Читать книгу Cassandra's Song - Carole Page Gift - Страница 12

O n a balmy Friday evening two weeks after the cantata Cassie pulled into the parking lot at her father’s church. She was to meet Antonio at seven to rehearse their numbers for the upcoming city-wide crusade, but she was tempted to turn around and drive home. It was crazy. Her stomach was in knots and her emotions on edge, jumbled. She was as nervous as a cat on a high tension wire. She yearned to see Antonio again and yet dreaded facing him, fearful he might expect more of her than she could deliver.

That was it, of course. How could she play the piano for Antonio when she felt so jittery she wasn’t even sure her fingers would strike the correct keys? How had she allowed her father to talk her into accompanying Antonio at the crusade?

Actually, it was Antonio who had insisted she accompany him. Was he doing it to torture her, to make her look bad, to show her up as a mediocre musician? Surely not, and yet that’s exactly how she felt. He could have chosen the most accomplished pianist in Southern California…but he had asked Cassie. Why hadn’t she just said no?

It still wasn’t too late to back out. She could simply make some excuse and leave. Surely it wouldn’t be hard for Antonio to find another pianist….

But the moment Cassie entered the sanctuary and saw Antonio standing beside the grand piano as he sorted through some sheet music, her heart did a double flip, and she knew she was glad she had come. No matter how terrified she felt at the prospect of accompanying him at the crusade, it was worth the discomfort just to be in his presence again. Surely he was the most handsome man she had ever seen, with that distinctive Roman nose and square jaw and high forehead. And when he looked up at her and smiled, those dark, brooding eyes flecked with gold and amber held her spellbound. Did he like what he saw? She was wearing a pale-blue pantsuit and stacked heels. Was she overdressed? Underdressed? How did one dress for an occasion like this? It was more of a nonoccasion, not a date certainly. Not a date. Then why did she care so much how she looked and what he thought of her?

“Hello, Cassandra.” His gentle voice felt almost like an embrace.

Cassie was breathless. “Hello, Antonio. I hope I’m not late.”

His eyes crinkled, flashing warmth and amusement. “Not at all. I must have been early.” As she approached he stepped forward and gave her a brief embrace, the kind one gives a casual friend. But his closeness—his smooth cheek against hers, the lime fragrance of his aftershave—was enough to send Cassie’s senses reeling.

In his easy, graceful stride he walked back over to the piano and arranged the sheet music on the stand. “I guess we should get started. Are you ready?”

She sat down on the piano bench and smiled up at him. Could he hear her pounding heart? Sense her nervousness? “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

For all of her anxieties and trepidation, the evening went like clockwork. Like magic. As Antonio sang and she played, something extraordinary happened. They performed as one, in perfect synchronicity, as if they had spent their entire lives performing together. Each seemed to know instinctively what the other was about to do; even their musical interpretations matched.

Cassie found herself feeling pleased, exultant, even euphoric. She sensed a new excitement and passion in her playing, a fresh burst of confidence. It was as if Antonio had unwittingly freed some deep creative impulse within her.

After their rehearsal, as Antonio walked Cassie to her car, he said with a hint of levity, “My dear lady, was it my imagination, or did we sound sensational together?”

She hesitated, struggling for words. “You…you sounded superb, I know that much.”

“But there was something magical, electric going on here tonight,” he persisted. “Didn’t you feel it? It’s not always that way when I sing. Admit it, Cassandra. We were soaring.” He touched her arm gently. “Please, don’t tell me it was all one-sided. Am I wrong?”

“No, I felt it too. It was…extraordinary.”

He chuckled. “Now if we just sound as good to the rest of the world, we’ll be all set.”

He opened her door for her, then clasped her arm before she stepped inside. “Cassandra, wait. I have an idea. I’m too jazzed to just go home and call it a night. Would you like to go somewhere? Get something to eat?”

She was about to say she wasn’t hungry, but quickly canceled the remark and said instead, “Yes. I’d like that.”

“More Italian cuisine?”

“No, it’s too late for a big fancy meal. How about the little coffee shop around the corner? They’ve got great burgers.”

“Burgers it is. Why don’t you leave your car here and ride with me?”

She looked up and caught his infectious smile. “Okay, Antonio. Lead the way.”

He escorted her across the parking lot to a large luxury sedan, a deep burgundy color with a black leather interior. He opened her door and she slipped inside. “A beautiful car.”

“Not as beautiful as its passenger.” He lingered a moment, his eyes fastened on her, then went around to his side, got in, and they were off.

As he drove she cast several surreptitious glances at his finely chiseled profile. He was a gorgeous man, no doubt about it! Even in sport shirt and slacks he looked debonair. And yet he seemed completely unaware of his stunning good looks.

In the coffee shop, as they ordered burgers and fries, she realized he looked too cosmopolitan for a greasy spoon like this. She fidgeted with her water glass, the napkin, the silverware, silently chastising herself for not suggesting a more sophisticated restaurant.