Author's Note: Thanks, as always, for the encouragement and patience of those of you still reading. I had in mind this chapter from the very beginning, but really struggled with the right words to say to bring it to life. I haven't decided whether I'll write more chapters, but as I've come to really love what Claire and Sebastien have together, I'm sure I'll have a hard time getting them out of my head. Anyway, this is the end, for now...
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Darkness. Anticipation. It was a night very like the one five months prior, when everything had changed forever. A young lady trembles as she takes her place before an audience of hundreds, saying a silent prayer that everything goes well. The lights flare and the music starts abruptly, catching her off-guard. Faltering only slightly, it is enough to rouse his notice. The heat of his glare, the warning it brings, makes her head spin. She nearly misses her next entrance, and finds that something else is missing; that indelible connection they once had, the deep thread of connection between them that had always been there, even before they first touched. It was gone. She was just an accessory now on his stage, a puppet who could not even follow her Master's cues.
After the show, the usual applause, and a panicked breakdown in her dressing room. What was happening? A knock on the door. He has come. She tries to provoke him into an argument, but it is useless. The invectives he had hurled at her before still stick in her mind, but he no longer utters them. She means so little to him now that he does not even raise his voice in anger. He will not compromise his symphony for a silly little girl, he sneers derisively, and if she cannot pull herself together, she will be dismissed. He exits, stage left. She cries over him, for the first time.
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It had been a trying few months and, despite having nearly everything a woman could possibly want - loving family, fulfilling job, excellent salary, her own little apartment, freedom - Claire felt that her world was slowly ending. Even the joy had nearly gone out of performing, what with the object of her current malaise ever-present on stage with her, supposedly guiding her, leading her through each performance with grace and moderation.
She had taken up an unlikely dalliance with Sebastien Boulet, the conductor of the symphony for whom she sang the solo soprano role. He had been more than just her Maestro on stage, but her Master in bed as well for a short time. In January, she had refused to break up with her boyfriend to be his alone, and found that she had in effect refused his bed entirely. He had not called her to him one single time, and at first she thought he was letting her stew, still playing their game.
Soon, however, she noticed that the tenor of their communications during rehearsals had changed. His eyes no longer held the same heat as before. He neither threatened nor praised her, and it was very like it had been when she first joined the symphony. Impersonal. She felt awkward inside. Watching him chat casually with other musicians before or after rehearsal made her hot with envy. It was supposed to be she who had something special with him. Yet, he would now hardly look her in the eyes, much less say any word he didn't need to.
Claire had taken to waiting around after rehearsals to speak with him privately, but he was never alone, and when at last everyone else had gone, so had he. He was assiduously avoiding her, she noticed, and it bothered her.
She had tried to call him, and Sebastien would not pick up. The one time he did, it was with the curt admonition to stop calling him. She hardly heard this, struck instead by the tinkling laughter of a woman in the background. So he was seeing someone else.
She finally had to admit to herself, it wasn't just the lack of attention. She missed him. Missed the connection they had, the burning lust she felt in both of them, simmering just under the surface whenever they were together. She missed the caress of his hands on her skin, missed his scent - cedar and violets - missed the murmurings of French in her ears. Though she hated to think of it, she missed his occasional tender handling of her as much as she missed his harsh punishments. Could it be, she felt... something more? She dismissed those thoughts. They were useless now.
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Winter dragged on, and Claire was feeling lonely. She saw Todd twice a week, and wondered if she should finally take him to bed. He was so patient with her, and as much as she appreciated not having to make excuses to him, she was frustrated with his lack of initiative. He would not so much as attempt a lascivious glance or a deep kiss.
Instead, she broke up with him. His polite confusion disgusted her, and she knew she had done the right thing. She could pursue anyone she wanted now... except, perhaps, the one she wanted.
She realized she was more disgusted with herself than with Todd. She should have broken things off ages ago. She should have given Sebastien what he wanted. Now it was too late. She had already lost the game.
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As January drew to a close, thick storm clouds were knitting together off the coast, and Claire's performances were lackluster. She was still lovely, her voice floating ethereally over the heads of concert-goers, but she no longer felt like the shining jewel on stage. She was growing more timid, eating less, sleeping poorly. When she arrived for the last rehearsal of the month, she felt as if everyone was murmuring about her, how drawn and pale she was. She waved away those who approached her concerned.
Sebastien was deep in conversation with a knot of musicians, and she saw him draw his brows together in consternation. He glanced over his shoulder at her, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, then turned back to the musicians. He seemed to be assuring them of something. Her heart gave a funny little leap when he moved in her direction.
"Claire, the others are worried you are not quite well," he said, sounding quite unconcerned himself.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice nearly a whisper.
"You certainly look it," he replied, with a trace of irony. "If you cannot perform your duties, perhaps you should take a leave of absence." After a short pause, he added, "You see, it is precisely for this reason that I kept my address from you; if you cannot obey, there can never be anything between us."
A sharp bolt of pain arrowed through her. She felt mortified. Pining over a man - even this man - was so ridiculous. It wasn't like her. She lifted her chin at him defiantly.
"I can do my job. Thanks for your concern," she said.
"See that you do," he said, as he walked away.
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Another performance, another party with symphony season ticket holders, the type of event intended to encourage subscribers to purchase next year's season tickets early. Orchestra musicians were all encouraged to bring their significant others, really make the gathering personal. Claire, with no date and no prospects, was hoping to skip the party and go straight home to mope. The note she found slipped underneath her dressing room door dashed any hopes of doing this. It was written in Sebastien's thin, slanted hand, and it simply said, "Everyone is expected to attend the party. You are no exception. Be there."
Claire frowned down at the note. A few weeks ago, she might have thought he was giving her an excuse not to attend the party, and setting up another opportunity to punish her at the same time. Now, she thought he might just mean it. Pulling a dress from the closet, she shimmied into it, taking a moment to appreciate the way it fit her slim frame. Of course, being depressed was never fun, but she had wanted to lose those five pounds anyway. She'd had to go without a bra, but the dress lifted up her modest breasts, giving her an extra inch or so of cleavage. It left her shoulders, neck, and wrists bare - all of Sebastien's favorite places to see her twisted up.
She wasn't looking forward to this, and her spirits fell even lower when she overheard a group of musicians near the front talking about Sebastien's "date," evidently someone he'd described as a "friend," but these particular ladies were sure it was code for his boyfriend.
"I always wondered if he was gay," one woman was gushing.
"You say that about everyone," retorted another.
Oh no, thought Claire. Though she was immediately caught up in conversation by some of the musicians, she cast her eyes quickly around the room, and sure enough, Sebastien was aiming directly for her, handsome René in tow.
"Ahh, there is our lovely soprano now," he said as he reached her, lifting his voice to attract the attention of whoever was in earshot. She opened her mouth to reply, but he hastened on. "I'd like to introduce you to my very good friend, René." Claire blinked in confusion, but of course he wouldn't want her to speak familiarly to him. When were they supposed to have met?
She held her hand out to René, as one does in an introduction, and he took it, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it. He winked at her, almost too briefly to see, and she felt something being pressed into her palm. She cupped her palm slightly around it.
"Enchanté, mademoiselle," he said in a low voice. Looking into his eyes, she couldn't suppress a memory of being pressed between the two men. Sebastien holding her so close to him, the powerful pleasure that had shot through her. She shivered.
"You are alone tonight, Claire?" Sebastien asked.
"Obviously," she said, with a little smile.
Not to be deterred, he persisted, "But, where is your boyfriend?"
Her mouth contracted in a slight scowl before she could control it. "How behind the times you are, Sebastien," she said, drawing out his name, enjoying the sound of it. His eyebrows drew together. "I haven't seen him in ages," she continued airily. She couldn't be sure, but she thought this revelation piqued his interest. "What of you, Maestro? Haven't you been seeing a lady yourself?" she asked, trying to be casual.
