towards me. "I would go myself, but I have a meeting with Congressman Jefferson. I was completely unaware that I double booked myself."
"No." Her hands raise to place fists on her hips. "She has school tomorrow, and she has to practice."
I flap a casual hand. "No stress, I'm sure it won't exceed an hour, right? I'll have plenty of time to get my homework done and practice."
He flicks a finger under my chin. "That's my girl."
¬¬¬
I'm scheduled to meet with her at Le Summum Du luxe. A five-star hotel.
The lobby's textured glazed walls stretch up to a ceiling thirty feet high. Its knife-edged planes are fitted with LED strips. A dramatic spiral staircase coils up an enclosure at one end. I head over to the super-prime restaurant. I saunter inside, eyeing the walls of walnut veneer with upholstered banquettes and mohair velvet chairs. All in complementary shades of blue and green. Everywhere faint glimmers of light refract from the cast crowns of columns to textured panels.
Jesse Montoya is easy to spot with a small camera crew bustling around her.
She takes notice of me and flags me over like I work here.
I strut over to their table. The setting is spare and simple with crisp white cloths and blue glass tumblers, matching with velvet azure chairs.
"Miss Montoya, what a pleasure to meet you."
I extend my hand. She shakes it fervently.
She breaks into a smile, her beguiling, oyster-white teeth light up the room. Spools of nougat-brown hair plunge around her photogenic face.
"The honor is all mine. I read all about your charitable conquests and the outreach work you've done in the past two years alone. You truly are an inspiration."
I pamper on an amiable smile. "Thank you, so I assume you're not mad that I'm here instead of Mayor Smith?"
Her manicured fingers swat it aside. "On the contrary, I'm glad you came, Miss Smith."
"Please, call me Amara."
"Jesse." She smiles again. "Now that we've got the formalities out of the way." She settles down on the velvet chair, her slim-fit black suit a direct contrast to the blue. "We can begin."
I take my seat, still wearing my Sunday best, a blue and white, long maxi dress with a wrap tie and a asymmetrical hem. Once the cameras start rolling, a professional mask goes over her face. And something stales the air between us, an ominous look glints in her eyes. Jesse gives a brief and boisterous introduction before she jumps straight into it.
"Amara, you are truly out here making a huge social impact. I heard of the collabs with some big-name charity organizations, including the King Foundation." Mischievousness frolics in her eyes. Professionalism shifting into suggestion. "I know that Alister King does a lot of volunteer work himself. Is this a partner up of Braidwood's prince and princess?"
I laugh it off politely. This vulture. "No, Alister is engaged with his own affairs. I have my own programs that I'm running."
She flashes a serpentine smile. "At least one of the Smiths is actually doing something. Your father speaks grandly on eco-change and propelling Braidwood into the future. And yet nothing has been done, only imitating the problems we had with his predecessors."
I discipline myself to maintain my fool-proof smile. "Big dreams require big funding. A lot of the investors that he has encountered were narrow-sighted. But he has a line-up of fundraisers and—"
"He also had that the previous year. In fact, not much has changed since he came into power." She glances the camera pointedly. "I think the question on everyone's mind is if it's an external problem or a management problem. The people don't want excuses or for either of you to mouth platitudes. We want results."
"And you will get it."
"When? When his term is up and he's voted out?"
A scowl tries to shove the smile right off my face. My expression falls neutral. "Rome wasn't built in a day; good things take time and the plans Mayor Smith has to offset this town will benefit generations beyond him."
Jesse nods slowly. "As I said before, nice words."
I can choose nasty ones, too.
¬¬¬
Tuesday.
Today is the day.
Dread and excitement warring within me from the first and last school bell. I hoped that the usual soul-crushing monotony of school would drag on as tediously as it always does. But no. Not today. I blinked and it was over.
Now I'm on the way to the concert hall. I'm in the passenger seat and mama is at the back. My pops said he'll meet us there. He had a few things he had to tend to. But I know he'll be there because as cliché as it sounds. He never breaks his promises.
When the car stops at the base of the mountainous staircase. My heart flatlines.
Larry scurries out to go open mama's door for her. I climb out, gripping my clutch bag.
"Elenore is already inside with your things," mama informs.
I round the car to join her flank.
"Good luck out there, kiddo."
"Can't go anywhere without my good luck charm, though." I reel out the spare ticket and hand it to him. "I need to see you out there in the audience."
He looks down at it ecstatically, his face suffused with elation as if I gave him a lotto ticket.
"You've watched all my school performances. Why would this one be any different?"
He nods many times before he speaks again. "I'll go park the car and meet you inside."
Mama loops her arm with mine. We trek up the flight of alabaster steps. Which is made easy with the dual high slits of the long black dress, ankle-length with a sweetheart neckline.
A million steps later, we finally make it inside. Already scant of breath, awe robs the little air I have left. The interior of the concert hall has a remarkable neo-baroque architecture with grandiose chandeliers, golden ornaments and pastel-colored ceiling art.
When we make it back-stage, Elenore awaits with Kenji.
The sight of him quashes every residue of fear. Our limbs tangle together in an all-enveloping hug before we break apart to do our handshake.
"You two still do that?" Elenore comments, annoyance outlining her tone.
"It's a platonic soul-mate thing," Kenji says, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. "Not that you would know, since the only connection you had since the Jurassic era is with your cats."
She sears him with a glare.
"Kenji," my mom chides.
"I'm just playing mama Smith." He gives her quick scan, a luminous smile thriving on his face. "And can I just say you look absolutely stunning. No surprise there."
She shakes her head at him with a smile. "You don't clean up too bad yourself, son."
"What can I say?" He flaunts a grin, twirling around on the heels of his embroider leather shoes. "I had to pull up for this one." He sets his eyes on me. "You nervous?"
I release a whooshing breath. "Well, I know what I'm not. And that's calm."
"Did you see the crowd at there?"
I shake my head.
He motions me to follow him. We come to the flanks of the towering ruby-red drapes, peeking out at the influx of people meandering to their seats. The enlightening ray sweeps the interior like a searchlight. The seating sweeps up the raked armchairs like an ancient amphitheater. Reminiscent of the sweep of the Colosseum to house the semi-circular auditorium, with a triumphal arch on its flank as a grand entrance. A ceremonial entrance derived from the imperial age with its superimposed arches.
"Holy hell."
"That's a bit of an oxymoron."
"There's a lot of people out there."
I turn away, helpless to the reincarnation of fear rising from my gut.
Kenji catches up to me. With his hands on my shoulders, he forces me around. "I'm not gonna lie to you. This is a big deal. But so are you. You've got this. It's no different from the countless times you've played. It's just a fancier venue and bigger crowd. Otherwise, what you need, you already got."
I nod unsteadily. "Really needed that pep talk, coach."
His smile lends comfort. "Go and kill it out there, sport." He claps a hard hand on my arm.
"Wait—"I quickly grab his arm. I touch my hair. Straightened into a silk press and tied into a low chignon. "Does my hair look okay?"
He nods with certainty. "Totally, it's giving black queen Kate."
"Queen Kate?"
He snorts a laugh. "Charles be half-dead, bro. He ain't long in this world."
"Kenji," my mom beckons. "We should go take our seats."
"Coming," he says over his shoulder. He faces me again. "My future mother-in-law has summoned me. You got this."
My laugh lances through my dismay. "You stupid."
"Made you smile though." He gives me one last hug. And I suck up every ounce of succor from him. "You got this."
Time traipses out of bounds and before I know it, I'm on stage with blinding lights glaring down at me. From the exclusive gallery boxes down to the rows of occupied seats, everything is draped in darkness. An ocean of faceless people. With the cello between my legs and the bow in my hand. I begin to play. The sound ripples through the vast expanse effortlessly. A seed grows to form infinite branches, every note infusing immortal life into me, evicting every remnant of trepidation.
The serenity of the forest, the light that comes to the boughs, it bellows from the cello, translating feeling into sound. My emotions channel through the cello and travel through an immeasurable space, freeing me from my worldly tethers. And allowing me to transform into something transcendent.
By the time my piece is over, the bow gives the strings a last caress. I fall. But this time I'm captured by the uproarious applause. I even forgot that they are there and I'm here. Adrenaline surges through me, the cheers still enduring as I move off stage with the help of one of the event coordinators. Still high on the buzz.
Elenore is back-stage to welcome me into a hug. Something we never do.
"My prodigy," she coos. "You were spectacular!"
I ease back, grinning gratefully. "Thank you, I had an excellent master." I give her a gallant bow.
"Miss Smith."
My spine snaps straight.
A man wearing a headset approaches me with resolute haste. "These were sent in for you."
He turns away and beckons a sequence of people with the snap of his fingers.
"Wow," Elenore fawns. "Your boy friend really went all out."
"You know Kenji is not my boyfriend, just a friend."
"That's what I said."
My eyes are transfixed on the line of workers carrying thick bouquets of red roses, so large it needs both hands to carry. The man offers me a snow-white card embossed with gold. I flip it open.
You were amazing tonight, little pet.
My insides wither. I look up at him. "Thank you. You can get rid of them."