"So," he insists. "Why are you upset, pretty girl?"
I bite my tongue for what feels like forever, refusing to let him know the issues I have in my relationship, as if he isn't perfectly aware. The man spied on us, for fuck's sake. And then I change my mind. Because fuck Chase for not caring about my tears, my dream, or my life.
"My violin got damaged on Friday."
I cross my arms over my chest, forgetting that opening to this man is a terrible idea.
"My boyfriend had given me money to get a second-hand one." I scoff, not even embarrassed by the mess my life is anymore. "Some kid who never played for an orchestra in their whole life was selling it for four-hundred dollars. Some violinist I am…"
I take a deep breath. "Anyway, the money's gone. I don't know if Chase took it back, if my addict of a father stole it. I don't fucking know, but it's gone. So, I don't have a violin to play today. I'm going to get kicked out of here, probably mocked by all your rich friends who couldn't possibly understand what four-hundred dollars is worth."
I throw my head back, looking at the low ceiling. The other circle of seats is right above us.
I sigh heavily. "Fuck all of you."
His hand leaves my leg, and I already miss the reassurance of his warmth. I hear him move next to me, and something big is deposited on my lap. I straighten again, looking down. It's a violin case.
My arms are still crossed, and I simply look at the case for a few minutes.
"Open it, Nyx," he murmurs next to me.
My eyebrows pinch. "Why?"
He laughs softly, and it's a harsh contrast with his usual snickering.
"Because that's what happens when someone gives you a present."
"But I don't want a present from you.” It hits me then, and my chest tightens. “Oh my God, Achilles. Tell me you didn't buy me a violin."
"I didn't buy you a violin." It comes instantly, the lie obvious.
My cheeks puff when I try to exhale the anxiety and exhilaration fighting for first place.
"This isn't even funny."
"Neither is you being kicked out of the orchestra for not owning an instrument."
I lick my lips. "I recognize this case, you know? This shit is expensive."
He raises his eyebrows. "Yeah? I didn't realize."
"Rich fuck," I mumble as I unclasp it and unzip slowly.
I suck in a sharp breath at the sight in front of me, my lungs seizing. Lowering my head, I look closely at it when I realize it doesn't look exactly like the one I used to own. On my violin, all I did was change the strings and where the chinrest sits, meaning that it was still technically built for a right-handed person. On this one, the strings fit perfectly in the grooves and on the bridge.
"Wait," I mutter breathlessly.
I look through the F-hole on the treble side.
"Achilles," I rasp as I look in the F-hole on the bass side. The bass bar has been moved.
This isn't a violin for a right-hand player.
"This is custom-made," I say out loud. "You… What the hell? Where did you find this violin? It must have cost—" I cut myself off when I look at the bows in the case.
"Holy shit," I squeak. "They're fine Pernambuco bows. Are you out of your fucking mind? That's, like, five grand each. There are t-two?"
"The white hair is Siberian Stallion," he explains, sending my heart racing. "The black one is unusual, but black hair is coarser. You'll have more grip for more aggressive bowing. It's great for Baroque. Or, you know, if you're ever a soloist. The audience needs to hear you break through the rest of the orchestra."
