Elena was still bickering with Maestro.
“How are you getting there?” came her voice.
Maestro said something Annasophia couldn't make out.
“...taking her with you? You don't even know anything about...” Elena said.
“...none of your concern,” Maestro's voice had a hard edge now. “You need to go back... your own life.”
Maestro couldn't get much clearer than that, even the little Annasophia had heard. The idea of him making love with Elena soon was seeming more and more ludicrous. Elena was lucky he didn't call hotel security, as annoyed as Maestro sounded.
Matt's face appeared again in Annasophia's mind. Matt, with dark hair so like his father's. He didn't look a thing like Elena. Try as she might, Annasophia could recall none of Matt's features that resembled his mother's in any way. Sometimes, though, people had assumed that she, Annasophia, and Matt were related, since there was a similarity in the lines of their faces and the shapes of their noses and eyes. She and Matt had always joked that they were siblings who had somehow gotten separated.
She smelled the delicious scent of her and Maestro's night of lovemaking. Breathed it in deep. Annasophia hadn't brought condoms with her, which she always used with her groupies. And she wasn't taking the pill. She and Maestro had made love all night without using any birth control at all. Strange how it hadn't occurred to her to use protection when she was usually so mindful, not only about not getting knocked up but also about not getting a nasty disease.
This was May 24, 1973.
Matt's birthday was February 27, 1974.
Oh, my God
.
Annasophia moaned in surprise, and dizziness made her mind swirl. She staggered to the bed and sat down. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.
It had to be, though. It explained why Matt and Elena had never been close, why she had rejected him as a young boy and why their relationship had been cut off altogether following his adolescence. It explained why Matt and Annasophia had never had any romantic interest in each other, even though their friends had always assumed a romance between them should be the most natural thing in the world. On a deep level, they'd always known a romance between them just wouldn't be right. They had known, perhaps, on all levels, minds, hearts, and bodies. Maybe down on the cellular level, they had always known.
Matt was Annasophia's son.
And while it answered many questions and explained many enigmas, it opened an entire Pandora's box of new questions. If Annasophia, not Elena, was Matt's mother, then where and when had she given birth to him? Why was Elena, and not Annasophia, listed on Matt's birth certificate? And why hadn't Annasophia been with Matt from the time he was a baby? The only mother he'd ever known had been Elena. And what on earth had caused Maestro and Elena to remarry in 1974 if Matt wasn't Elena's son, but Annasophia's?
She had thought she needed to preserve the future as it had existed. The more she thought about things, though, the more she thought she'd been wrong. If she was, at this moment, a newly pregnant woman, pregnant with Matt, the son of her beloved Maestro, then her obligation was to protect Matt from Elena's animosity and to stay in this time and love and care for both Maestro and Matt. She mustn't go back to her time.
Ever again.
She rubbed her slim belly. If she was right, it wouldn't be small for long. In the months to come, it would grow large and swollen with Maestro's child, from the love they had shared last night. She took a long breath and felt a smile forming on her face. Her heart seemed to radiate warmth in her chest that spread throughout her body. Matt. Her and Maestro's son. She and Maestro could make a life here together after all, and maybe Matt would even have brothers and sisters.
If only she and Maestro weren't running short of time today! She'd strip naked and invite him back to bed. They would spend all day there. They couldn't do that. But perhaps they could share a quickie. Annasophia was on fire. She couldn't stand waiting until they arrived in DC before they made love again.
Maestro came back into the bedroom and stopped short. He had looked aggravated when he came in, but as he gazed at her, his annoyed expression melted into one filled with love and tenderness. “
Schätzchen
,” he said. “Darling. You look absolutely beautiful. Ravishing.”
She leaped up, stood on tiptoe, and pulled his face down to hers. “Please,” she breathed against his face, then kissed him deeply, deeply. She pulled off her shirt, jeans, and underwear and lay down on the bed. “Make love to me. Now. I need you, Maestro. More than ever, I need you.” She took a deep breath. “And I've made a decision.”
Maestro pulled off his slacks and shirt, then joined her on the bed. Hope fired like a flare in his handsome face. As he pulled her into his arms, he asked, “What?”
“I'm staying in your timeline.”
For a moment, he couldn't speak. He looked at her, confusion and love sharing equal time on his face. “But I thought...”
She shook her head firmly. “I want to stay in your timeline. We'll make our future together.”
His hands roamed all over her body, caressing her breasts, feathering down her belly where their child was growing, then vigorously rubbing between her thighs. He kissed her lips again, deeply, and he stiffened against her leg.
Oh, yes
.
“What changed your mind?” he asked, rubbing between her legs again, then getting on top of her. Soon, they would be far beyond talk. She wanted him to know what they'd created together. There was no way to confirm what she felt. Even pregnancy tests in 2010 couldn't detect a pregnancy one day after conception. With all her might, though, she knew it to be true. “Last night,” she said against his lips, “I became pregnant with your child.”
“My God,” he said, gathering her closer up in his arms. “Are you sure,
Schätzchen
? How can you possibly know that?”
“I'm sure. It's the child I was trying to save by going back to my time.” She paused. “I guess I can go ahead and tell you this. You have a child in my timeline. This child, in my life there, is a good friend of mine. I didn't want him not to exist. That's why I felt I had to go back. I assumed somebody else...” she didn't want to say Elena, “...was his mother. But I did the math. And it's me who is his mother. We're his parents. You and me.”
“His parents?” Maestro moved down between her legs to kiss her deeply between her thighs. Annasophia, groaning with pleasure, forgot everything but sensation. As Maestro made her mind melt, she heard his voice. “So I am to have a son?”
Gasping, she glanced down at him and saw his face, grinning, between her legs. Love shone out of his eyes like twin suns. His combination of gentleness and driving passion nearly made her scream. She jerked at the covers and cried out.
Maestro got on top of her and covered her mouth with his. The knowledge that soon they would be parents and had decades to share together fired her heart and mind with passion so intense she couldn't contain herself, even if she had wanted to. She had ensured Matt's existence by following her heart, and she had ensured that she and Maestro would be able to spend a lifetime together. And she had protected both Maestro and Matt against Elena's cruelty. Elena would have no part of the future that Maestro, Annasophia, and Matt would build. Elena would have to find someone else to stalk.
Could she be listening at the door again?
Who cared.
Annasophia's mind became pure heat. She locked her legs around Maestro and pushed herself up to meet him with everything she had. Their lovemaking was quick and hard this time; they soon reached their peak, and afterward, they held each other, gasping. Maestro wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled his face into her hair; she rubbed her cheek against his chest and burrowed against it like a cat. Even though sex had ended, they still couldn't hold each other close enough. Annasophia thought she would never be able to get close enough.
How quickly life could change, with a sudden realization. Matt was hers, not Elena's. And that meant she had to stay here, no matter what, even if she had to avoid hearing Rachmaninoff's Concerto No. 2 for the rest of her life. She didn't like the thought of not returning to Maestro in 2010, not staying by his side as he passed away, but then, in a way, she would be returning to him, only the long way, by living side-by-side with him, sharing life with him for the next thirty-seven years.
Perhaps in the future they would create together, things would be different. Maestro would have to die at some point, sure. So would she. But certainly by creating this new timeline, this different life in which she and Maestro would be not just teacher and student but husband and wife, co-parents and lovers, they would affect changes on all levels of their lives, his, hers, and Matt's. Perhaps, in the 2010 to come, she and Matt wouldn't be sitting by Maestro's bedside, watching him die of cancer. Maybe she would die first. Or maybe they'd both live to see ninety years and beyond.
In the shorter term, Maestro wouldn't be remarrying Elena next year, as had happened in the timeline Annasophia had known.
She smiled. Their future had become an unwritten book.
###
Annasophia usually hated to shop, but having Maestro with her made it infinitely more enjoyable. He had taken her to a clothing store called A Capella, located near their hotel. She had already picked out jeans, slacks, and a variety of tops.
“I need shoes, too,” she said, looking down at her sneaker-clad feet. “If I'm going to your performance at Kennedy Center, I ought to at least have some pumps. No high heels, though. I hate them.”
Maestro chuckled, then kissed her cheek. “Well, it wouldn't hurt, I suppose. But you're beautiful, no matter what you're wearing on your feet.”
She grinned. He wouldn't care if she wore thongs. Thinking about his upcoming performance, though, she figured she ought to look at dresses. Jeans and t-shirts would be no more appropriate for a performance at Kennedy Center than were sneakers. “Do they have dresses? I probably should dress up a little. Or...” she reflected, “...a lot.” She supposed it was petty, but she refused to allow any more post-performance occasions where Elena looked glamorous and sophisticated and she, Annasophia, looked like a hippie chick.
“They have a boutique in the back.” Maestro took her arm and led her toward the rear of the store. Sure enough, A Capella had everything Annasophia could want. All kinds of formal wear, from shoes to dresses. And oh, how fancy! She reminded herself this was 1973, and formal wear tended to be a lot more formal than in 2010. Not that she was an expert in formal wear. Annasophia seldom dressed up, even for her performances.
She had to wonder if she would ever perform again. Her singer-songwriter career and lifestyle didn't fit too well with what Maestro did. It was too late for her to become a concert pianist. She had studied classical music with Maestro. She had played it well and had won several competitions, but that had been ten years ago, thereabouts. Since then, she had mainly played her own, original compositions. Still, though, she figured she could give Laura Nyro a run for her money. Or maybe Joan Baez.
Feeling a gentle pressure on her upper arm, she glanced up. Maestro was gazing down at her, his expression tender and concerned.
“What are you thinking about,
Schätzchen
?” he asked.
She put her arm around him and hugged him. “Just the future, I guess. Our new future. Now that I've decided to stay, I'd like to be more than just your tag-along girl.”
“Tag-along girl?” He turned to face her.
“Yeah. Remember, in my time, I was a performing singer-songwriter. And I really loved it. I'd love to get into it again, somehow, in this time. There's a really wonderful folk music scene going on right now. Do you think I...” She trailed off. Maestro's expression bore into her so deeply she would swear she could feel it draping her bones like warm liquid.
“Darling, you would be wonderful in any music scene. I want you to do what makes you happy.”
That was all the answer she needed. Together, they would figure it out. They had time. Yes,
time
. And Maestro would be her only groupie. She giggled at the thought of Maestro as her groupie. They would be each other's groupies.
A sapphire blue dress caught Annasophia's eye, making her think of Elena. No blue dresses, no matter how pretty they might be. The last thing she needed was to come across as trying to emulate Elena's glamor. No matter how much she tried, she could never match Elena's coiffed, sophisticated style. What she needed to do was to play up her own unique style. Annasophia knew she was plenty attractive. Not a glamor girl, but wood elves had their own kind of charm, didn't they?
She turned away from the blue dress. In the very back of the store, in the corner, hung a floor-length black dress. Elegant, yet somehow playful. This one had possibilities. She might even try it on. As she moved closer to the dress, a bolt of
deja vu
struck her. She blinked, disoriented. Where had she seen this dress before? She had never worn, let alone owned, anything like this.
The picture.
Yes.
She had been wearing this dress in the picture the anonymous someone had sent her via email, the picture that had started this whole journey. And it had been the picture which had led, despite the elder Maestro's initial strange reaction, to him humming the concerto that had turned out to be their conduit.
Realizing she had been holding her breath, Annasophia let it out in a whoosh and fingered the dress' fabric. She would buy this one. When would she wear it? Perhaps for Maestro's performance coming up at Kennedy Center. She could hardly wait to see who would take their picture. She might then have a clue as to who had sent her the mysterious email.
Oh please,
she thought.
Let the dress be in my size.
It certainly looked like it would fit. She glanced at the tag. Yes. Since she had found out that Matt was her son, everything had been working out well. It still blew her mind, Matt being her son, but it explained so very much.