Measure 42

The second rehearsal was smoother than the first, butJohn could still feel the orchestra sizing him up, testing how much he would bend and where he would hold firm. He was fine with that. Every new group went through this phase. The trick was to push just enough to earn respect without breaking their spirit.

Izzy Laurent, however, seemed determined to test his patience in her own way. They were minor details, each of them trivial. But taken together, they should not occur to a professional musician.

Halfway through the session, he stopped the piece abruptly. "English Horn, let’s try that entrance again."

From her seat, Izzy gave him an exaggerated sigh. "Really? You sure you don’t just want to hear me play alone?"

There were a few chuckles from the orchestra, but John didn’t take the bait. He merely gestured for her to continue. "Indulge me."

She lifted the instrument to her lips and played the passage again—rich, velvety, effortless. Too effortless. It was technically perfect, but something was missing.

John tilted his head. "That was… nice."

Izzy lowered her English Horn. "Nice? That’s the kind of compliment you give an amateur who doesn’t completely embarrass themselves at a recital."

He smiled slightly. "It was good. But it wasn’t saying anything."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what, exactly, should it be saying?"

He leaned on the podium, his voice quieter but no less firm. "This part—right before the strings swell—it should be like someone reaching out. Longing, but hesitant. It’s not just notes, it’s hesitation and desire all wrapped together."

Izzy blinked. For a fraction of a second, something shifted in her gaze. Then, as if recovering, she smirked. "Hesitation and desire. Quite the poetic conductor we’ve got here."

John shrugged, unfazed. "Play it like you believe me."

She studied him for a beat longer than necessary, then lifted her instrument again. This time, her notes were different. The same melody, but now there was a breath of vulnerability in them, a pull that lingered just enough to leave the listener wanting more.

John let the last note hang in the air before nodding. "Better."

Izzy lowered her instrument and smiled—not her usual teasing smirk, but something smaller. Knowing. "You just wanted to hear me play alone again, didn’t you?"

John chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted his baton. "Back to measure 42, everyone."

As the music resumed, Izzy glanced at him once more, her expression unreadable. John looked at her, but more than that, he sensed the unspoken rhythm between them, something that had nothing to do with the sheets of music in front of them.

And then she crossed her legs. Right over left. She paused for a moment, then raised it again in a deliberately slow, deliberately provocative movement and tilted it to the side. Her skirt slid up for a moment. John couldn't help but look. The glance had been fleeting and in a different situation or with a different person, John would have assumed that he had been mistaken. But at that moment he was sure that she was not wearing anything under her skirt and had showed him everything on purpose.