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I nod my head encouragingly, though I never said she should give him another chance. At the same time, I wasn’t in their relationship and given my current hopeless infatuation with Ivan, I wasn’t in any place to be handing out judgmental dating advice.
Laney sighed, throwing her phone down. “You are so lucky, Em. You and Ivan really have it figured out.”
I snorted. While I loved her, that statement was the ultimate proof that Laney’s judgment was kind of suspect. I guess she didn’t notice me moping around since last Friday because she’d been moping about Drew, but if she’d been paying attention, she’d have noticed Ivan’s absence. “Yeah, well, we have our issues, too.”
“Right, but the way he dotes on you? Oh my god, so jealous,” she said, falling back onto her bed in a fake swoon.
I took a deep breath, trying to release the discomfort and pain her unknowing words brought me. That the one time I experienced direct evidence of Ivan’s attraction to me, he headed for the hills and ghosted me, even though it was his literal job to be around me. I fell back on my bed and pulled a pillow over my face.
*****
Orchestra was torture.
I was on pins and needles anticipating seeing Ivan. What if he didn’t show up? What if he sent Vadim? What if he ignored me? All these questions were swirling in my head when Kevin approached me before we started practicing, full of apologies and self-recriminations.
“Emmy, I’m so sorry about Friday. I was way out of line. I’d had a lot to drink, and I thought—”
I held up my hand. “Kevin, please stop. It’s fine. You’re entitled to your opinion. Let’s not let it be a thing, okay?” I asked, half begging. I didn’t feel up to dealing with the drama and explanations.
He gave me a small, relieved grin and nodded his head so eagerly, his beanie nearly flew off. “Cool, thanks, Emmy.”
“No problem,” I murmured and started walking to my chair at the back of the stage.
I liked the fact that the harp was placed at the back of the orchestra. It allowed me to tune everyone out and play without the distraction of other musicians immediately surrounding me.
Tonight, it was a particular godsend because I was already distracted, and anyone sitting close enough to me to see it would have noticed.
All of this emotional stuff, on top of the triggering musical selection, had me almost missing my cue because my mind was so preoccupied—an almost unimaginable lapse on my part. Music had always been a refuge for all of my racing thoughts or worries and to have it so brutally invaded felt particularly unsettling.
After two hours of playing with little enthusiasm, but passable accuracy, I gathered my belongings. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Professor Belshaw walking in my direction and felt another layer of exhaustion hit me. He was the last person I wanted to talk to right now.
He had become uncomfortably probing, making comments about me looking tired or seeming upset. It was unsettling to have him so dialed into me and I couldn’t help thinking about Ivan’s suspicious questioning about him.
Could he be Orlov? Was that even possible? It seemed borderline deranged to believe he could have inserted himself in this position. Though Orlov’s seemed to know music, was it possible he knew enough to lead an orchestra? It seemed highly unlikely, but now I found my apprehension building every time Mr. Belshaw approached me.
“Emmy, can we talk for a minute?” he asked, his youthful face looking grave. My eyes scanned his features, trying to superimpose Orlov’s face from the photo onto his, but my mind was too flooded with emotions, fatigue, and anxiety to make a conclusion one way or another.
He had brown eyes and light brown hair, which was sort of like Orlov. Every time I found myself starting to think Belshaw could be him, my rational mind batted the thought away like a bothersome gnat.
“Uh, sure,” I replied unenthusiastically.
“You seemed off during the rehearsal. Is everything okay?” I stared at him, looking for something sinister, but saw only concern.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just tired and I think I’m coming down with something,” I said, putting a hand to my head, as if checking myself for a fever. I was hoping the little affectation distracted him from my terrible acting skills.
He reached his hand out and touched the side of my face, which had alarm skittering through me. “You are a bit warm,” he murmured, his thumb swiping over my cheek.
I pulled back, deeply uncomfortable with his touch. “I have to go. My ride is waiting for me.”
He pulled his hand back, looking a bit chagrined, but I wasn’t sure if that was due to his awareness that touching me was inappropriate or my reaction to his touch. “Is your boyfriend picking you up? Is that who that guy was last week?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. What was going on here? Was my professor jealous of Ivan? Even if this guy wasn’t Orlov, this was bad.
“Yes, that’s my boyfriend. He’s very jealous and impatient, so I have to go,” I rushed out, grabbing my stuff and running toward the exit.
Would this terrible day never end?
Now that I had escaped Mr. Belshaw, my mind was running in circles. Things were hopelessly awkward between me and Ivan, and I was going to see him for the first time since we’d been physical.