(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (34 page)

Read (Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief Online

Authors: Shira Anthony

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction, #Contemporary, #Gay, #General

“Just that you said that Francesca said she couldn’t take him away from
us
.”

“Yes. That’s what she said. Does it surprise you?”

“Yes. It does. I’m not his father.”

“You’re wrong, Cary. Haven’t you realized it yet?” He paused and kissed Cary’s bare chest. “You
are
Massi’s father. A wonderful, loving father.”

And for once, Cary didn’t need Antonio to tell him it was true. Cary
knew
it for himself.

Los Angeles, February

“
T
HE next award is for Best Classical Instrumental Solo.” The presenter was a pop singer Cary recognized from a poster taped to the wall in his nephew’s room. “And in case you all think I don’t listen to classical”—he grinned at the audience, flashing them a set of brilliant white teeth—“my man Alex Bishop taught me a thing or two about it.”

Cary glanced at Alex, seated to his left, and grinned. Cary gripped Antonio’s left hand with his right as the presenter read the list of nominees.

“And Cary Redding, for his recording of the Brahms Double Concerto in A Minor, Opus 102.” The presenter paused for effect, looking directly at Cary.

Cary’s face felt hot as one of the cameramen swung about to capture him sitting in the audience. It still seemed strange that he had been nominated but Alex hadn’t. Cary had told everyone who would listen that Alex was the “true master,” and downplayed his own role in the project. Alex had responded by telling him in no uncertain terms that it had been
Cary’s
performance that had made the recording such a success. Cary had brushed off the compliment and cracked a joke about violinists having smaller “instruments.”

“And this year’s winner of the Recording Academy’s Grammy for Best Classical Instrumental Solo is… Cary Redding, for the Brahms Double Concerto in A Minor!”

Cary was sure he hadn’t heard correctly. But when one of the ushers came from the side of the auditorium to escort him onto the stage, all he could do was follow with a quick look back at David, Alex, and Antonio, who, along with much of the crowd, were on their feet and applauding enthusiastically.

The bright lights stung his eyes after the relative darkness of the auditorium. He remembered how, years ago, his mother had taught him not to react outwardly to the multihued blur they left in their wake. Although he was no stranger to the lights or to large audiences, he felt almost naked without his cello as he stared out beyond the lights, holding the Grammy in his right hand. For a moment, he just stood there at the podium with a vague recollection of having been told to say something but keep it “brief.”

Say something.

The irony that he, the man who always prepared for his appearances with something bordering on obsession, had not prepared a speech was hardly lost on him.

“Thanks to everyone who made this recording possible—the Chicago Symphony’s musicians, my teachers, the people who encouraged me, my brother, Justin, my friends.” His voice was strong and confident, despite the butterflies that danced in his belly and made his head spin.

“Thank you, David Somers, for having given me the opportunity to perform such amazing repertoire.”

Thanks for your patience and unwavering friendship in spite of all my stupid shit.

“Thank you, Alex Bishop. For your friendship and your incredible fiddle playing. You made me sound good.”

Thanks for listening and having faith in me.

Cary smiled. “Those are the easy ones. Some thank-yous are more complicated, but you know you still need to say them.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you, Mom, for introducing me to the joy of music and for giving of yourself even when I didn’t understand the gift.”

Thanks, Dad, for helping me find the heart I had buried away.

“And my family. Massi and Tonino. Except I can’t really thank you, can I? Because words seem so little to give you in return for what you’ve both given me.
Vi voglio bene
.”
I love you both.

Thanks for giving me a life and a future. A home, a heart, an everything.

“Thank you.”

A
FTERWARD, Cary would remember none of the handshakes and congratulations backstage, the celebrities, the photographs or signing autographs. He was led past a gauntlet of admirers and curious onlookers, reporters, dignitaries. An hour later, exhausted and entirely overwhelmed, he was shown into a small sitting room, empty but for one person: the person he wanted to see most.

“Tonino.”

“Caro.” Antonio opened his arms, and they held each other for the longest time. At last, Antonio asked, “Are you happy?”

Cary nodded. “I hope you’re not angry with me.”

“Angry? Why would I be?”

“People will ask questions. About you… about what you mean to me.”

“I’ve never hidden who I am. I’m proud to speak of my love for you.”

In that instant, Cary understood something that he hadn’t understood before. He knew what he wanted with a clarity that had until then eluded him.

“Tonino?”

“Hmm?”

Cary took a deep breath and released it, then pressed his head into Antonio’s solid shoulder. “
Ti amo
,
Tonino
.
Molto
.”

“
Ti amo anche
,
Cary
.
Moltissimo
.” Antonio hugged him again, then pulled back so that Cary could see the expression on his face. Cary saw the love in Antonio’s eyes—it was a palpable thing, warm and reassuring. How had he gotten so lucky?

“I want to have a child. With you.”

Antonio’s blue eyes grew wide. “You, you want to have a child?”

“Yes.” Cary laughed.

“But how… I mean… why now?”

“I’m ready now.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Are you kidding?” Cary laughed again. “I’m scared to death.” He paused for a moment, then kissed Antonio lightly on the lips. “But I’m ready. So what do you think? Will you have a child with me?”

Antonio just smiled and kissed Cary tenderly, then drew him closer so that his lips were right beside Cary’s ear, brushing the lobe and eliciting an audible sigh. Antonio took a deep breath, then whispered his answer. Cary smiled against Antonio’s cheek.

Happy endings. Cue the fade-out…. No. Not an ending
, Cary thought.
A beginning. A future. A life.

About the Author

In her last incarnation,
S
HIRA
A
NTHONY
was a professional opera singer, performing roles in such operas as
Tosca
,
Pagliacci
, and
La Traviata
, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 30-foot catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.

Shira can be found on Facebook, Goodreads, or on her website, http:// www.shiraanthony.com. You can also contact her at shiraanthony@ hotmail.com.

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