Play It For Me: The Italian Series, #5
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He curled their values in his fist and tossed them away. They didn't know what it was like to be him, to be forever sealed into a living tomb of his own making, to have here for a few days the most beautiful woman who would give him the solace he craved. They didn't know what it'd be like to be held, to caress and embrace, and finally feel the freedom of it.
They were wrong. Their God, their beliefs, didn't take any of that into account.
Niccolo Cavatelli, famous cellist, lives in a world filled with music. Yet the notes he hears day and night bring him no closer to the security he craves. Instead, they isolate and seclude him. Then Kati Dennis enters his life. Swept along by their mutual attraction, he writes his greatest song ever. One which, in one tragic moment, might just silence the music for both of them. Forever.
Book 5 of 5 in THE ITALIAN SERIES from best-selling author, SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS. Stand Alone, but a working knowledge of characters in Books 1-5 is helpful. HFN. 28,000 words.
Suzanne D. Williams
Best-selling author, Suzanne D. Williams, is a native Floridian, wife, mother, and photographer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors. She is co-founder of THE EDGE. To learn more about what she’s doing and check out her extensive catalogue of stories, visit http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/ or link with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor.
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Play It For Me - Suzanne D. Williams
SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS
Feel-Good Romance
© 2014 PLAY IT OR ME (The Italian Series) Book 5 by Suzanne D. Williams
www.feelgoodromance.com
www.suzannedwilliams.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Scenes in this story may contain graphic and/or sexual situations not suitable for young or sensitive readers, but are framed by Christian morals and solutions.
And, behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, (38) And stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment. (39) Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner. (40) And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on. (41) There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. (42) And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most? (43) Simon answered and said, I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged. (44) And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. (45) Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. (46) My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. (47) Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little. (48) And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. (49) And they that sat at meat with him began to say within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also? (50) And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace. (Luke 7:37-50)
CHAPTER 1
I’VE LEFT YOUR LAUNDRY on the end of the bed, and dinner in the oven.
The remark begun in the kitchen increased in volume as the speaker entered the room. Eggplant parm, like you asked.
Thank you, Nancy.
Niccolo Cavatelli glanced up from the music sheets spread across his lap.
Her gaze sharpened, and she leaned on one fleshy hip. You remember I’m not going to be here tomorrow? I have the week off.
His black-framed glasses sliding down his nose, he pushed them up again, a stray lock of jet black hair dangling between his eyes. You’ll be back on the twentieth?
She bobbed her head, sending her earrings swinging. She always wore them –long, silver loops. He’d never seen her in anything else.
Yes, and my niece is filling in for me. She’s moving home from college and needs a place to stay until her apartment is available. So you see, it worked out. And you were all worried.
He said nothing because if he told the truth, he still was. Nancy had been with him faithfully for three years, day and night, six days a week, also travelling with him when he had a concert to perform. She only ever asked off on Sundays, and though he didn’t like to be alone, he granted her that. She deserved it.
But now, she was taking the entire week to visit her sister. A whole week. Seven days without her here to calm the demons in his mind. That’s how he thought of the doubts that whispered constantly in his head, as little evil creatures with spiked tails and sharp horns like the ones drawn in storybooks.
I’ve told her exactly what to do,
Nancy continued, so you have nothing to fear, and if you need me, I’m only a phone call away.
Nothing to fear? She was wrong. There was always something to fear. People. Solitude. Ironic, because though they seemed to be opposites, he feared them both. He neither wanted to go outside nor be left alone. He’d hired Nancy for that purpose.
Fifty-eight and widowed, her children grown, she’d come perfect for the job, free of other encumbrances and thus able to dedicate all her time to whatever he asked. Plus, she never complained, but was upbeat and positive. She attributed that to her faith in God, but, though he didn’t try to stifle her beliefs, he had none of his own and no interest in acquiring any. Something his family, of which the Cavatellis were many, reminded him about a lot.
You have a gift given to you by God, one or the other of them would say.
A gift for music. But it wasn’t so much a gift as a balm. Playing his cello took him away from the things bashing around in his head, bringing solace. With his bow in his hand, all he heard were notes, each strung to the next with no room in between for anything else. No one understood that, not even Nancy.
My niece’s plane lands around midnight,
Nancy continued. She said she’ll take a cab here, and I told her where I’ve put the key. She can let herself in.
She pointed one finger in his direction. "Leave the hall light on, and do not stay up to wait for her. She’s quite capable of finding her way to my room without supervision."
Niccolo stood to his feet, stretching his six-foot-two inch frame and strolling over to her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. I will miss you.
Her cheeks blushed. Like my own boy, you are, except smarter and more peaceful.
She seemed to be thinking something over. Then, spur of the moment, threw her hands around his waist.
Surprised, he stiffened, pulling in a trembling breath. It was only Nancy. He needn’t fear Nancy’s embrace. His hands hovered in midair for a few seconds before he lowered them to the center of her back.
She pulled away moments later, smoothing her blouse with the flat of her hand. There now. I must be off.
She spun in place. I’ll get my things.
Bustling from the room, her footsteps faded down the hallway.
Niccolo wandered to the window, his hands shoved in his pockets, and gazed out across the dreary autumn landscape. A bare-limbed maple swayed this way and that in the rising wind, whipping the scarf from a woman’s neck far below and sending it sailing down the sidewalk. She scrambled for it, legs pumping, hands flailing, capturing the knitted material only when it snagged in a bush.
A dog bounded away from a boy toward the street, screeching to a halt at the base of a fire hydrant to relieve himself. The boy took hold of the leash and scolded the dog with a pop on the head.
Niccolo sighed. If only life were that simple and the world that safe and him not destined to remain closed up in the walls of this apartment. If only it were always music and melodies, chords and harmonics. If only it could be tuned and corrected with a tweak of the string, a twitch of the hand, and replayed at the press of a button.
If only. But it wasn’t, and that scared him near to death.
MASHING THE UNLOCK button on the keyless remote, Kati Dennis switched her cell phone from her right ear to her left. Yeah, I wish I could.
She hooked one pinky on the driver’s side door handle and tugged. But I have to take care of this invalid for my old aunt.
She fell down in the seat, slamming the door, and the cushion gave a whoosh.
"Invalid ... That’s what I said. I-n-v-a-l-i-d ... I don’t know ... some guy she cares for who never leaves home. She wants to go visit Mom, and he’s actually let her off for the week. Can you imagine? She works