ZOE'S POV
Leo was acting like nothing had happened between us.
From the moment we woke up this morning, he'd been all business, professional, and cold. Like he hadn't kissed me on that beach just a few hours ago. Like he hadn't held my face in his hands and whispered my name like a prayer.
"Are you ready for today?" he asked as we checked out of the hotel, his voice perfectly neutral.
"Yes," I said, trying to match his tone. "I've been practicing that piece for weeks."
"Good. Remember what we worked on with the phrasing in the second movement."
"I remember."
That was it. That was the extent of our conversation as we loaded our bags into the taxi that would take us to the competition venue.
I sat in the backseat trying not to look at him, trying not to remember how his lips had felt against mine. But every time the taxi hit a bump and our shoulders brushed together, electricity shot through me.
Why was he pretending? Why was he acting like the most important moment of my life had never happened?
Maybe he regretted it. Maybe in the cold light of day, he realized what a mistake it had been to kiss his student.
But it hadn't felt like a mistake. It had felt like coming home.
The competition venue was a beautiful concert hall in downtown LA, with marble floors and soaring ceilings. Students and faculty from music schools all over the West Coast were arriving with their instruments and sheet music.
I was practically vibrating with excitement despite Leo's cold shoulder. This was it. My first real competition as a college student. My chance to prove that I belonged here, that Marcus's connections weren't the only reason I'd gotten into the conservatory.
"Miss Washington?"
I turned to see Eric, the man from the hotel. The same one I was hugging that made Leo jealous.
I hugged him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I'm competing, that's why I'm in LA.” I pointed to the stage.
His eyes followed my finger and he nodded in understanding.
“I'll stay back watch you.”
I gasped. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
Leo was standing beside me looking impatient, but I didn't care. This was exactly the kind of networking Marcus always told me to do.
Before I could respond, an announcement echoed through the hall.
"All piano performance competitors, please report to the green room for check-in."
"That's you," Leo said. "Go."
The next few minutes passed in a blur of warm-ups, practice rooms, and nervous energy. I tried not to think about the way Leo was avoiding eye contact with me.
When it was finally my turn to perform, I walked onto the stage feeling more nervous than I'd ever felt in my life. The lights were bright, and I could see the judges sitting in the front row with their clipboards and serious expressions.
I sat at the piano bench and took a deep breath. This was for me. Not for Marcus, not for the conservatory, not for anyone else. This was my moment to show the world who I was as a musician.
I began to play, and immediately the nervousness melted away. The piece was a fusion of classical structure and jazz improvisation, exactly the kind of thing Leo had been helping me perfect. As my fingers moved across the keys, I could hear his voice in my head, guiding me through the difficult passages.
The performance felt effortless, like the music was flowing through me instead of from me. When I finished, the applause was thunderous.
I walked off stage feeling like I was floating. Whatever happened with the judging, I knew I'd played the best I'd ever played in my life.
"Zoe!"
I turned to see Eric, walking toward me with a huge smile.
"That was absolutely beautiful," he said. "Even better than last night."
"Thank you," I said, still buzzing from the performance.
"Listen, I have to catch a flight back to San Francisco, but I'd love to keep in touch. Could I get your number?"
I opened my mouth to respond when I heard it. Piano music, coming from the main stage.
The announcement had said all faculty mentors would be invited to perform at the end of the competition, but I'd assumed Leo would decline. He never performed anymore. He always said his hand wasn't strong enough.
But that was definitely his playing. Complex, emotional, technically perfect despite his injury.
"Excuse me," I said to Eric, completely forgetting about his question. "I need to see this."
I pushed through the crowd toward the main stage, my heart racing. There he was, sitting at the grand piano, both hands moving across the keys with fluid grace.
He was playing a piece I'd never heard before, something haunting and beautiful that seemed to tell the story of loss and healing. His injured hand was keeping up perfectly with his right hand, creating harmonies that made my chest tight with emotion.
This was the Leo I'd glimpsed in that practice room weeks ago. This was the performer he'd been before the accident, before the guilt, before he'd convinced himself he wasn't good enough anymore.
The audience was completely silent, hanging on every note. When he finished, the applause was deafening. People were standing, shouting "Bravo," some even wiping away tears.
Leo stood up from the piano bench and gave a small bow, his face flushed with something that looked like joy. Real joy, for the first time since I'd known him.
I was already waiting at the side of the stage when he walked off. I couldn't help myself—I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tight.
"That was incredible," I said into his ear. "You were incredible."
For just a moment, his arms came around me, and I felt him relax into the embrace. Then he stiffened and pulled away.
"Zoe, don't."
"Don't what? —"
"What happened last night never happened," he said quietly, his voice cold and final. "Do you understand me? It never happened."
The words hit me like a slap. I stared at him, feeling tears start to form in my eyes.
"But—"
"No buts. I'm your professor, you're my student, and that's all we'll ever be."
He walked away, leaving me standing there with my arms hanging at my sides and my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.