Page 41 of Perfect Composition

I try one last time to get her to listen, “But Austyn, you could have…”

“More. It’s a possibility. But at what cost?”

“None. I’ve told you over and over, I want you to be happy.”

“Then you want this for me. If I’m lucky, I’ll get the chance to look him in the eye—just once—to tell him he lost out.”

“He certainly did,” I murmur. I drag my thumb over her brow, around her eye, to her cheek. “He missed out on you.”

Her breath shudders out. “Then let’s go. I have a date with my mother tonight for dinner. Maybe we’ll find her some hot guy.”

I shudder. “Now you sound like Gramps.”

“There are worse things,” she throws cheerfully over her shoulder as she enters the living room of our suite.

I close my eyes and say goodbye to the boy I loved before I go confront the man. “I really did love you.” And for just a moment, I want to stop Austyn. I know I’ve told her that Beckett’s home life wasn’t the greatest, that that’s why he sought out the piano, the music, and me.

But for her, it doesn’t matter.

He made a promise to me he never kept. He left me and through me, her.

“Mama? Are you coming?” Austyn calls out.

And I feel my feet move, one in front of the other. In just a few hours, it will all be done.

And maybe I’ll be able to move on.

It’s only taken twenty years.

Heels clicking in time against the marble floor, we enter the building at Rockefeller Center. After passing security, we board the elevator. Once inside, Austyn barely breathes. I reach over and clasp her hand with my free one. “Calm, baby.”

“How can I?” she asks just as the elevator door opens.

We both exit. But before we pass through the frosted glass doors, opaque but for a Celtic symbol, I remind her, “Because nothing is holding you here. You are not bound by a contract.”Nor by a vow you made in your heart, I amend silently.

She visibly relaxes. “You’re right.” She reaches for the door and pulls it open.

I’m surprised to find a familiar face behind the desk. My head tips to the side as I try to recall the name of the magnificent redhead.

She stands and holds out a hand first to my daughter. “Kensington.” She then turns to me, her eyes warm. “Dr. Kensington. May I take your coats?”

As we shuck our outerwear, the redhead continues. “It’s unusual we’re meeting like this again, but can I take a moment to thank you?”

“You’re welcome…” I flounder as I hand over my coat.

“Angela. Please call me Angie. Everyone here does.” She turns to Austyn to take her jacket. “Your mom is kind of a badass.”

Austyn relaxes fractionally even though she’s obviously confused. “I know.”

“I was in a predicament one night when I heard you play at Redemption. She was fearless.”

I open my mouth to wave off the praise when the wood door behind Angie opens. The man in question from that very night steps out. “Angie, honey, have you…Kensington. Dr. Kensington. Welcome to LLF.”

My voice is frighteningly frigid when I ask, “Tell me you’re not Carys Burke.” The website I looked at didn’t include any pictures of the personnel.

He takes no offense. His face creases into a soft smile. “No, Dr. Kensington, I’m not.”

“Good.”