Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

BELLA

W hen I return from the restaurant, I find Mom in the living room, textbooks sprawled on the coffee table. I know Emily is out tonight. On a date , she casually texted as if it was the most regular thing in the world. For her, it is. For me, it would be a huge event.

"You look tired," I tell Mom, leaning down, hugging, and sitting beside her. "I've got some leftovers for when you're hungry."

"You're going to make an amazing mom one day," she says, then yawns.

"You don't have to study all the time, Mom," I reply. "You've got two more years to go. You don't want to burn yourself out."

"If I don't study, I think," she murmurs, looking down at her notebook.

"Why don't you think about all the money you'll give me when you're a big fancy veterinarian, huh?" I tease, nudging her playfully.

She wraps her arm around me and hugs me close to her. "I know you hate how often I say this, but I'll never stop … Thank you, Bella. This is literally the exact opposite arrangement we should have. I'll never stop being grateful."

"And I know you hate when I remind you I'm just repaying the favor. You worked yourself to the bone to buy me a violin, to pay for lessons, instructional videos, all of it …"

"That's what moms are supposed to do, you sweet girl."

We savor the hug for a while. I want to tell Mom about my new high-value client, but I can't risk it until I know that this is a long-term thing, or at least until I've earned enough money to provide us with a small safety net. I can't stand the idea of smashing her hope to pieces.

"I'm going to do some playing," I tell her. "Maybe make a video."

"Okay. I'll be out here. Love you."

"Love you, Mom."

Since I'll be recording the piece anyway, I decide I might as well create a video about it for my channel. Setting up my camera, I'm grateful for my text conversation with Matt. It's given me all the fuel I need to explain the pros and cons to my viewers, plus my belief that it needs to skirt that unique borderline between messy and technical.

It takes around an hour. Once I finish the video, I edit the performance to send it as a standalone clip, cutting out all the talking and instruction. I'm about to send it to Matt—not letting myself wonder if this is strange—when an idea occurs to me or maybe slams into me.

It's not the sort of thing I'd usually do. I can't imagine another context where I would cross this line. I go to my wardrobe and look for a pair of short shorts, then a tank top, and I even take off my bra before putting the shirt on. I look at myself in the mirror. My chest is rising and falling fast. My nipples are poking slightly through the material.

What am I thinking? This isn't me . My body tingles all over at the thought of Matt wanting me. I imagine him running his hand through his slick hair, his expression getting fierce when he sees the outfit. It's not like I'm dressed in lingerie. I've got plausible deniability.

Grabbing my violin again, I set up the camera. Then I do something even more forced. Again, not thinking is the name of the game. I leave my violin on the bed with the camera running, then walk into the frame.

This means he'll see my butt as I pick up the violin. I almost stop the video right there. See my butt … I've never viewed myself as the kind of woman men would be attracted to. Or women. Or aliens. Or anybody. But with Matt, I find myself wanting him to want me.

Sitting down, I look at the camera, seeing my breasts shift slightly in the viewfinder. What am I doing? But I don't stop. I pick up my bow, pick up the violin, and play.

Maybe it's the nerves buzzing through me or how unusual this is, but as I stroke the bow, I find fresh energy for the piece. Knowing I have an audience of one and hoping he will look at me just a bit longer infuses me with useful adrenaline.

When the piece is over, I feel a flush spreading all over my face and neck. The viewfinder confirms my suspicions. I quickly approach the camera, end the video, and then wonder if I should delete it. Is it bad? Do I look desperate? What the heck am I doing?

I don't even let myself watch it back. I know I will delete it if I do that. I've never taken a romantic chance in my life before. At least with this, there's a chance to back out.

A knock comes at my door. "I'm going to heat these leftovers if you're hungry," Mom says.

"Sure," I croak, my mouth dry. "Thanks, Mom."

I transfer the video to my phone and then attach it to the text. I almost don't send it. This is seriously not my jam. It's so not Bella that many people wouldn't even believe me if I told them. That's only because I've never had a crush before.

Quickly, I press send , then start pacing my bedroom as if he'll reply to me straightaway.

"Are you okay, Bella?" Mom asks over the kitchen divider as she does the dishes.

I'm sitting in the armchair, attempting to catch up on a novel I've been reading recently. "Huh? Yeah. Fine."

"You keep sighing."

"Do I?"

She gives me a look, then turns back to the dishes. I do my best to stop sighing. It's been almost an hour since I sent that video, and there's no way to take it back. The status of the text shows read , which means he's seen it. Maybe he's just seen the message but not watched the video.

What if he realizes what I've done? What if he sees the outfit and thinks, Oh, crap, this woman is getting the wrong idea. I need to find a new tutor. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid when I noticed Matt was attractive.

"I'm going to get an early night," I tell Mom. "Emily texted and said she won't be home until tomorrow."

"Ooh, lucky girl," Mom says with a giggle.

I try to laugh, but even to me, it sounds forced. There are too many competing images in my head. In some of them, Matt is staring at the screen, obsessed. In others, he's disgusted. In more—and maybe this is the worst—he's indifferent.

Since I've got three back-to-back classes tomorrow, I need to sleep. The second I rest my head on the pillow, I know it won't come quickly. Instead of tossing and turning, I grab my phone and search the internet for DeLuca Investments Limited. I haven't searched it yet, maybe because I don't want to know just how rich he is.

There isn't much except a stock website and around five hundred reviews, most of them five stars. It seems like the kind of business that flies right over my head: moving money, financing, and other almost stubbornly nonmusical things.

Evidently, though, it's a big business. I recognize some of the client names listed on the site. Two of them are billionaires.

A surreal feeling washes over me. I've never believed in fate, but it almost matches up too well. I've been waiting for a chance to create a real future for me and Mom, and here it is.

"Now I've ruined it," I whisper under my breath.

When my phone vibrates, I almost leap out of bed, eager to grab it. My chest tightens. Did the video even send?

Hi, Bella. Do you have any appointments available for the day after tomorrow?

The change in tone seems so abrupt. Did he even see the video? If he did, then clearly, he's telling me without telling me to back off. Stop being desperate.

Yes, of course , I reply.

So that's that, then, no more silly thoughts or childish attempts at flirting.

No more crush.