Too Late, My Queen

arm and ankle throbbing. Sunlight streamed through a crack i

of warmth. "Julian is feeling better. He wan

Ms. Vanderbilt," he began, the for

ll me that. It' s Tori. It'

nge," he sa

mine. I told you I prefer my... possessions... to be compliant. You seem to have forgotten that lesson." Her

See how much I love you? No one else can have your talent, or you." He had been horrified then, but also naively flat

g his role. For now. "What

his foot propped on a velvet cushion, held court, surrounded by sycophants. Ethan, forced into a

he crowd, he heard the

id, isn' t it? Used

im for Vance. Looks

ight. Always

r irony. He remembered a time when Tori had eviscerated a gossip columnist for a mildly critica

ffection. Julian, limping theatrically, leaned heavily on To

own youthful confidence, the raw talent and untamed spirit that had first captivated Tori. He understood, with a

r voice carrying across the sudde

g forced to perform for his replacement, his art, once a sac

layed a Chopin nocturne, one his mother used to love. A piece full of sorrow, of longing, of irrevocable

s pain, his disillusionment, his quiet despair into the music. This w

icker of something – unease? Regret? –

g the piece mid-phrase. "Play something upbeat. Something I can dance to, if my an

ng to get sympathy, you know. Playing all sad and wounded. Probably still upset ab

ing silent on the keys. His silenc

nted. "Cat got your tongue? Or did

drag. And he," Julian gestured contemptuously at Ethan, "is a total downer. Aren' t yo

ung in the air, a blat