Weddings: the Brides: The Shy Bride / Bride in a Gilded Cage / The Bride's Awakening

CHAPTER TWO

CASSANDRA covered her mouth as she yawned for the third time in ten minutes. She hadn’t slept well the night before each one of Neo’s lessons since the first one five weeks ago. In the beginning, it had been her usual anxiety from inviting someone new into her life, even if it was only for an hour a week.

But anxiety had slowly and strangely morphed into anticipation. And she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if Neo went out of his way to be friendly. He could not be mistaken for anything but a driven businessman, but she found herself truly enjoying his company. He took his lessons seriously, though it was obvious he did not practice between times.

His manner could best be described as abrupt, often arrogant. Strangely enough, she discovered a peace in his presence she did not experience with anyone else. She tried to analyze it, but couldn’t come up with a reason for finding his company so pleasurable.

He’d become less adamant about what she had at first considered the “no pleasantries” rule. He did not complain when she went off on a tangent, discussing her favorite thing—music. He even asked intelligent questions that exhibited both a surprising interest and understanding.

So, she didn’t feel too worried bringing up something that had been nagging at her since first meeting him. “You drive a Mercedes.”

“Yes.” It was clearly an invitation to continue as he played the chords she had just shown him.

“Well, you aren’t wearing a Rolex, but you are wearing a custom-tailored designer suit.”

“You are observant,” he said with that little twitch of his lips she’d come to crave in some strange way.

“I suppose.”

“But I do not see the point.” He gave her a questioning look as his hands stilled on the keys.

“I would have expected you to drive a Ferrari, or something.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiled.

Really smiled.

And everything inside Cass flipped.

Like kapow to her midsection. This was not good. She’d never had a reaction like this to a student, or to anyone for that matter. But, seriously? His smile should come with a warning label. Something like: One glimpse is fatal!

“Few people are open enough to admit when they notice what they consider the inconsistencies of the wealthy man.”

“I don’t do subterfuge well.” She hated social situations to begin with, adding deception to the mix only complicated things to the point of horror for her.

The smile turned into a full-out grin. “That is good to know.”

“Is it?” If she’d thought she’d been in danger before, now was absolute Armageddon.

“Yes. Back to your question. It was a question, was it not?” He spoke with a slight Greek accent she found entirely too delicious.

She needed to get out more. Yeah. Right. That was so going to happen. She bit back a sigh. Not. Not going to happen and no matter how lovely she found his accent, it hardly mattered, did it?

It had surprised her at first, but then she’d decided it was to be expected. The information she had found about him online indicated he had left Greece as a young man. However, one article she read said that he spoke Greek with his business partner and had done several property developments in his country of origin over the years.

“Probably a nosy question, but yes,” she finally answered.

“I do not mind your kind of nosy. The paparazzi demanding to know the name and measurements for my latest girlfriend is another thing entirely.”

Heat suffused her neck and cheeks. “Yes, well, I can guarantee you I won’t be asking those sorts of questions.”

“No, your curiosity is much more innocent.” Which seemed to please him. Odd.

She certainly didn’t find her own innocence all that pleasing.

“To answer it, a man does not amass great wealth in a single lifetime by spending his money frivolously. My clothing is necessary to present a certain façade for our investors and buyers. My watch is rated as technically accurate and as sound as a Rolex, but only cost a few hundred rather than several thousand. My car is expensive enough to impress, but not ridiculously so for something that amounts to nothing more than a piece of equipment to get me from Point A to Point B.”

“Unlike many men, your car is not one of your toys.”

“I stopped playing with toys years before I left the orphanage I never called home.”

She’d read that he had lived in an orphanage before leaving Athens. For all that his publicity people allowed the world to know, there was a cloak of mystery around his growing-up years.

Which was something she could understand. While her official biography for publicity purposes revealed that both her parents were dead, it said nothing about her mother’s protracted illness. Nor did it mention years spent in a house shrouded in silence and steeped in fear of losing the person both she and her father had loved above all others.

Her father’s death as the result of an unexpected, massive heart attack had made the headlines at the time. Mostly because it had heralded the end of rising star Cassandra Baker’s public performances. Her withdrawal into seclusion had garnered more press than a good, if sometimes misguided, man’s death.

“Some men try to make up for losing their childhood by having a second one.”

“I am too busy.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You did not have a childhood, either.” He said it so matter-of-factly.

Like it didn’t really matter. And hadn’t she decided a long time ago, that it didn’t? The past could not be changed.

“Why piano lessons?” she asked Neo, wanting to talk about anything but her dismal formative years.

“I lost a bet.”

“To your business partner?” That made more sense than anything she had been able to come up with on her own.

His brows quirked at her description of Zephyr Nikos. “Yes.”

“If what you say is true, I wonder how he is rated as being as wealthy as you?”

“Meaning?”

“He spent one hundred thousand dollars on piano lessons you don’t want. That sounds very frivolous to me.”

“I do want the lessons.” Neo looked as if he’d shocked himself with the assertion.

“That’s surprising.”

“When I was a youth, I wanted to learn piano. There was no chance then. Now, my time is in even shorter supply than money was to my younger self.”

“And yet you make the time for these lessons.” She could not imagine her own childhood without her piano to take away some of the pain.

“Zephyr does not consider the investment frivolous. He believes I need something besides work to occupy my time.”

“For at least one hour a week.” Though sixty out of the ten thousand and eighty minutes found in a week didn’t sound like much of a relaxing distraction to Cass.

“Precisely.”

“Still, he could have gotten you lessons with someone who teaches for a living at a much reduced rate.”

“Zephyr and I believe in hiring the best people for the job. You are a master pianist.”

“So I have been told.” Many, many times since she was discovered as a child musical prodigy at the age of three.

“It is your turn to answer a question for me.”

“If you like.” And if she could. She braced herself for the question most people asked, and the one for which she did not have an answer anyone had found satisfying thus far.

“Why do you give lessons to the charity auction every year when you are a career composer and pianist, not actually a teacher?”

For a moment, she was so stunned he had not asked what everyone else did—why she had stopped performing publicly—that she was stumped for an answer. Finally, her brain caught up with his curiosity and she said, “Many up-and-coming pianists want to study with me. This is the one chance they have to do so.”

“Why present the opportunity at all?”

“Because as much as I prefer a quiet life, one without any new people in it at all can get lonely. And I don’t want to be that person. The woman who lives her life as a hermit.” Even though in many ways that was exactly what she did.

“Were you disappointed to discover your lessons had been bought by a novice?”

“No, more nervous. Terrified really.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I was so dismayed, I begged my manager to get me out of it.”

“He did not approach Zephyr, or myself to cancel the lessons.”

“No.”

Neo’s eyes narrowed, but she wasn’t sure what was making him look less than pleased. “Why were you so frightened? Even with your condition, you had done this before.”

“Not for a successful billionaire.”

“I am just like any other man.”

It was her turn to frown, unhappy with his false assertion. “For a man who appreciates a lack of deception in others, that lie slid off your tongue rather easily. No way do you believe you are like every other man.”

That almost smile touched his features again. “You are more observant than even I gave you credit for being.”

“You aren’t self-delusional and you aren’t like any other man, therefore you could not believe it.”

He shrugged. “Few men have the single-minded determination to achieve what Zephyr and I have done.”

“And now Zephyr is worried you’re too single-minded?”

“I made the mistake of sharing some concerns my doctor voiced on my last physical. Gregor, who is Zephyr’s friend as well as my doctor, reiterated those concerns to him.”

“The concerns shocked you, didn’t they?” she asked, certain she knew the answer and a little surprised at herself for being willing to banter like this.

“How do you know that?”

“You strike me as a man who keeps himself in optimum physical condition as part of maintaining your position at the zenith of personal success. It would astound you that there was some element you had not accounted for.”

“I thought you were a pianist, not a psychiatrist.”

This, at least, she could explain. “It is easier to watch other people than to interact with them. It naturally follows that someone with my curiosity would try to figure out what makes them tick.”

“You are uncannily accurate.”

“Thank you for admitting it. I like honesty, too.”

“That is something important we have in common.”

She shifted beside him on the piano bench, trying to ignore the instant and growing reaction she’d had to his nearness since the first lesson.

“Yes. The other thing is that we both want you to learn piano. Let’s get back to it.”

Cass had no frame of reference for her response to Neo.

Which was probably why, at twenty-nine she had absolutely no experience in the bedroom. She’d had no time for dating when she was doing concert tours and she’d been doing them since childhood. After stopping public performance, she did not put herself in situations she might meet potential dates. All of which left her in the unenviable situation of being twenty-nine years old and never having been kissed with romantic intent.

And certainly she had never—not once before meeting Neo Stamos—felt this constriction deep in her belly. She’d read about arousal, but never experienced it. Which she knew made her a freak in the eyes of most of the world. But she wasn’t just a virgin, she was wholly innocent and unsure how or if she ever wanted to risk changing that state.

When her nipples tightened into almost painful points, she had to bite her lip to keep a gasp from slipping past her lips. And this happened each and every time she sat beside Neo on the piano bench. Sometimes, even without him being there. The memory of their one hour together a week was enough to bring forth her first taste of physical passion.

Alien excitement thrummed through her now, making her thighs quiver and her heart rate increase beyond what even anxiety at meeting a new person produced.

This would never do. She had to get hold of her reactions before she made an absolute fool of herself, but so far telling herself that truth did nothing to diminish this … this … this ardor she felt for her student.

She tried to do what she had always done when life got too uncomfortable—concentrate on her music. It didn’t always work. Nevertheless, fitting her fingers over the keys, she forced herself to show Neo the newest pattern she wanted him to learn.

“The sound of you playing on this instrument is phenomenal.” Neo’s deep, approving tones exacerbated each one of the reactions sparking through her.

Cass suppressed a telling shiver. “You should hear it really played.”

“One day, perhaps I will.”

“Perhaps.” Though an invitation to sit in the only chair in the room and listen to her play was one she offered so rarely, even her pushy manager had stopped asking her to make exceptions. “Now you try it.”

He stumbled at first, until she laid her fingers over his and led him through it. Which was disastrous for her equilibrium, but pretty efficient in terms of teaching him finger position. By the time his watch alarm went off, he was doing a passable job and she was a quivering mass of nerves hiding beneath her master pianist exterior.

Not so very different from the days when she performed live.

“There are exercises you can do to make your fingers more limber,” she told him without looking up. “I suppose suggesting you practice between lessons would be a waste of my breath.”

He shrugged. “I am enjoying myself more than I expected to.”

“I’m glad.” She smiled. “Music is a balm for your soul.”

“It can be.”

They shared a moment of silent agreement.

He got up from the bench and took a quick glance at his watch with one efficient move of his wrist. “I make no promises about how much practicing I will do, but I will have a piano delivered to my penthouse. My personal assistant will call you for a recommendation.”

Neo’s personal assistant called, but it wasn’t to ask for a purchasing recommendation. It was to cancel Neo’s next lesson. He would be out of Seattle the following week.

“Please do not mention this to anyone. Mr. Stamos’s whereabouts could cause speculation that might adversely affect his current business negotiations.” The woman’s tone made it clear that if it had been left up to her, she would have cancelled the meeting without giving an explanation.

Apparently, Neo had felt otherwise. That knowledge made Cass smile, though she promised to be circumspect in perfectly somber tones.

Unfortunately for her, the fact that Neo was out of the city had not made it to the attention of the media, but his weekly visits to her home had.

She woke up Tuesday morning to the sound of car doors slamming and people talking in strident tones outside her home. She rushed to the bedroom that overlooked the street and peeked out through the privacy curtain.

Three media vans and a couple of cars were parked in front of her home. Someone rang the doorbell even as her eyes took in the spectacle before her.

The doorbell continued to ring as she rushed back to her bedroom to dress. She would just ignore them. She didn’t have to answer. She wasn’t a public person any longer. The media had no call on her time or her person.

Nevertheless, she skipped her morning shower and pulled her clothes on with haste. Someone banged on the French doors to her bedroom and Cass screamed. Her brain told her it was nothing more than an enterprising reporter who had climbed up to the deck off her bedroom, but familiar panic threatened to immobilize her.

She grabbed the phone off her nightstand and dialed her manager. When she told Bob in short staccato bursts what was going on, he told her to calm down. That this kind of media attention was good for CD sales.

Cass didn’t bother to argue. She was trying too hard not to heave from the stress. She hung up and dialed Neo’s office, each insistent pound on the glass doors leading to her bedroom making her body flinch.

Her call went to voice mail and she couldn’t remember what she said in the message, just that she left one.

She went into the bathroom, shut the door, locked it and prayed for the media to leave.

She was still there, curled up in a ball between the old-fashioned clawfoot tub and the wall, when someone knocked on the bathroom door itself. “Cassandra! Are you in there? Open the door, pethi mou. It is Neo.”

Neo was out of the city. His personal assistant had said so. She shook her head at the door, another layer of perspiration coming over her already clammy skin.

The knob rattled. “Cassandra, open the door.”

The voice sounded like Neo, but she could not accept that he was there. She hated being like this. Didn’t want anyone else to know how bad it got, but the rational part of her mind told her to open the door.

The next knock was almost gentle and so was Neo’s tone. “Please, little one, open the door.”

She forced cramped muscles to work and stood. “I’m … I’m coming,” she croaked.

He said something forceful in Greek and then, “Good. Thank you. Open the door.”

She reached out and unlocked the door, then pulled it open.

The man standing there did not look like Neo’s usual imperturbable self. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket and his expression was nothing less than grim.

She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I … they … someone leaked your Tuesday lessons to the media.”

“Yes.”

“I thought they might come inside.”

“It is a good thing they did not.”

She nodded, in total agreement.

“You look like you could use a hot shower. I will make you some tea.”

“I … yes, that’s a good idea.” She looked around herself at the bathroom, at Neo, and her gaze skimmed the mirror then went screeching back to it.

She looked like a wreck. She hadn’t brushed her hair since waking, her eyes looked haunted, her skin was pale and there were perspiration stains on her shirt. She needed more than a shower. She needed a complete transformation.

But she would have to settle for copious amounts of hot water and the promise of tea.

“Are you all right to be left alone?” Neo asked.

“Yes.” Absolutely mortified by her own behavior, she wouldn’t have asked him to stay even if it meant losing her piano.

She didn’t wonder how he’d gotten into the house until after a twenty-minute shower under very hot water. Mulling the question over, she dried her hair as best she could with a towel. She wasn’t going to get an answer until she went downstairs, so she donned fresh clothes and made her way to the kitchen.

Neo was waiting for her in the otherwise empty room. He indicated a mug of still steaming tea on the table. “Drink up.”

She sat down and took a sip, almost choking on the sweetness. “How much sugar did you use?”

“Enough.”

“For a sugaraholic maybe.”

“Sweet tea is good for shock.”

“You say that like you know.”

“I called my PA, had her look it up.”

Cass laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I bet she enjoyed that.”

Neo shrugged.

“How did you get in the house?” she asked.

“Bob let me in.”

“He has a key.”

“Apparently.”

“I remember him coming,” she admitted. She’d refused to answer when Bob knocked on the bathroom door, sure her manager would try to talk her into giving interviews.

“Only one media van remained when I arrived.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You left a message on my voice mail.”

“I thought you were out of the city.”

“I was.”

He’d come back. To help her? She had a hard time believing that, but she was glad he was there anyway. She glanced at the clock on the microwave and realized it was already early evening.

She’d spent more than eight hours in her bathroom. No wonder she’d been so cramped when she’d finally stood up. “I feel like an idiot.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You are no idiot.”

She made a sound of disagreement and took another sip of the overly sweet tea.

He sat down across from her. “You have debilitating anxiety related to performing in public.”

“Yes, but no one was asking me to perform today.”

“Weren’t they? Isn’t that what the paparazzi do every time they insert themselves into our lives? They demand we perform for them and their audience with a prurient interest in the latest gossip.”