Phoebe's Performance

Prologue - Part 2

7 August 2020 - Morning Wattpadder's

This is the next instalment of my editorial changes to Phoebe's Performance. For those of you who haven't read this novel so far - please feel free to continue on reading the rest of the book or wait  for the next batch of editorial changes which will be to the first section of this book and the set-up.

Happy reading!

xx

Alicia

"Kath," he says, his voice is soft. He doesn't know why she's here but surely this is a sign, an important sign. "I'll have to leave soon."

"Too bad." She pouts.

He decides to bridge the gulf between them by crossing the room. He stands a few centimetres in front of her leaving the slightest gap between their bodies. As she straightens to meet his six-foot height he realises she's the perfect kissing distance.

He glances at her lips making his intention clear. His hand cups beneath her chin, his fingertips slide over her cheek. Her skin is like silk and he pictures the body which hides beneath her short alluring skirt. The timing between them has never been right but today the stars seem in alignment. Reality is moments away from catching up with his imagination where he's kissed her lips and all the other sweetest places. He just has to make it happen. A groan escapes his mouth as a pair of sparkling eyes bedazzle him, daring him to make his move.

He leans forward, his lips are centimetres from hers when she visibly swallows. He hesitates. She turns her head and looks away.

Confusion sweeps over him and with military speed he pulls back. "My bad." His embarrassment is acute but he gives into a spiel of awkward laughter where the sound echoes round the dressing room. He moves swiftly to the piano and sits on the stool.

"Not at all," she replies.

Not at all? Not at all?  Her retort is too ambiguous and he's baffled by the meaning. The rejection repeats itself in his head, the way she turned her cheek and then looked away. How could he have misread all the signals? This is the reason he never made a move when she worked for him.

He feels safe at the piano. Thoughts swim mercilessly round his mind as subconsciously his strong hands dance and stretch over the keyboard. They're million-pound hands, that's what he's insured them for anyway.  At least he has his piano. Playing the piano is always therapeutic. This instrument has felt all sorts of his pain and of course his happiness too.  Guess that's why he dedicated his life to becoming one of the best pianists in the world and he's not even thirty.

The sound of high heels tapping on the linoleum floor disrupt the sonata and his fingers rest on the keys.  She's probably going to leave now. Anguish grips his chest because he still doesn't understand exactly where they went wrong. They didn't even get a chance to start out.

He's about to leap from the instrument when to his surprise she's not at the door but by his side. "Move over," she instructs, tapping his shoulder. He shuffles, making space on the stool for the pair of them. She sits and his chest squeezes. His head is thick with thoughts. He just doesn't understand her. "Why are you here?" he asks.

Her indecision is apparent as she toys with her hands.

"It doesn't matter." She meets his gaze, a sad smile on her lips.

"It matters."

"How can it...you're going to New York."

"You're cross about me going to New York?" He tries to wrap his mind around what she's saying, he tries to navigate this new territory. "But I've got to, it's my career."