The music stopped. Silence.
She looked down. A blue bathrobe. Maestro's. The bedroom in his suite solidified, and she let out a long breath. But where was Maestro? She went to the living room. There he was, naked, standing near the door to his suite. Her heart stuttered at the sight of him, his long, sturdy limbs, his broad chest.
“Someone's out there,” Maestro whispered.
That was the last thing Annasophia had expected to hear. Moving closer, she heard a stealthy movement outside, like the rustling of clothes. She opened the door as quickly as she could manage. The scent of jasmine flooded her nostrils, and the trail of a sapphire-blue skirt disappeared around the hall corner.
It had been Elena. Listening to her and Maestro, making love through the strains of the music. What kind of crazy woman had Maestro married, and why on earth would he choose to go back to her? Annasophia caught herself – she didn't have any right to question what had already happened. No matter how crazy it seemed to her, he had reconciled with Elena from the perspective of her time, and from the perspective of his time, this time, he would do so soon. In her time, Matt provided the walking proof, no matter how much she was growing to loathe the idea of the reconciliation.
“Elena's been here,” she said, not looking at Maestro. She closed the door, then flopped down on the couch.
“Yes. I smell her.” His face twisted in annoyance.
He stalked back to the bedroom, and Annasophia followed. He turned abruptly, his arms open, and she bumped into him. His arms went around her, then he tucked his hands underneath the bathrobe and rubbed her back from her shoulders all the down to her bottom. “I thought I had lost you again.”
“It's the Rachmaninoff concerto.” As much as they both loved it, they would have to avoid Concerto No. 2 from now on, even listening to it on the radio. At least until she was ready to go back. At some point, yes, she would have to go. She didn't want to watch the train wreck that Maestro's and Elena's relationship would surely become.
Not to mention dealing with Elena's jealousy. Clearly, Elena was jealous enough to be a stalker. If Annasophia stuck around once Maestro and Elena got back together, it would be a recipe for disaster. Drama and angst to the max: that was the last thing Annasophia wanted. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd messed things up for Matt by coming around and Maestro falling in love with her, but her mind had become exhausted with all the second-guessing she'd done.
Maestro kissed her neck and pulled her back toward the bed. She sagged in his arms, thrilling to his touch, but the lingering scent of jasmine in her nostrils reminded her.
“What about Elena?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I'm sorry,
Schätzchen
. But we can't control what she does.”
“Even listening at the door?”
“No.”
“Well...” Annasophia sighed, torn between her desire to make love with Maestro and to get out of Elena's way so that Matt could be born. Who was she kidding, though? Even if she got Elena in this room and got her to strip naked and parade around in front of Maestro, he would tell her to go away. Right now, Elena was nothing more than an irritant to him. Annasophia couldn't force that to change. Trying to force it would only irritate Maestro.
Perhaps, Annasophia thought, she and Maestro were destined to fall out of love, or maybe they would wind up star-crossed lovers somehow, and that would lead to his and Elena's reconciliation. Further speculation dissolved when he turned her face up to his and kissed her lips. “Please,” he murmured against them. “Stop fretting. I don't understand what you're so worried about, but let's just enjoy tonight together, shall we? The future will get here soon enough.”
True. By keeping her mind and heart in the future, she was missing out on the deliciousness of now, the wonder of Maestro's touch, the joy of his love. She simply must let go of her worry. The future would take care of itself, and she and Maestro, tonight, would take care of each other.
She lay back on the bed, and Maestro covered her body with his again. She started to speak, but Maestro covered her mouth with his, and she realized she'd had no idea what she'd been about to say. The symphony of their love began anew. No longer choreographed by music from the radio, they embarked on a journey to discover their own rhythm. Their desire spiraled up with the majesty of their inner music until she thought she might lose her mind. He groaned and pushed into her harder, deeper, and she ground herself up against him, needing to get closer, and closer still. She cried out again and again, filling up with him. As they reached the climax of their physical symphony, all thought, all worry, and all fear had dissolved from Annasophia's mind. Only love and rapture remained.
Annasophia had fallen desperately in love with Maestro, for better or for worse. From anything she could tell about what would have to happen for Matt to be born, things boded, at some point, for worse. But she needn't think about that right now, she reminded herself. They had just made love for the first time. Would it be the only time?
Maestro rolled off her and pulled her into his arms, murmuring to her.
Schätzchen
, she heard.
Treasure
. He was her treasure, too, in more ways than he could possibly know. She couldn't bear to go back to her timeline too soon. She could stay with him a little while, at least until his next tour date. If they avoided the concerto, she could go back to her time when she felt it was right, and that decision could no longer be forced. She wouldn't over-analyze, she wouldn't think too hard about it. She would leave when her gut – her intuition – told her it was time, and not before.
Had Elena been standing outside the door again, listening while she and Maestro had made love? Annasophia wouldn't think about that. At least she and Maestro were quiet now. They sure hadn't been quiet for a while there. They must have given Elena quite a sonic show, if not several sonic booms.
* * * ~~~ * * *
Chapter Seven
“You know,
Schätzchen
, we really need to buy you some clothes,” Maestro said as Annasophia helped him pack his things into his suitcase. In only a few hours, they would board the Amtrack, on their way to Washington DC for Maestro's next performance at Kennedy Center.
“Maybe we can do that before we have to catch the train,” she said. “Why a train, anyway? Why don't you travel by plane? It's faster.”
Maestro pulled several suits out of the hotel suite closet and placed them on the bed. “I like trains. I like the feel of them, and I like their leisurely feel. They're relaxing.”
“There's something else, though.”
“Yes.”
“Well?” Annasophia sat down on the bed next to his suitcase and gazed up at him.
“It's Elena,” he said. “She can't stand trains. And you know she's following me around on this tour. If I take trains whenever I can, at least I don't have to travel with her.”
Annasophia nodded. “She's really determined to get you back, isn't she?”
“Yes, but she won't succeed.”
Little do you know
, Annasophia thought. She saw Matt's face in her mind and wanted to cry. For Matt's sake, and for Maestro's. It just didn't make any sense, why Maestro would reconcile with Elena. He didn't even like her. But unless he did, Matt wouldn't be born, and that meant at some point soon, Annasophia would have to step aside and leave Maestro to a woman who only wanted him for his money and career prestige. It sucked, no matter how you looked at it. It sucked for Matt, too, in a way, because he had grown up with a mother who hadn't been much of a mother. They had cut off contact with each other as Matt had grown up. Just awful, all the way around.
“What's the matter,
Schätzchen
?” Maestro sat on the bed next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “You look so sad all of a sudden.”
“It's nothing.” She hated to lie but had no choice. She couldn't tell him about Matt. She would have to be careful to listen to her intuition about when to go back. The way she figured it, she would have to go back after the picture was taken, the one the anonymous someone, “Lost In Time,” had sent her, getting her started on this journey in the first place. Once the picture existed, then she could return to her timeline and let things take their course with Maestro and Elena. It was the only logical conclusion, perhaps because she didn't have anything else but the picture on which to hang a decision or a course of action.
That reminded her of the folded-up piece of paper on the nightstand. She didn't want to draw attention to it while Maestro was watching her, but she would have to get it before they left the suite. The paper was blank now, but what would happen to it once the picture was taken? She would have to see. If the picture reappeared, then that would be her cue to go back to her own time. Surely, at that point, things in the future would be as she'd left them, Matt intact.
And Maestro still dying.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Are you worried about money?” Maestro asked, gently rubbing her back. At his touch, she warmed, remembering how they had made love again and again, almost until it had been time to get up. Neither of them had gotten much sleep, but neither of them cared. “Please don't. I'll buy the clothes for you.”
“Huh?”
Oh, yeah. Clothes
. “I wasn't thinking about that, but thank you.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Just how much I'd like to stay with you, in this time.”
A speck of anxiety came to life in his eyes and burned hot. “You can if you want to. Whatever future you're so determined to protect, why can't we make another that's just as good?”
“It's not a matter of good or not as good. It's something else entirely.”
Someone else entirely
, she thought.
“I wish you'd explain it to me,” Maestro said. “I don't want you to go back. Unless, of course, that's what you truly want, and I get the feeling it isn't. It seems to me you would be going back out of some sense of duty or obligation, which doesn't make any sense to me at all. From this end, the future is completely unwritten, completely open. We can make it anything we want. Together.”
Almost
, Annasophia thought. Whatever they made it, though, it would be a future without Matt. Maestro needed Elena to make Matt.
Maestro looked at her, his longing standing starkly in his eyes. He gripped her shoulders, then caressed her cheek. Abruptly, he stood up and picked up a small suitcase. “I need to get the rest of my things from the bathroom. Then we'll check out and do a little shopping before we catch the train.”
Now was her chance, while he was in the bathroom, to grab the piece of paper. She went to the nightstand and picked it up. Without thinking, she unfolded it. To her surprise, she found handwriting on the paper, next to where the picture should be. The picture still wasn't there, but the handwriting had reappeared. Just as before, it looked strange and spiky, and it read,
You and Wilhelm... It's Gotta Be.
Why the handwriting without the picture? She rubbed her eyes. Maybe she was seeing things. But when she stared at the paper, the handwriting was still there: the caption for
You and Wilhelm
, with no actual picture of her and Wilhelm. Maybe it meant she should try to go back now, not accompany Maestro to DC. No, she mustn't start second-guessing herself again. The picture had to be taken; otherwise, the catalyst for her coming back here would never have existed. And the catalyst had to exist; otherwise, she wouldn't – shouldn't – be here. She sighed, then jumped when she felt Maestro's hand on her shoulder. She hadn't heard him come back. She glanced up and found him peering at the paper, at the handwriting.
Damn
.
“
Schätzchen
, what's that?”
To lie or not to lie, that was the question. The answer resolved itself before she had time to think about it. Yes, she had to withhold certain information from Maestro to make sure Matt could be born next year. But she didn't want to lie to him. “It's that same piece of paper.”
“The paper which frightened you so much?” He sat on the bed and took the paper from her. “But it was blank. What did you write here?”
She tried to grab it back from him, but he quickly stood up, reading it as he walked away from her. “You and Wilhelm. It's got to be,” he read out loud. He looked at her, his brow furrowing. “What's this about, Miss Anna?”
“I wish I knew,” she said.
“Why would you write something like that?”
“I didn't write it,”
He sighed. “Nobody's been in here but us,
Schätzchen
.”
“I know. But I didn't write it. And I know you didn't, either. It's nobody here. It's somebody in my time.”
His eyes filled with question marks and he opened his mouth to speak, but somebody knocked on the door to the suite. “
Scheiss
,” he said. He handed the paper back to her and stalked to the living room.
Elena. It had to be. Annasophia laid the paper on the nightstand. She stayed in the bedroom – she had no wish to interact with Elena – but strained to hear what she and Maestro were saying.
“...leaving soon,” came Elena's voice.
“Yes.” Maestro's voice sounded curt, as curt as Annasophia had ever heard it. He truly sounded fed up to his ears with Elena's keeping tabs on him and following him around. Maestro didn't like Elena. There was no denying it. And Annasophia knew he wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole. Maybe she'd already messed things up for Matt, but had Maestro liked Elena any better before she, Annasophia, had shown up? She thought the answer had to be no. So why had he reconciled with Elena? What reason in the world would have have to do so?