Page 69 of Trust

My blush deepens, and my shoulder jerks in a half-shrug. “If it was too distracting or whatever.”

She smiles at me. “It was lovely. Do you need anything?”

“Oh, you’re working. It’s fine,” I hurry to tell her. “I was just looking for something to drink.”

“What’s your poison?” she asks me.

I blink at her. “Water?” I ask more than say. “Water’s fine. But you’re working?—”

“I’m on break,” she assures me. “And before you try to argue, I don’t mind. I was trying to distract Harvey, but he’s worried Mr. Zima’s going to show up and catch him goofing off. Here, let me grab you a glass of water.”

She leads me over to the drink machine, and ice clinks into a glass before she fills it with water.

“There you go,” she tells me. “Now, tell me all about yourself.”

Panic races through me. I haven’t come up with a good story about why I’m there, about who I am, yet.

The worst part is that I can’t even tell the truth because I’ve started to understand that I don’t know who I am anymore. My identity had revolved so thoroughly around my family business for a long time, then around Charles, then around Adam…

And now it revolves around Ilya, except Ilya had been eager to let me out of the condo to have something to do. Under hisprotection, he’d said, and I hadn’t missed the significance of the word even though I think anyone else would’ve dismissed the nuance.

It had been one step closer to him confiding something real.

I think.

I take a sip of my water to stall.

She must take pity on me because she says, “You don’t have to tell me anything! I’m just nosy, that’s all. This is the first time Mr. Zima’s had someone play music here, and I was curious about you. He’s very protective of you. He told us not to be mean to you.” She laughs, and I recognize the nervous edge to it. “He was… pretty intimidating about that.”

I wince. “I’m sorry,” I reply. “He’s protective of me.”

“Oh, I could tell,” Cat says. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Mortified, I look down at the glass instead of at her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she tells me. “He didn’t just hire you because of that, if you’re wondering. You’re genuinely good. It’s about time someone takes advantage of that little stage area.”

I don’t know whether I should believe her. Wouldn’t she say the same thing regardless of whether I was good or not to avoid upsetting her boss’s… boyfriend?

Is that what I am to Ilya? Is that what he thinks I am to him?

Guilt gnaws at me.

“Thanks.” I feel even more awkward instead of less. “I should go back out there.”

“Sure,” she says. “I should get back anyway. But thanks for breaking up the monotony some. We think you’re great.”

So they’re all talking about me.

Wonderful.

I go back and forth about whether I want to play another piece, but finally, I think of Cat’s praise and decide to do it again. Instead of backing out, I return to the area with my cello.

I take up the bow again, positioning the cello before starting in on another piece. I’m not brave enough to play one of the ones I’d composed, but I have plenty of others in my repertoire that I’ve practiced over and over again.

Like the first one, this one is gentle, relaxing, providing ambient sound instead of anything like I’d played at the bar. It’s not that there’s no heart or soul to it, but it’s different.

When that piece is over, I glance up to see Ilya watching me with a strange smile on his lips. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I set down the instrument and head over to him.