CHAPTER FOUR

      THIS WAS THE start of a battle. A prelude to the fight. This was a time for her to lead her people forward into the unknown. They would give their lives for her. They would sacrifice all. Where she played they would follow. With wisdom and knowledge and no fear...

      “Sophie! Sophie, halt!”

      The words finally penetrated and Sophie looked up from her piano, the story she’d been telling with her fingers suddenly gone.

      “Yes, Maestro?” She looked up at the short, plump man standing on the raised platform with the baton in his hand. Igor Romnasky, the legendary composer and conductor from Moscow, had been chosen to direct this performance of Grieg’s “Op. 16 in A minor.” He claimed he’d accepted the opportunity to work with Sophie. Or so she’d been told. Instead of listening to her play however, all he ever seemed to want to do was stop her.

      “You are out of pace with the orchestra, yes?”

      It always sounded like a question when he said it, but it never was.

      Sophie nodded, but thought that if anyone was off the pace, it was the orchestra. He should be keeping them in time with her, not the other way. It wasn’t arrogance, it was the way the music had been written. The piano was king. Or in her case, queen.

      “Again, yes?”

      They had already been at it for three hours without a break. Her fingers were starting to get numb.

      Sophie, too fast, yes? Sophie, too slow, yes? Sophie, too hard, yes?

      No. Sophie was ready to take the bald man’s baton and shove it up his—

      “How about a short break? It’s been a couple of hours. I think we all could use it.”

      This from the principal violinist. Sophie looked at Bay and smiled. He gave her a wink and she really hoped it didn’t make her blush too horribly. She knew it made her heart race, which of course caused her palms to get sweaty. Which was gross when you were trying to play.

      The maestro seemed to consider the young man with the big talent and finally relented.

      “Fifteen minutes. No more, yes? Our first performance is next Friday.”

      Sophie pushed out her bench and stood. She hadn’t realized how stooped over the keys she’d been and she nearly groaned when she stretched her back.

      “You weren’t off the pace.”

      Sophie smiled as she heard the quiet words in her ear. Turning, she smiled into Bay Tong’s beautiful face. He was Korean on his father’s side and Caucasian on his mother’s, and so completely the most gorgeous person she’d ever met. She didn’t think it was possible that someone like him would ever pay attention to her, but he did and it thrilled her every time he spoke to her.

      Once a child prodigy himself, she got the feeling he tried to shelter her in ways that maybe he hadn’t been. But at age eighteen he was no longer identified as special. Merely incredibly talented. Certainly talented enough to win the first chair position in the Philadelphia Orchestra.

      If only he would see her as more than a kid.

      Of course, it was totally understandable when she was fourteen and had first met him. But now she was nearly fifteen and they were going to be only three years apart in age. Which was practically nothing, given her level of maturity. If she really wanted to, she could test out of high school. Then she wouldn’t even be considered a student.

      “His hearing needs to be checked,” he added.

      “I know. I think he gets off on bossing me around. Whatever. I’ve dealt with conductors like him. They all think they will be the one to make me do something I’ve never been able to do before. It’s all about their ego. All I want to do is play.”

      “Yes, but you can learn from them. Sometimes I know it’s hard to think that way when they’re yelling at you. You have to take the one piece of instruction or advice that works for you and throw the rest away.”

      “I spent three years at Juilliard. I know how to take instruction.”

      “That’s different. They are trying to improve your technique. These guys care about something more. They want to pull a performance out of you and they can be ruthless in doing so. Sometimes even mean. That stuff can get to you after a while.”

      Sophie shrugged and lifted a shoulder. “I know.”

      “Just don’t let him get you down.”

      “Protecting me again?”

      He laughed softly. “Why do I think you’re the type who would say you don’t need anyone’s protection?”

      That made her beam. Because she was exactly that type of person, which meant they were getting to know each other. They had been working together since January and now, as April approached, she was starting to think that maybe things could change between them. If only he saw her differently. Her birthday was May 15 and once it came, she was sure he would look at her with new eyes.

      Today she’d intentionally worn tight skinny jeans and a top that was cut low enough to reveal the tops of her breasts. She’d spent thirty-six of her fifty-dollar-a-week allowance on a push-up bra from Victoria’s Secret. After weeks of owning it, she had finally worked up the courage to wear it.

      Only he hadn’t ogled her chest once.

      “It better not be because I’m a girl.” She threw her hip to one side in a pose she hoped was sexy. Then she flicked her hair—which she had spent almost twenty minutes straightening—off her shoulder. For the past few weeks she’d kept her hair loose instead of braiding it. All guys liked long hair. Everyone knew that. Well, maybe everyone except JoJo.

      Braids were for little girls. It could be completely annoying when her hair got in her face while she was playing, but that was something she would have to deal with. Maybe bangs was the answer.

      “Chill out, Gloria Steinem. I would do the same for any kid. Boy or girl.”

      Kid. That hurt. It also made her feel stupid wearing her bra. “You know, you’re only three years older than me.” When they’d first met, she had said she was almost fifteen, which she was—only in January that turning point had been further away than it was now.

      “Three years and three lifetimes, Sophie.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      He looked at his sneakers. For rehearsal, this maestro wasn’t concerned about what they wore, unlike other conductors who insisted the musicians rehearse in formal dress to better prepare for the performance.

      Bay was so hot in his well-worn jeans and brown sweater that Sophie actually came to understand how the word mouthwatering related to boys.

      “It means I’m eighteen and you’re fifteen and we’re just...friends.”

      Sophie felt another rush of humiliation, which she