“Oh God, Evie ... I didn’t know.” Reaching across the bench, she gives my hand a hard squeeze, and when I look over at her, I see there are fresh tears in her eyes.
A minute later, a black Honda SUV pulls up on the curb in front of the building. Corinne releases a sigh and stands up. She grabs her rolling suitcase and gives me the same defeated look I’ve seen while looking at my own reflection way too many times.
“That’s my ride.” Before she can take off to leave, I wrap my arms around her. Over her shoulder, I watch as her sister gets out of the Pilot and walks slowly toward us.
“Be strong,” I say before letting Corinne go. “And if you need anything, call me. You told me before that you’re a good listener, but I can be one too.”
She’s scrubbing her palm over her eyes as she meets her sister halfway on the sidewalk, but the moment she gets into the car I can tell that she breaks down again.
“Is she going to be alright?” Kendra asks me as soon as I’m back in my room.
“God, I hope so,” I whisper, finally realizing that I’m crying myself.
***
The rest of the weekend flies by too fast, and I’m sad to see Kendra go on Sunday, even though we’ll see each other again soon—very briefly on Thanksgiving. I’ve decided against going home for fall break, but then during winter break we’ll each be home for a month.
I don’t have to worry about keeping myself occupied for the next few days because midterms consume all my time. I’m either taking an exam, holed up in my room studying for one, or staring at my sheet music until my eyes cross. By the time my performance midterm rolls around on Thursday, though, I’m done with the rest of my testing.
On my way to the music department’s smaller auditorium to take my exam, I hear footsteps behind mine and when a body brushes up against me, I look up to see Rhys. “Relax,” he tells me.
“I am relaxed.”
Clearly unconvinced, he blocks me from entering the auditorium. “Don’t lie to me. You’re going to nail this. Just remember, eye contact.” He dips his head close to mine so that our noses skim and our gazes lock. “And good posture.” His hand splays over the small of my back, pushing just enough that I stand up straight and my breasts press flatten against his chest. “You look beautiful.”
Wanting to make a good impression, I had dressed with care, in a pair of black flare pants I ordered from Victoria’s Secret using my mom’s credit card, a fitted black and white striped shirt, and pointy toe pumps that give me just enough boost without being high enough to affect my breathing while singing.
“You just wanted to touch me,” I whisper, mostly because I want that to be true, but he shakes his head and smiles.
“I’m not going to play these games with you today, Evelyn.”
The auditorium swings opens and Rhys and I break apart abruptly as Professor Cameron glances out. Heat flames across my skin as her gaze sweeps over us in surprise.
“We’re ready for you, Evelyn,” she says, holding the door open for me. “I hope you don’t mind that Mr. Delane will be observing?” She nods to Rhys, giving him a smile that’s tight at the corners, and I shake my head as I go inside.
Last year, I didn’t even put forth the effort to go to my voice midterm—I slept through it—so I have no idea what to expect when I walk slowly onto the stage. A copy of all my music is already waiting for me in a folder on the music stand, and I nervously finger the edges of the paper.
Not just Professor Cameron, but all five of the vocal department’s professors sit on the second row in front of me, and I can feel their stares burning into me along with the stage lights directly above my head.
Holy hell, no wonder I skipped last year.
Taking in deep breaths, I run my fingertip along the edges of the stand until Professor Cameron’s voice pulls my attention on her. “Please state your name for the grading panel.”
I clear my throat. “Evelyn Phoebe Miller.”
After Cameron asks me a few questions that I’m sure are supposed to make me relax instead of clam up even more, she asks me, and the department pianist, to pull out the first piece of music in the folder—“Vissi d’arte”. We go through the same process for the second song I’ve been rehearsing with Rhys, and as soon as I’m finished, Professor Cameron leans forward in her seat.
“Very nice, thank you, Ms. Miller.”
“That’s it?” I blurt out. No sight singing? No scary ass surprises?
Professor Ackerman, who teaches my Diction course, chuckles and shakes his head. “Would you like for us to make you sing more? I’m sure we can find something for you to perform.”
My surprised gaze meets Rhys’, whose lips flit into a satisfied grin, before I shake my head. “No, thank you,” I murmur before gathering my music and leaving the auditorium. Beads of perspiration dot my forehead, which I wipe off with the back of my hand. I lean against a bulletin board right outside the door, and when it opens, I can smell Rhys’ delicious, exotic scent even before I look over to him.
“You did well,” he says. “And now, to celebrate, you’re coming to dinner with me.”
“Are you asking or telling me?” I laugh past the nervous lump in my throat. I’m on such a high right now from performing that I’ll probably accept either, but he lifts his muscular shoulders.
“Take it however you want, but you’re mine for the next couple hours.”
“Don’t you have papers to grade? Performances to sit in on?”
“You’re my last.” Something about the way he says this in his sexy Southern lilt causes the back of my mouth to go dry.
Straightening my shoulders, I stride over to him, feeling my heart pound harder and faster with every step because of the way he’s grinning at me.
“Alright,” I say softly, “where are we going?”
***
Once we’re outside and he tells me that his car is parked on the other side of campus, I offer to take mine. By the time we reach the Hyundai, the sky has opened up and tiny droplets of rain kiss my face, intermingling with the cool October day and cooling my flushed skin.
“Here,” I tell Rhys and toss him my keys, which he catches effortlessly, even as he cocks a dark eyebrow.
“You must still be rattled from the exam,” he teases as we climb inside and he cranks the car. “You’re not one to give up control like that.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath of relief at being done with exams—at least for the time being. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Mac had me all nervous thinking Cameron would slam me with a big surprise, and then ... nothing.” Opening one eye, I add, “And when it comes to driving in Richmond, I’ll gladly give up control. I get too distracted to deal with traffic.”
Surprisingly, though, he leaves Richmond altogether. I touch my forehead to the cold window and silently listen to the ethereal, haunting sound of Agnes Obel’s voice playing from the radio and the windshield wipers flinging the rain away from outside. I watch the fall colors swirl together as he takes a scenic route to Williamsburg. When we arrive at a little bistro on Main Street around five and we’re seated near a window that gives us a clear view of the storm, I finally speak.
“You know, there are plenty of places we could’ve gone in Richmond,” I tell him as I open my menu. Still, I can’t deny that aroma drifting from the table next to ours makes my mouth water. I’d skipped eating this morning and afternoon so I wouldn’t have a complete Pitch Perfect moment the second I stepped on stage. I’ve regretted my decision to not eat all day.
“You’ll like this place,” he assures me. After we order, we make small talk, focusing on everything from our plans for the long weekend to the aggressive approach he’s planning to take to get me ready for finals in early December, and even to his assessment of my improvement in Sight Singing and Dictation. We talk about everything but the elephant in the room—our attraction to each other—that he doesn’t bring up until our waiter brings the check.