"Left a bit. A bit more. Stop!" Bradley spoke into a walkie-talkie as my new Fazioli swung in mid-air above the roof terrace on Saturday morning.

I forced myself to unclench my teeth and said a silent prayer the crane driver knew what he was doing. Was it supposed to tilt like that?

I breathed a sigh of relief as the wheels touched down into the waiting cradle, and a team of specialist movers sprang forward to manoeuvre the piano into its new home in the living room. A piano tuner hovered on the periphery, waiting to make any adjustments.

"Thanks so much for sorting this out," I said to Bradley as he brushed a piece of imaginary dirt off his epaulettes. He'd gone for the army look today, although the only place he'd be camouflaged was in a flock of flamingos. And not many four-star generals tended to accessorise with sparkly purple boots either.

"No problem, chicky. I wasn't planning on leaving you to organise this crew yourself. They already tried to delay the delivery twice."

"Are you staying for dinner?"

"No can do. Emmy's having a wardrobe crisis, and I have to fly to Paris and sort it out."

Given that Emmy would happily live in jeans if she could get away with it, I suspected it was actually Bradley who was having the crisis on her behalf.

"It was lovely to see you."

"I'm glad you're smiling. We were all worried about you moving here by yourself."

"I'm making friends."

"Super. And you..." He turned to Sofia. "It's fabulous to see you again. I'll get Emmy's housekeeper to send those recipes over."

When I'd walked in on them chatting in the kitchen earlier, Sofia had mentioned something about ice cream, and I recalled the freezer full of delights at Emmy's house. Bradley had volunteered Sofia to have a go at recreating some of them.

With me bouncing Hisashi on my hip, we all walked to the door to wave Bradley off, skirting around the huge pile of gifts he'd brought with him. It had taken the driver four trips to carry them upstairs, and by the end, he'd been muttering about hiring another crane.

"It's finally here. I can't believe it," I said when we walked back into the living room.

The shiny wood felt cool under my fingertips, and I sat down with Hisashi on my lap and played a few notes. Not Brahms or Schubert. Jansen had tainted those. I chose Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, at least until Hisashi joined in, pushing his little fingers on the keys.

Sofia stopped to listen. "Wow, you're good. Awesome to finally have your own piano, right?"

"I'm so relieved it's arrived."

"Does this mean you'll come home earlier in the evenings?"

"I'll have to do some practice for the recitals with Jude and Jansen, but I'm going to try and get home early three days a week." Of course, I hadn't told Jansen that yet, and I couldn't see him giving in without a fight. But when I'd started spending time with Linc, he'd allowed me to find a strength hidden away inside myself that I didn't know existed, and I was determined to stand up to Jansen for the sake of my son.

"That's great. And Bradley's right—it's good to see you smiling. I get the feeling that isn't all down to the piano, though?"

Sofia had gone out for a late bowling session with friends as soon as I got back last night, so we hadn't had a chance to catch up since my near-disaster of a date. "You're right. Linc's also helped with that."

"So tell me the juicy details."

I cringed a little bit inside, unused to spilling my private life. But this was what girls were supposed to do, right?

"Uh, well... It went slightly wrong at first when I found out he was married."

Her eyes widened. "No way! Married? Wait, is he divorced now? Or messing you around?"

"He's divorced. Plus he was in the army and some horrible things happened to him in Afghanistan." I didn't want to go into too much detail—it was his story to tell, not mine. I'd only told Sofia the bare bones of what happened to me, and I knew how important privacy could be.

"Sounds like you had a hoot. Did it get any better?"

"He got upset, I got upset, then he fed me tiramisu and acted really sweet. And he brought me home, and when we stopped outside he...kissed me." I finished on a whisper and felt myself blush.

"Tongues?"

Had Sofia turned into Emmy? That's exactly what she would have asked. "No! Just...he's got really soft lips."

"Well, at least that made up for things. When's he taking you out again?"

"I don't know, or even if he is. He didn't say anything."

And when I'd messaged him yesterday morning to find out how he was, I got a text back saying he'd had to leave town unexpectedly, and he'd call me when he got back. Was that a brush-off? My heart seized every time I looked at the message, and I looked at it a lot because I just...couldn't...stop...myself.

"You didn't ask?"

"Well, no. You think I should have?"

"He brought you back home and kissed you after a date that sounds like it floated on the edge of calamity. He's probably as nervous as you are about the prospects for a second."

"But what if I ask him and he says no?"

She shrugged. "You can't win them all, but if you don't play the game, the only thing certain is that you'll lose."

Something about the way she said that, nonchalant but with the tiniest quake in her voice, told me she'd played and lost at some point in her life. But I tamped down my curiosity, refusing to pry because to do so might invite more questions about my own past.

Besides, Sofia was right. If Linc didn't call, I'd have to pick up the phone. The thought terrified me.

The Fazioli played like a dream, so crisp and clear it made the school's pianos sound as if they'd been picked up cheap at a garage sale. Even more reason to practise at home.

Now I just had to break the news to Jansen—another conversation I didn't want to have.

I saw him in class on Monday morning as we went over our recital pieces with Dr. Vasilyevich, but at that point, I hadn't quite worked out what to say.

I was still stewing over it in the voice seminar before lunch, thankfully one that Il Duce didn't share. Instead, I sat next to Jude as he showed once again that he was a surprisingly good singer. Secretly, I believed he had more talent than Jansen; he simply didn't like to work as much.

"You want to get lunch with me after this?" he asked as we left the seminar room.

"You don't have a hot date today?" While listening for rumours circulating about Linc and me, I couldn't help hearing tales of Jude's efforts to bed every eligible female in Boston.

"I'm between girls at the moment."

"Since when?"

"Since I snuck out of Maria's apartment this morning. Or was it Martina?"

"You're impossible, you know that?"

He grinned, displaying dimples that would have had more of an effect if Linc hadn't gotten under my skin already.

"But you still like me. Besides, it'll take some of the heat off you and lover boy."

Okay, I did still like him. It was difficult not to. And he had a point about taking attention away from Linc. I tried to inject a little enthusiasm into my voice. "Great, let's get lunch."

The chef must have been on a health kick because the serving counters groaned under the weight of quinoa, spinach, beetroot, and salmon. Every dessert was topped with blueberries.

"What are these?" Jude peered at one of the dishes.

"Sweet potato fries, I think."

"Ugh. What's wrong with normal fries? I'm a growing man. I need to keep my strength up."

Still, he piled his plate high while I opted for a salad. I'd found my strength in Linc. We found a quiet table in one corner, and I settled into my seat as Jude popped a couple of fries into his mouth.

"Hmm. Not bad, I suppose. I could get used to these. And all this health food means I can have an extra beer tonight."

"Tonight? We have practice tonight."

He rubbed his temples as his forehead creased into an exaggerated frown. "I've got a headache."

"You mean you're not going?"

"Jansen's an arsehole. Nobody needs to practise the same piece ten hours a week, not for a school recital. We'll go stale."

"He doesn't see it that way."

"He doesn't see anything but himself. I heard he's riding roughshod over his violin group as well. Three of them are supposed to be composing a piece together, but he's written it all himself and it's terrible."

"At least it's not just us."

"Nah, don't take it personally."

"I'm trying, but sometimes it's difficult. Uh, I'm not planning to go tonight either."

Jude hooted with laughter, and I shushed him as the girls on the next table stared at us.

"Brilliant. He can practise by himself to his heart's content."

"How do we tell him?"

"He'll get the message when we don't show up."

"We can't do that! It's rude."

Jude shrugged. "So? He doesn't deserve courtesy. I might send him a text message if I get around to it."

"I don't want to speak to him. Perhaps I could leave a note?"

"If you want." He leaned in a bit closer. "You going out with the janitor guy tonight?"

I choked on a forkful of shredded spinach. "Uh, I'm not sure, I mean..."

"Yeah, you are. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's a stupid rule anyway. I shag the girl who cleans my room before class every Thursday, as if that's gonna get me a better grade."

"Really?"

He shook his head. "I don't even need better grades. Believe it or not, I always get decent passes."

"I meant about the girl." How could he drop that into the conversation so casually?

His dimples popped out again. "Got to limber myself up for those sodding yoga lessons. Look, if you get pulled in by the dean again, just tell him you were with me. I'll back you up."

That may not do much for my own reputation, but despite his philandering ways, Jude knew how to be sweet.

"That's kind of you to offer."

"Hey, what are friends for?"

An hour before Jansen was due to arrive, I snuck into the practice room, pen and notepad in hand. I had a small pile of wadded-up attempts in front of me when I heard footsteps at the door.

"Starting early?" Linc asked.

"I didn't realise you'd come back."

"I only flew in an hour ago. Thought I'd better come in and sort out my schedule with the maintenance supervisor so I know what else I can fit around work this week."

"Do you mean me?" I whispered.

He stepped into the room and pushed the door closed. "Yeah, I mean you. I missed you like crazy."

"I thought I might have scared you off."

"Never." He reached out a hand, then glanced at the door and thought the better of it. "My godson had an accident—fell out of a treehouse and broke his leg. His momma freaked out, so I needed to go and give her a hand."

"You have a godson?"

"Braydon. He's eight, and he lives in Springfield. His daddy was in the army with me."

"Was? Did he...?"

"Yeah. He was one of my squad in Afghanistan, and he didn't make it back."

"I really wish I could hug you right now."

His half-smile was better than none at all. "I'd like nothing more than to hold you in my arms, but Il Duce is probably hovering outside with a camera. What time are you done tonight?"

"As soon as I can write this note to Jansen telling him my piano's arrived and I'll be practising at home on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays."

Now I got a proper smile. "My week suddenly got better."

"Except I can't decide what to write, and I'm still not sure leaving a note's the best idea. Do you think I should stay and talk to him?"

"There's an old Irish proverb that says 'a good retreat is better than a bad stand.'"

"A note it is, then." I scribbled some more and held it up for Linc to read. "Is that okay?"

"You've apologised three times in the first sentence."

"Maybe I'll take the last 'sorry' out."

"Take them all out."

"You're sure?"

"You haven't done anything wrong. I checked the room bookings, and none of the other groups are rehearsing more than twice a week."

I had another go, removing all the apologies. "Better?"

"Better. Now that's done, do you want to get something to eat later?"