Page 2 of Bound in Debt

Furious beyond belief, I grip the door and fling it open, determined to find the source of the music. To force the musician to stop playing it, to erase the piece from existence so I never have to hear it again.

The room is empty, save for a lone girl sitting delicately in a chair facing a floor-to-ceiling window. I don’t register the view or anything else, just her.

The source of my pain, the person breathing life into the dark memories that only serve to torture me.

Long, dark hair falls down her shoulders in chaotic spirals of bouncing curls as her arm moves fluidly, drawing her bow back and forth over her instrument. Her chin is tucked to her chest and she doesn’t even look up as the door bangs into the wall, her focus entirely consumed by the music. The devotion she is giving to the piece only boils my blood.

How dare she not recognize the agony I’m in?

“Stop.”

The girl jolts, scratching a string and creating a discordant screech, before she cranes her head to look backwards to me. My fingers itch to wrap around the neck of her violin and smash it to the hardwood floor. But the instrument shouldn’t have to suffer as much as I am for that performance.

I should’ve killed Gabriella—and her husband—when I had the chance. Maybe that would have soothed the monster in my chest. At least I wouldn’t have had to leave my beloved Italy.

“I’m sorry,” the girl murmurs, rising to stand. “Did you have this room reserved?”

I stare at her as she closes the distance between us.

Lake blue eyes.

Plush lips.

Tanned, flawless skin that she has no problem showing off with the white cropped tee she’s wearing. Her gray sweatpants hug her curvy waist and I stop there.

She’s a fucking kid. And she has no business being in my classroom outside of class hours.

“You’re Professor Moretti,” she breathes, finally putting two and two together. Her eyes bulge from her face and she blinks rapidly, as if she can’t believe for a second that I’m real. “I’m a huge fan. I had to beg my advisor to get me into this class because they didn’t know if you’d only be here for fall semester or the full year and I?—”

“Shut up,” I blurt out, trying to fight back my rising temper. To focus on the fact that she’s here, without my permission, and playing that song. “What are you doing in my classroom?”

“Oh, I was just practicing.”

“Practicing my song? You thought you’d kiss my ass by playing my song?”

“No!” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t to—I love that song. It’s one of my?—”

“Don’t…ever…play it again,” I command through clenched teeth. “If I hear it, I’m kicking you out of my class.”

“But—”

“Just say ‘yes’ and don’t bother making excuses. Got it?”

She stares at me for a long second before nodding. “I understand.”

Fuck me.

I begin to turn around to find my damn bearings in this giant room bathed in the soft afternoon light pouring through the windows, but the audacious chit stops me from walking away.

“Do you have a syllabus for us? My advisor said?—”

“Read the room, princess,” I bite out, glaring down at her and praying she’ll take the hint and finally leave. “I’m not in the mood for small talk, and you clearly aren’t old enough to be in my class. Go to the mall or something.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t have intruded. It’s just, after two years here you’re the first visiting professor I’m excited by. I’m sorry.” I bow my head in acceptance of her babbled apology. Maybe I was harsh, but at least she stopped playing that cursed bit of music. However, I didn’t scare her enough to keep her from opening her damn mouth again. “I’m Victoria Waldorf.”

“Good for you.”

“I promise this won’t happen again. Next time I’ll ask if the space is available.”