"Relax," Ian whispered in my ear. "If you grip the mic stand any harder, you'll snap it in half."

My eyes flicked down to my hands where they had a death grip around the slim, metal pole. I pried my fingers off, leaving smudged handprints behind. I blew out a breath.

"Nervous?" he asked.

I tilted my head back to take in the sarcastic smile that was playing across his lips. It did nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders, and I gave myself a shake. "Very."

"I don't get it. Aren't you used to crowds by now?"

I wandered around the stage, the heavy footfalls of my boots echoing around the room. "Crowds? Yes. Need me to give a speech on the importance of environmental protection? Sure, no problem." Continuing my pacing, I crossed to the piano, tracing my fingers along the gleaming surface. I brushed my fingertips together, an unconscious gesture I'd picked up from my mother, to check for dust. There wasn't any. "A solo piano recital? Sure, you got it."

"Still not understanding." Ian sat on one of the stools, tucking his feet up on the spokes. His fingers drummed against the worn denim of his jeans.

"I don't like to do anything in half measures," I admitted to him. "I've been trained on the piano. I can be talking to the most boring person on the planet, and I know exactly how to arrange my face so that it looks like I'm interested and amused." I did just that, wiping away all traces of anxiety and giving him my uber-fake smile. "This? Singing? I'm not good at it. I'm not bad either, but when I do something, I want it to be done well."

"You don't want to fail."

"Fail" was one of my taboo words. It wasn't possible, it wasn't acceptable.

"I don't fail," I corrected him, meeting his gaze across the stage.

He tried to lift the heavy mood in the room with his smile, but even that wasn't strong enough. "So, you wanna practice then?" He gestured to the microphone.

"Hah, no." I shook my head. "I'll be doing this once, and once only. I've practiced at home, worked on my breathing, and I haven't eaten any dairy today-"

"Dairy?" He c.o.c.ked his head to the side.

I rubbed my fingers against my throat. "It makes you mucousy, harder to sing."

He leaned his forearms against his thighs, bending over with laughter. Blood rushed to my cheeks, settling hotly underneath the surface of my skin. Lifting his head, he ran both hands over his hair, the thick ma.s.s of it flattening under the pressure and then springing back up. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Oh, well, d.a.m.n. The tw.a.n.g of a bow string as another imaginary arrow piercing my chest rang through my ears. I shook it off.

Sticking out his chin, he gestured to the piano. "Will you play for me?"

I shrugged. "Sure." Slipping onto the bench, I ran my fingers over the keys-the glossy blacks and the warm whites that had faded with age. "Any requests?" I asked, watching as he sauntered across the stage and sat down on the bench next to me.

"You pick."

"Hmmm." Nothing too complicated; it'd been awhile since I played. I questioned him while I ran through the possibilities in my head, searching my brain for songs I actually remembered. "Do you play?"

He nodded. "Decently."

I nudged my knee against his. "For all you claim to be a musician, I've never heard you play."

"You've never asked." I expected to find a playful smile on his face or a teasing note to his voice, but instead his words were low and flat, and he turned away to stare out across the empty room. "I've been . . . taking a break from music," he finally added.

I flexed my fingers over the keys, letting them run over the smooth surface without uttering a note. "Is this not okay, then? I mean, if you want to bail on this one, I'd understand." I gave a fake laugh. "Maybe it would be better if you did so you wouldn't be able to make fun of me afterwards."

"It's fine." He nudged my knee back. "So, are you gonna play or keep me in suspense all day?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and slammed down middle C. He flinched. The note resonated around us, swirling through the air like it had wings. "You should tell your friend that his piano is just a hair flat."

"Really?" His thick eyebrows drew together in a frown. He spun his pointer finger in a circle, in a do-it-again gesture.

I played it again, and he closed his eyes. I could practically see him focusing his ears on the sound, his lips slanting to the side.

"Barely," he said. "G.o.d, you can hear that?"

I gave him a smug smile. "Mhmm."

With one hand gripping the back edge of the bench, he leaned across me and captured my lips in a kiss that made my toes curl in my boots. He'd barely let up and let me breathe when he said, "C'mon Bianca, don't make me beg."

Now that would be a sight.

I stared up into his gray eyes, which had taken on a playful quirk, and rolled mine at him. "Fine." I shoved him with my shoulder until he sat back up.

Positioning my fingers over the keys, I adjusted my feet over the pedals and started to play. The first movement in Moonlight Sonata had always been a favorite of mine, and it had nothing terribly difficult that I would slip up on. I let the music crescendo around me, striking the quarter notes with a harsh efficiency that seemed to slash the notes through the air. I relished in the minor chords, enjoying the haunting beauty of them that seethed around me like angry waves.

The room was completely silent for almost a full minute after I'd finished, the last strands of music still clinging to the air like shadows.

"That was . . ." Ian ran his tongue over his lips.

"Good?"

"'Insane' is more of the word I was going for."

I should've felt thrilled and reveled in the comment. Instead, frustration built. "See, this is what I mean. I can't sing like I play. It's just not at the same level."

"Who cares?"

"I care."

"But why?"

"I just . . . I don't . . ." I shoved up to my feet and flattened my hands across the lid of the piano, curling my fingers so that the nails bit into the sensitive skin of my palms. How could I explain to him that everything I did was a reflection on my parents, that every misstep, every miscalculation was just one more reason for them to be disappointed in me? What words could I give him that would make him understand that for all my successes, each of them was just an effort to apologize to my mother for the one thing I could never truly apologize for? And was there even possibly a way for me to do it, to sc.r.a.pe down to the raw, crushing pain that I'd never once admitted to anyone, not even Renee, without sounding utterly pathetic?

"Hey, forget it. Forget I asked. It doesn't matter." He spun me, both hands on my hips, his thumbs slipping above the edge of my jeans to rub small circles against my stomach. "You'll be great tonight, I know it." Nuzzling his lips against my neck, he trailed soft kisses up to my ear. "I loved watching you play, that look you get on your face when you strike a chord just right." His lips reversed their direction, taking the same path back down my neck. Running a hand along the collar of my shirt, he pushed it to the side so he could trail his tongue along my collarbone, stopping to place one delicate kiss on the edge of my shoulder.

With a little pressure, I sank backward, my b.u.t.t landing on the keys and letting out a discordant squeal. I chuckled and ran my hands over Ian's shirt, not stopping until I rested my hands on his shoulders. "Look at that, you're making music again."

The corner of his mouth quivered. "Not me, we."

He ducked his head down to mine, stepping into the s.p.a.ce between my thighs. My hands found their way up into his hair, tugging him closer to me so that I could sweep my tongue across his lips.

My phone let out a shrill beep, the a.s.signed tone for my parents' dreaded e-mails, and it was like someone doused me with a bucket of ice water. I broke my lips away from his, letting my forehead thump forward against his chest. I never should have turned the sound back on.

One of Ian's fingers traced up the length of my spine. "Need to get that?"

"No," I mumbled into his shirt. Maybe if I pretended I never heard it, I could also pretend the brand new e-mail in my inbox didn't exist. It'd been a blissful three weeks without any communications from my parents, twenty-one days without their condescending words to drag me down from my life-induced high. They weren't even in the same state, and they could still kill the mood. Their timing was impeccable, as always.

I didn't want to read their e-mail, not here, not now. Probably not even today because it would put me in such a dark mood that I wouldn't be able to enjoy tonight at all. Although, "enjoy" might not be the right word for how I was feeling about tonight. But when I pulled back, Ian's eyes were filled with questions he either didn't want to say or wasn't sure he had the right to ask.

So, I answered him anyway, because this, at least, I could give him.

Retrieving my phone from my purse, I pulled up the e-mail without even glancing at it and pa.s.sed it to him. He frowned, flicking his eyes from me to the phone like he wasn't quite sure what I wanted him to do with it.

"Go ahead, read it." I folded my arms across my chest and looked away.

If there was a clock in the room, I'm sure I would have been able to hear the second hand ticking. Since there wasn't, I heard absolutely nothing at all.

"Is this for real?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. I didn't really have to answer that, did I?

"f.u.c.k, Bianca. This is . . ."

"Yup, that about sums it up." I took back my phone and scanned the e-mail, despite myself. It was brief, checking my itinerary for the upcoming holidays, reminding me of the family Christmas picture, and, of course, expressing their ongoing displeasure at my current location and refusal to obey their every command. Pretty par for the course, and not even one of the worst ones I'd gotten. I went back for my purse and slung it over my shoulder. "Listen, I've got to run." I walked back to him, my stride long and confident, and pecked him on the cheek. "Thank you so much for this. You have no idea how much it helped. It really meant a lot." The fake smile was back, and I was sure my cheeks would splinter with the effort. I wondered if he'd be able to pick it out now that I'd shown it to him. If he could differentiate from the smiles I put on for everyone else and the one I saved especially for him.

"Bianca, wait," he called after me as I walked away.

I turned around but kept walking backward. "It's fine." Lifting my phone in his direction I said, "No big deal. I'll see you tonight. Eight o'clock."

"I'll be here." Ian shoved his hands in his pocket, his mouth twisting to the side. It was the last image I had of him before I stepped out into the overcast afternoon, the door slamming closed behind me.

Chapter 24: Ian.

5 Years Earlier The wipers thwapped back and forth over the windshield, doing absolutely nothing to stop the full-on blanket of white that was bearing down on us. Ben's knuckles were equally white as he clutched them around the steering wheel, trying like h.e.l.l to keep the van on the road.

Static buzzed through my phone, reminding me that Maggie was still waiting for my answer. "We're coming down Old Mill Lane, I think, and . . . s.h.i.t!" I slammed my hand against the roof to try to keep myself in my seat. Snow blurred around us as the van fishtailed around the corner. The cell phone flew out of my hand, skidding across the rubber mats to the backseat.

With a jerk, the van straightened out, and Ben unclenched his teeth, blowing out a breath. He muttered something under his breath that I didn't catch, but I doubted was worth hearing anyway.

A head sporting nearly white-blond hair popped up next to my arm rest. Leaning one arm against the back of my seat, Felix pa.s.sed me my phone. "I think you dropped this, man." He swiped a hand through his long hair. "Hey, Ben, try not to kill us, would you? Seriously, you need me to drive?"

Ben's glare was wasted on the windshield. "f.u.c.k off, Felix."

Felix flopped back onto the bench seat, giving Gavin a punch in the arm as he laughed. Gavin gave him a tense smile, but tightened his grip around the edge of the seat.

The phone in my hand was yelling at me, "Ian! Oh my G.o.d, Ian! Are you there?"

"Sorry, I'm here."

"What the h.e.l.l just happened?"

I quadruple-checked my seatbelt, giving it a sharp tug. "Just dropped the phone. Nothing to worry about."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Points for effort?"

A frustrated sigh crackled through the earpiece. "You guys should have been here last night. I can't believe you missed our rehearsal dinner, and now you're out there driving through a blizzard." There was a quick beat of silence on the other end. "Ugh. Ignore me. I know it was important that you stayed and met with the label rep, but I'm freaking out over here. The lights are flickering, the roads are a mess. I have no idea how we're going to pull this off."

"Would this be the time I remind you which one of us thought it was a good idea to get married on Christmas Eve?" I flinched and ducked as something hard slapped against the front windshield. A tree branch, maybe.

"I don't know, would this be the time I remind you that with our cla.s.ses and someone's busy schedule, this was one of the only times we could make it work?"

"Babe, take a deep breath. Try to relax."

Her snort came through loud and clear. "I don't know Ian, we-"

"Maggie."

"Yeah?"

"We just pulled in the driveway. Can we have this conversation inside?"

The line clicked off, and I shoved open the door, stepping into a good foot of snow. The icy stuff slid right into my shoes, and a shiver stole itself up my spine. Christ, it was freezing. We stomped toward the front door, making gaping holes in what was a giant expanse of untouched snow as the wind spit chunks of ice and snowflakes right into our faces.

It took less than thirty seconds to make it from the van to the front door, but in that time Gavin's cheeks had gone bright red, Ben practically had icicles frozen to his eyelashes, and Felix's hair was peppered with snow. He brushed a hand over his hair as he stepped inside, nearly needing to duck underneath the doorjamb. Tall b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

I kicked off my shoes and wet socks, leaving them in a damp puddle in the entryway. The parents, Maggie, and Rachel were all gathered in the living room, the fireplace crackling and coating the entire room in a warm orange glow. They all glanced up as we walked in, their expressions caught somewhere between happiness to see us and anxiousness about the weather and what that meant for the rest of the day.

"Mags." I held out my hand for her and nodded toward the hallway.

Abandoning her perch by the window, she released her grip on the curtain and let it flutter back into place. Her fingers were cold when they slipped between mine, so I gave them a quick squeeze. "Bad news first, let's hear it."

She nodded, blowing out a breath and stirring the wild curls around her face. "The florist, caterer, DJ, the reception hall-they're all out. The pastor's snowed in at his house, and I haven't even been able to reach the photographer."

"Is there any good news?" I asked, running my fingers over my jaw. Stubble jabbed at my fingertips, yet another reminder of things that had not gone as planned today.

She let out a short, humorless laugh. "I guess that depends on your definition of 'good news.' Most of the vendors have agreed to give us a refund under the circ.u.mstances. So, I guess that's a positive." Her shoulders drooped, and she reached across to flick away a stubborn snowflake that clung to my sweater. "I think we're gonna have to call it."

I sucked in my lower lip and scrunched up my face. "Well . . . maybe not."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh yeah? You have some magic pull over the weather you haven't mentioned before?"

A smile eased itself across my face, and I surprised her by swooping in for a quick kiss.

"What was that for?" She asked, an answering smile curving the corners of her wide mouth.