And these notes were my grateful thanks to the instrument for allowing me to play its glory with such grace.
Allowing me to love it so much that it became a part of who I was—the very fabric of my being.
And finally, as the delicate bars of the piece flowed so softly into the room, they signaled my eternal gratitude to the boy sitting silently in the dark. The boy as gifted at photography as I was at music. He was my heart. The heart freely given to me as a child. The heart that made up one half of my own. The boy who, though breaking inside, loved me so deeply that he gave me this farewell. Gave me, in the present, the dream that my future never could.
My soul mate who captured moments.
My hand shook as the final note rang out, my tears splashing to the wood. I held my hand in the air, the end of the piece suspended until the final echo of its whispered top note drifted to the heavens to take its place among the stars.
I paused, letting the farewell sink in.
Then as quietly as possible, I stood. And smiling, I pictured the audience and their applause. I bowed my head and lowered the cello to the floor of the stage, laying the bow on top just as it had been found.
I tipped my head back into the tunnel of light from above one last time, then stepped into the shadow. My heels created a dull drum beat as I left the stage. When I reached the bottom step, the house lights came on, ushering away the remnants of the dream.
I took in a deep breath as I ranged my gaze over the empty red chairs, then cast a glance back to the cello still positioned exactly as it was on the stage, waiting patiently for the next young musician to be blessed with its grace.
It was done.
Rune slowly rose to his feet. My stomach lurched as I saw his cheeks reddened by emotion. But my heart skipped a much-needed beat when I saw the expression on his handsome face.
He understood me. He understood my truth.
He understood it was the final time I would play. And I could see, with crystal clarity, the mixture of sorrow and pride set in his eyes.
When he reached me, Rune didn’t touch the tear stains on my cheeks, as I left his untouched. Closing his eyes, Rune took my mouth in a kiss. And in this kiss I felt his outpouring of love. I felt a love, that at seventeen, I was blessed to have received.
A love that knew no boundaries.
The kind of love that inspires music that lasts through the ages.
A love that should be felt and meant and treasured.
When Rune pulled back and stared into my eyes, I knew that this kiss would be handwritten on a pink paper heart with more devotion than any of those that had gone before.
Kiss eight hundred and nineteen was the kiss that changed it all. The kiss that proved that a long-haired brooding boy from Norway and a quirky girl from the Deep South could find a love to rival the greats.
It showed that love was simply the tenacity to make sure that the other half of your heart knew he, or she, was adored in every way. In every minute of every day. That love was tenderness in its purest form.
Rune inhaled deeply, then whispered, “I have no words right now … in either of my languages.”
I offered a weak smile in return. Because I didn’t either.
This silence was perfection. It was far better than words.
Taking Rune’s hand, I guided him up the aisle and out of the foyer. The cold blast of the New York February wind was a welcome relief from the heat of the building within. Our limousine was waiting at the curb; Rune must have called the driver.
We slipped into the back seat. The driver pulled out into the traffic and Rune pulled me to his side. I fell willingly, breathing in the fresh scent of him on his blazer. With each turn the driver took, my heart rate increased. When we arrived at the hotel, I took Rune’s hand and walked inside.
Not a single word had been uttered on the drive here, not a single sound made as the elevator reached the top floor. The sound of the card opening the electronic lock sounded like thunder in the hushed hallway. I opened the door, my footsteps clicking on the wooden floor, and stepped through into the living room.
Without stopping, I walked to the doorway of the bedroom, only glancing back to make sure Rune followed. He stood at the doorway, watching me leave.
Our gazes crashed, and needing him more than air, I slowly lifted my hand. I wanted him. I needed him.
I had to love him.
I watched Rune pull in a deep breath, then step toward me. He walked carefully to where I waited. He slid his hand into mine, his touch sending flares of light and love through my body.
Rune’s eyes were dark, almost black, his dilated pupils blotting out the blue. His need was as strong as mine, his love proven and his trust so complete.
A calm flooded through me like a river. I let it in, and led Rune into the bedroom and closed the door. The atmosphere thickened around us. Rune’s intense, assessing eyes watched my every move.
Knowing I had his unwavering attention, I released his hand and stepped back. Lifting my trembling fingers, I began unfastening the large buttons of my coat, our locked gazes never wavering as the coat opened and I slowly let it drop to the floor.
Rune’s jaw tensed as he watched, his fingers opening and closing at his sides.
I slipped off my shoes, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Taking a fortifying breath, I stepped across the carpet and over to where Rune stood, waiting. When I stopped before him, I lifted my eyes, lids heavy with the onslaught of feelings within me.
Rune’s broad chest rose and fell, the tight white t-shirt under his blazer showcasing his toned chest. Feeling a flush coat my cheeks, I gently laid my palms over his chest. Rune stilled as my warm hands touched him. Then, keeping my eyes locked on his, I slid my hands to his shoulders, freeing him from his blazer. The jacket fell to the floor at his feet.
I breathed in three times, fighting to control the nerves suddenly racing through me. Rune didn’t move. He remained completely still, letting me explore; I ran my hand down over his stomach, over to his arm, and took his hand with my own. I lifted our clasped hands to my mouth, and in a move so familiar to us both, I kissed our intertwined fingers.
“This is how they should always be,” I whispered, gazing at our woven fingers.
Rune swallowed and nodded his head in silent agreement.
My feet stepped back, and back again. I led us toward the bed. The comforter was pulled back, turned down by the maid service. And the closer I got to this bed, the more my nerves settled and a peace set within me. Because this was right. Nothing, no one, could tell me this was wrong.
Pausing before the edge of the bed, I released our hands. Driven by desire, I took hold of the hem of Rune’s shirt and slowly brought it over his head. Helping me, Rune threw the t-shirt to the floor, leaving him standing with his torso bare.
Rune slept like this every night, but there was something about the charged static in the atmosphere and the way he’d made me feel with tonight’s surprise that made this different.
It was different.
It was poignant.
But it was us.
Lifting my hands, I pressed my palms to his skin and ran my fingertips over the peaks and valleys of his abdominals. Rune’s skin bumped in my wake, his labored breath hissing through his slightly parted lips.
As my fingers explored his broad chest, I leaned forward and pressed my lips over his heart. It was racing like a hummingbird’s wings.
“You’re perfect, Rune Kristiansen,” I whispered.
Rune’s fingers rose to thread through my hair. He guided my head up. I kept my eyes lowered until the final second, when I finally looked up and met his crystal-blue gaze. His eyes were glistening.