The Paganini Letters

The following morning, Rinoa woke up to the sound of the birds singing their songs of dawn on the vast Italian countryside. The trip to Bergamo had exhausted her, but knowing how Squall had felt about her was enough to keep her going through another morning of music, laughter, and investigations. Wrapping her long, slender arms in a wool shawl Squall had bought for her yesterday, she slowly dragged herself across the room towards the window. When she saw her reflection on the glass, she noticed the bags on her eyes.

'Dang, I should put some kind of cream or I might horrify Squall…Oh crap, why am I beginning to think about how I look?' she thought to herself when she realized that she was more or less beginning to be concerned about the way she looked. Something on the lawn though, caught her attention and diverted her thoughts away from the dark marks underneath her eyelids. It was Selphie and Irvine, playing tag early in the morning, in the Leonhart manor's vast expanse of billowing green lawn. The sight of the her friends running around uttering cheerful, childish remarks made her miss her childhood…that is, if she had one.

She slowly sank down on a beautiful, maroon silk upholstered pine chair that had been placed near the window. Resting her elbow on the windowsill, she began to reminisce those memories that had begun to creep its way back into her present state of mind. She was a child protégé after all, and if there was something that children like her rarely enjoy, it is the full bloom of a laughter-filled childhood. All day, if she could remember, she was cooped up in her room, a bow in one hand, a fiddle on the other, and a pile of scores arranged neatly in a table in front of her. Despite the fact that the music of the great composers brought much pleasure and beauty to the Heartilly household, Rinoa could never remember a single moment when she cherished cuddling into bed with a homemade doll, a mom-knit toy, or some childhood memento which other children would have bragged about. The most vivid memories of her younger days was seeing a note differently, that is, she never thought of each little mark on the score as a black dot signifying a certain point on the violin for the hand to press. Rather, she interpreted the string of notes as an emotion-brimming necklace of colours that the composer had set on paper. It was something that only a girl of her music caliber could have understood. And yet, she felt odd when she took the time to play outside with other girls and wondering what a Barbie was and how it would have been enjoyably girlish to start applying that strange, lacquer-like paint on your toes.

Her memories skimmed her thoughts to a few years later, and she began envisioning the world of her teenage years. She was crowned as her school's most promising musical talent, and Rinoa Heartilly was a household name in all the music loving folk in her town. She had worked with the best, attending master classes with Isaac Stern, getting tips from Itzhak Perlman, listening to the rarest of the rare material recorded from Sir Jascha Heifetz's collection of virtuoso works from his son's estate, and even talking to Yehudi Menuhin in London about perfecting the technique of pizzicatos. She had worked with Sarah Chang on her vibrato, with Kyung Wha Chung on the perfection of an adagio timing, and she had performed on recitals throughout the state. Suburbia talked about her, the urban setting gossiped about her latest achievements. But when girls her age began giggling about liking boys or wearing the most fashionable imports in school, she felt left out, and once again returned to her little room to practice the art of the bow. She had longed for a childhood, and never had one simply because she was brilliant. She didn't know how to act around men, and her style was almost Spartan. If it weren't for the gay friends who adored her art and wooed her to go onstage on this gown or that shawl, she would have looked like a mess. She had learned though, and could at least pull off a decent appearance in public. The queer designers in New York had lauded her natural beauty and her delicate features, and created only the most ravishing dresses for her in concert. She had even received tips from the houses of fashion in the big cities that she visited during her tours, and with these she had learned how to walk outside the house without having some random paparazzi fool painting some inane fashion barrage on her choice of couture.

Her morning daydreaming was just about to continue on to her days in music college when a loud voice was heard echoing off in the hallways.

"MERDA! PER GRAZIA DI DIO!" The voice sounded very familiar, and a crashing of what sounded like ceramics and glassware followed the great boom. Rinoa walked out of her room and found Squall walking about talking to himself while holding some tabloid-sized newspaper in his hands. Beside him was a very distressed-looking Sophie who had just dropped a tray of coffee-filled china on the floor.

"Pieta, signore (please sir), you must keep your voice down, some of your guests are still sleeping," she explained while trying to pick up the broken pieces of China.

Squall knelt down hurriedly and frantically (and quite angrily) picked up the rest of the shattered cups and helped place it on the tray. "You don't understand Sophia. I am on the tabloids! Look!" He flung the newspaper on top of the tray.

Sophia grimaced at Squall and lifted the tray off the floor. "You men are so strange. You like someone and you don't even like kissing pictures. Why, if I were you I will cut that out and frame it near my wall!" she said in her thick Italian accent while cackling on the way down. "Now no more shouting or I'll drop another pot of good coffee. Good thing the carpet has no stain."

Rinoa had been staring at Squall all this time and heard Ellone come out of her room. "Squall, do me a favor and shut up. It's still 11AM in the morning my goodness. What…ooh…minus points for you," Ellone told Squall when she saw Rinoa standing in the hallway.

Squall irritably pointed at her door and firmly said, "Go back to your room and sleep."

Ellone giggled and mumbled, "Gladly."

Squall hurriedly approached Rinoa while keeping the paper away from her view. "Did I wake you up Rinoa?" He was careful only to hold her hands in his, all the while looking at her tenderly.

Rinoa attempted to snuggle closer to Squall and hugged him. "No, I was already awake. But why did you scream like that? I thought something had happened. You worried me back there."

Squall blushed for a moment and said, "Ah, it was nothing. Just some crazy paparazzi doing their usual crazy stuff with their cameras. You know how those people are." He gently played with her black hair while placing the folded sheet of paper carefully in his pocket.

"Can I see it?" she asked him with puppy dog eyes.

Squall couldn't help but feel his heart lurch and said, "Um, I don't know if you want to."

"Oh, of course I want to Squall! I don't know what would make you blush but can't I just peek at the photo?" She looked too innocent for Squall to refuse her, but once again he tried to resist her eyes.

"Rinoa…" However, he failed to notice her arms circling around his jacket. 'Damn Squall! I can't believe you allowed a woman to play with your head!'

Too late. She had found the tabloid and opened it to reveal a very candid, stylish, professional-looking black and white picture of her and Squall kissing in what looked like the square in Bergamo. "Where did this come from?" Rinoa asked him in a monotone voice that almost worried him.

"Rinoa…" he whispered softly, trying to prevent some unknown celebrity insecurity disaster from happening.

"Can I keep it?" she suddenly said, giving Squall a most alluring smile.

"Uh…Rino…" he tried to say.

"I'll keep it!" she exclaimed with a smile before planting a kiss on Squall's lips and hopping back to her room with the article.

Squall clapped his hand to his forehead and shook his head. 'Ayayay…someone's going to have to do some damage control.'

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An hour later, everyone had gathered in the breakfast room, and this time there was a marvelous breakfast pasta dish served on the table. It was an egg, pancetta, and garlicky concoction with the most sensual fragrances and flavors that could have easily dragged even the sleepiest morning hater out of the bed and into the table.

Laguna was whistling a tune when he came in and noticed that Rinoa looked happier than usual. "Rinoa, why I think I've never seen you so happy! Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Rinoa sighed and answered, "I just love the morning today. Everything seems so perfect…"

With that, Selphie took her cue and suddenly coughed out, "…and "loverly"…"

Laguna raised an eyebrow and stared at her. "Are you ok? I have some lemon lozenges if you want some."

Selphie and Quistis giggled and said, "Oh no, I think Selphie got a bit of pasta in her windpipe and…er…is alright now."

Laguna, still looking at the both of them skeptically, didn't even bother to question the both of them. He turned back to Rinoa. "But why so? This morning's just like yesterday morning, except a bit cloudier. What is so perfect about it?" He couldn't help but notice on the corner of his eye that Squall was turning very red.

Rinoa placed her fork on her plate and smiled, exchanging a short glance with Squall. "I think it's because…I really can't explain it Sir Laguna." Irvine and Zell were now joining Quistis and Selphie in their silent giggling game.

Laguna looked at Squall, seeing that his son was now absent-mindedly twirling an immensely huge amount of pasta on his fork. "Squall, I didn't know you could put that much pasta in your mouth. I know you love to eat son, but it isn't exactly very easy to fit that much food into your lips. You aren't Zell."

Zell grimaced at Laguna before returning to his plate, this time gathering dainty amounts of pasta onto his fork. Laguna had gone back to talking to Squall. "Are you alright son? You're quite red."

Squall stopped twirling and gulped the food in his mouth. He drank a bit of water and told Laguna, "Uh…yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm okay…today."

Laguna sat back and sipped his juice. "You and Rinoa are acting strangely. I really don't understand the both of you."

Sophia suddenly interjected, "It's La Giorno Musicale (The Musical Day, a tabloid with news about music) signore. Your boy can tell you what is happening but I think he's too embarrassed, so I'll give you copy."

Squall quickly looked up from his plate and said, "There's no other copy!" He looked to Rinoa and she pointed up to tell him that it was in her room.

Sophia laughed and took out a new copy from her apron. "Signore Squall, I always have another newspaper in the cucina (kitchen), so don't tell me I don't have copy because I have a good one without crumples."

Laguna took his glasses out and started reading the entire front page with Squall and Rinoa's huge caption blown up on the front page. "Ooooh…I think someone's in love!"

"Dad!" Squall seethed through his teeth. He was now beet red. Rinoa looked a bit flustered as well and gulped down an entire glass of water in a matter of seconds.

"Oh come on Squall, sometime in your life you are supposed to fall in love, and I am glad that it's Rinoa!" Rinoa couldn't help but give Laguna one of her beautiful smiles. "Why, if it were any other girl, maybe I would be skeptical at first but you have such a darling girlfriend!"

Squall felt like he wanted an anvil to fall from heaven and drop on Laguna's head. What Laguna said next wanted him to change that anvil into an elephant. "Besides, both of you look nice together, and it would be really nice if the paparazzi were to take more pictures of the both of you hand in hand or kissing because you look amazing on camera with her."

Selphie suddenly raised her hand, tired from laughing, and daringly said, "Oh no Sir Laguna, it wasn't the paparazzi who took that. I actually did and sent the picture immediately to the Bergamo office of the newspaper."

Laguna's eyes widened and he happily exclaimed, "Why that was a brilliant idea Selphie! But how did you know that you ought to use La Giorno Musicale?" Squall decided to change the elephant to an oil tanker. He turned to Selphie and noticed the annoying flip of her hair. 'Where is a torch when you need one?'

"I saw a lot of issues in Squall's office," she gleamed at everyone, especially Squall.

"Next time you should take more pictures and I'll make sure it reaches Time Magazine!" Laguna obnoxiously suggested. "And then I'm sure we'll make the headlines! I can see it now! 'World's Greatest Opera House's Director in Love with Great Violinist!' Beautiful! We should even go for Newsweek!"

'I wonder if there's anything heavier than an oil tanker,' Squall thought. 'And maybe I should confiscate cameras from the guests next time.' "Okay okay, you all made your point with the fucking picture, BUT WILL EVERYONE PLEASE SHUT UP ABOUT THIS!" he bellowed out, his anger immediately silencing everyone in the room.

An awkward quiet filled the entire room as the flames of Squall's temper died down. Laguna looked the most stunned of all, and he quickly chewed on the pasta that had been in his mouth when Squall flared off. Zell though, decided to break this awkward silence and left the room.

Before anyone else would leave, Squall dabbed his mouth with a napkin and darted for the door. "I'm going to work."

Rinoa looked worriedly at Laguna, and then Ellone, and decided to follow Squall when they both gave her the "ok" to follow him. 'Good grief, why does he have to walk so fast!' She raced towards the main entrance and found Squall grabbing his keys. Quickly doing the last few steps of the long, winding stairs, she caught up with him and attempted to grin to cheer him up.

"Hey." She managed to fix her after that speedy run, but as usual she looked fabulous.

"Hey yourself," Squall replied dryly. He donned a black leather jacket along with faded black jeans that made him look hipper than he usually dressed. He was still playing with the keys, and his hand was on the doorknob, but he hadn't tried turning it. "So are you gonna come out like that or what?"

Rinoa looked at herself in the mirror. Lucky for her, almost every room in the house had one, so in case some fashion emergency came along, she could easily pull out a brush and do some fixing. Squall was right though. What in Hyne's name got her thinking that she can tag along with him in a nightgown? She blushed lightly and held up a finger to tell Squall that she was going to take a little bit, and dashed to her room.

Squall sighed and decided to sit the time off on one of the foyer chairs. Suddenly, he heard a familiar tune coming from the violin laboratory, as if someone were toying with one of the antique fiddles…except that this sounded much like…

"Zell," he wondered as only he and Laguna would normally be working in that room. He tried to follow the sound of the violin and thought it would be best to tell Zell off for touching her instrument. However, the melodious adagio of the dirge floating softly in the air was too alluring to keep him concentrating. It was as if Siren's song was beckoning him to come closer and listen to the seductive vibrations of the fiddle…the low, earthy sounds of the Stradivarius, to its crystalline pitched high notes, Squall couldn't help but stop and listen. 'Damn, I didn't know Zell could play so well.'

The music was encircling him, as if a spider were spinning its silky threads around his body and enveloping him in an erotic journey of sound that was past the point of no return. His brain had begun to paint images of scantily clad women walking towards him, the scenery of the room melting away to that of a bedroom billowing with endless yards of soft silk cloth. A dark-haired woman in front of him had gracefully glided for him, a succubus whose opulent breasts were exposed for Squall's lusty subconscious to feast on. She had begun to peel away the thin piece of cloth that separated her organ from his preying eyes, when suddenly, Squall was back in the mansion again.

Zell had come into the front foyer munching on a peach. When he saw Squall, he decided to engage in some friendly talk. "Hey, so Squall…watcha doin? Aren't you supposed to be going to Milan right now?"

Squall shook his head as if he just woke up from a dream and stared at Zell skeptically. "What the hell possessed you to play like that?"

Zell looked clueless, and he took another bite out of his fruit. "Seriously dude, I have no clue as to what you were talking about. I was helping Sophia clean up in the kitchen as I do everyday at this time in the morning remember?"

Squall folded his arms and used his height to his advantage, stealthily approaching Zell like a panther. "Are you sure you didn't steal into the laboratory and play Rinoa's violin? Cause I'm sure I saw her run into her room to change."

With his face only half a foot away, Zell decided to piss Squall off by placing the peach in that short distance between them and bit off another chunk of fruit. "Sure as the tattoo on my butt."

Squall immediately retreated back and grimaced at Zell. "Gosh, you're one sick guy!"

Zell almost coughed out the chunks of masticated peach in his mouth laughing. "Oh man that was priceless! I should have had a camera! Oh wait! There are cameras in the foyer!"

While Zell was laughing, Squall didn't notice Rinoa coming down from the winding stairs in a cream tank top, khaki capris, and stiletto sandals that increased her height (and her natural sexiness) in ways that would have driven him against the wall had there not been a laughing blonde hyena in front of him.

When Rinoa realized that Squall wasn't paying attention, she coughed lightly. Once he had averted his eyes from Zell to her, she took one of Quistis' tips and let loose the clip that had been tying her hair, allowing the strands to fall freely on her shoulders in cascades. She knew she had done her job right when Squall could do nothing but stare dumbly. He had blushed even more when Zell whispered something into his ear and bid them both farewell. Once again, they were alone.

Rinoa had been looking at her shifting feet. "Um…so do we go now?"

Squall found himself staring at her again before he said, "Ah, sure, yeah, right now." He gulped and offered her the door, being the gentleman that he was.

Once they were outside and in the car, speeding across the Italian highway, Squall's thoughts reverted back to the brief erotic dream he had with the violin. It was almost too real for his taste, and while the mental image painted by the music was indeed alluring, it was at the same time eerie as well. "Rinoa, when you went back to change, did you ever play your violin?"

She looked at him knowingly and replied, "No Squall. In fact, I think I should be practicing my violin more often or I might lose my touch. Why do you ask?"

Squall replayed the "dream" in his mind again and decided that it would be best if Rinoa didn't know anything about this. He suddenly suspected that there was more to the violin than a history with Italy's greatest manufacturer of string instruments. "Nothing. I was just checking if you were practicing."

Rinoa giggled and rested her head against the car window. "Squall, I didn't know you cared so much."

Squall looked at her at that moment when they reached a traffic light. "Rin, how could you ever doubt me not caring for you?"

Rinoa just stared at the green countryside, smiling and occasionally staring at Squall. He really was an amazing guy.

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An hour later, Squall arrived in the Teatro alla Scala. When he had found his way through the back and into his office, he asked for some coffee from his secretary and offered Rinoa to sit on the couches. Minutes later, a Mediterranean-looking woman entered the room with a tray of fine-porcelain cups with La Scala's insignia on them. Setting them on the coffee table, she looked at Squall and Rinoa before winking at her boss and saying something in Italian. Obviously, she had read the tabloids too. When she started what seemed like cheering Squall on in Italian, he smiled, brushed her away, and said something that sounded like "Oh go jump into a lake" in Italian. She exited the office giggling.

Squall sipped his coffee in silence. Rinoa saw him looking at his drink again just like he was staring at his food this morning. "You're not used to people teasing you."

Squall looked up from the cup and set it down on its saucer. "Mmm…I don't think I've ever been teased before."

Rinoa took the first sip of her coffee and let the beans' robust aromas engulf her. "What I meant is, you've never had anyone tease you about liking someone."

Squall put his coffee down and relaxed his head against the leather of his office couch. "I've never liked someone before…not like this at least."

Rinoa blushed and almost dropped her cup on the floor. "Oh…" It seemed strange to her that throughout the four years since she had become a professional, she had met several men, most of them attractive, who had wished to sweep her off her feet. Not one of them, however, had the effect that Squall had on her. "Why is that?"

Squall looked at her, his icy blue gaze boring a flame into her soul. "Because none of those girls are as amazing as you Rin. I…I don't know if love is too strong a word to describe what I'm feeling but…I think I love you." He stood up and sat beside her. "Rinoa, if this is all over, are you planning to leave Italy?" He held her hands in his, caressing her soft palms and her long, delicate fingers tenderly.

Rinoa looked away from Squall when she felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "I can't stay here Squall. If I were to continue my career, I can't." She felt the urge to cry, but she didn't want to appear weak before Squall. She bit her lip to try and hold back the tears.

Squall noticed that Rinoa was on the verge of crying, and he gently turned her cheek to face him and told her sincerely, "I love you Rinoa, and I will say that over and over again. But…if I want you to be with me…" He carefully removed a small box from his coat pocket, opening it to reveal an intricately designed ring with angel wings studded with tiny diamonds surrounding a perfect blue diamond. Looking up at Rinoa's tear-streaked face, he offered, "Will you stay and be my wife?"

Rinoa felt her heart lurch in its cage and took the ring from Squall, examining the beautiful jewelry that ornamented the white gold. "I don't want to leave you Squall…I love you but I've only met you for a short while." Tears slowly streamed down her face as she continued, "As much as I want to, I have a career, and me being an international artist, I can't settle down right now." She gently put the ring in Squall's palm, feeling ever more pained by the look on his blue-grey eyes. "I'm sure you'll find someone who will be a better wife, who will be there when you need her…and I can't do that Squall. I don't want this kind of life for you. We will both end up getting hurt." She wiped the tears of her eyes her hands and stood up. Before she could reach the door, Squall grabbed her arm.

"Rinoa…I…I don't want to lose you," he managed to say. He wrapped his arms around her, causing her to open the floodgate of tears she had tried to hold back. He himself had begun to have salty tears forming in his eyelids.

'I can't do this,' Rinoa thought. 'If I hold on to him any longer, I'll only be hurt more…' With that thought, she pushed herself away from him and headed out towards the door, closing it behind her. When she was out of the office, she just stood in place…and shed her tears.

Inside, Squall was pondering on what he had just done. 'Was I taking things too quickly? Damn…if only I had known that this would happen.' He finished his coffee and returned to his desk, unable to concentrate on the mound of paperwork before him.

His thoughts returned to the day he was appointed artistic director of La Scala. The old director, Riccardo Muti, now old and ready to retire, was seeking a younger, more energetic musician to lead La Scala, but none of the younger generation of Italian musicians seemed capable of handling the heritage and history of the great temple of music. He had considered other European directors, knowing that only those who had a special affinity with the classical arts such as they could understand the growing needs of the opera-going public. Signore Muti though, found it strange that he would choose an American in the end to grace the halls of La Scala.

American-born, British-educated Squall was a young musical genius. At the age of four, he could easily play Chopin's Waltzes on the piano, and years later would play the deep, searching nocturnes as if Chopin's hands had possessed his. A concert pianist? He didn't end up as one, and he had already mastered four other instruments, namely the oboe, the flute, the violin, and the harpsichord. Despite his keen ear for music, Squall didn't end up as a conductor either, even if he had studied that as well, aced the class, and mastered it in two years time in the London College of Music. He had learned the art of opera, but he never became the director of any great opera house. He was just concentrating on musical theory and composition, yet none of these predicted the future he was going to lead…the important things he was going to be taking on when Maestro Muti would discover his brilliant mind. His fully musical schedule lent him no time for women, although occasionally some loon in the house would attempt to hook him up with café society's most lavish ladies.

And then…his big break came. Someone had introduced him to the board members of the Wienerstaater opera house, and while they were fascinated with his extremely musical mind and minimalist, yet extremely likeable taste, they didn't consider him as rightful for the Viennese public yet. Instead, they referred him to Riccardo Muti, who found Squall every bit as amazing as the great Maestros who had led the temple before him. He had Squall conduct ten of the season's thirty-five operas—La Forza del Destino, Norma, Der Fliegende Hollander, Don Carlo, Tosca, La Cenerentola, Lousie, Maria Stuarda, Manon, and Elisabetta Regina d'Inghilterra. Choosing a variety of repertoire was what Muti had in mind to test the young musician, and he wanted to know if his mind was keen for only for plain musicality. The young boy proved him wrong. From Wagner to Verdi, from Bellini to Donizetti and Rossini, to Puccini and Massenet, every single dealing of the composer's score lead to success after success. It wasn't the Italian prima donna who could amaze the Milanese public anymore. The Italian prima donna died when Maria Callas passed away. It was this young man who could find meaning within every single black mark on the score that really amazed them. It was a deep and searching quest for truth in every composer's work, from the preludios and vorspiels to the arias, sextets, quintets, and duets. Music was the canvas for Squall's art, and he painted great, majestic, even compelling pictures that evoked strong feelings within the public. He was the ideal conductor, serving no one but the composer.

Riccardo Muti decided that he had found a successor who was not only his equal, but one who was greater than him. The grandeur of his dealing of the score, and the intimacy that Squall felt with his music was something he could touch only in certain instances. Squall found that every nuance in the score, and after that season, he immediately flew Squall in from London to begin work in La Scala immediately. He was still artistic director, but Squall was now the head conductor of La Scala. Fortunately, Squall's wealthy father owned a large estate in Cremona, so transporting Squall between home and work shouldn't be a problem. A year later, Maestro Muti retired, and he handed his position down to the young man. Ever since then La Scala had regained its grandeur as the greatest house of opera on the planet.

Squall's successes in the theater had prevented him from building relationships with the several women who had desired for him though. His father was concerned that he would have no heir to leave his great estate to, so he began coaxing his daughter, Ellone, to help her brother find a suitable woman. His troubled personality was a hindrance however, and despite his occasional fling with some rich Italian family's daughter, he could never find love in the relationship.

All that changed when he met Rinoa. He didn't care if she was a world famous violinist. He was famous enough already for his accomplishments in La Scala. Something about her attracted him…it was probably the fact that she could understand him, and loved him for who he was. Now he had lost everything…all because he had moved the relationship too fast in a direction that could have startled the young woman.

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Rinoa had finally composed herself after an hour of crying in the ladies' bathroom. It was a good thing the La Scala management kept a copious stock of tissues in their closet, otherwise she would have flooded the building with her tears. She made her way towards the library, thinking if she had done the right thing on the way to the great La Scala archives.

As she snaked her way about the corridors of this house of music, she began questioning herself again if she had done the right thing. She couldn't start a relationship with Squall…it wasn't that she didn't like him. She just couldn't face the fact that she had to be on and off this relationship because of the demands of her career. But was she going to be happy without him? Could she not have a relationship with Squall?

"Rinoa, why do you look so grim?" a voice whispered in her ear.

Rinoa looked around, searching for the source of the voice. She immediately recognized it and returned, "Nick…is that you?"

A man came out of the shadows of the long corridors. He was a handsome man with well-defined cheekbones, a pale, yet somewhat elegantly sculpted face, longish dark hair that was curled slightly in the tips, and a very fine, aquiline nose. He wore a black turtleneck and slacks of the same color, completing the look with a black leather trench coat. The look he gave Rinoa reminded her very much of Johnny Depp during his younger years.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him. "How on earth did you follow me all the way to Milan?"

Nick shook his head, playfully advancing slowly towards her as he said in singsong, "Rinoa, Rinoa, Rinoa…why are you always skeptical about me and my following you? Why, can I not congratulate my best friend and fellow violinist?"

Rinoa smiled at the man. "You should not do this. I am busy trying to solve some mystery with my violin. The Strad is going nuts."

Nick laughed and wheezed before regaining his composure. "Strads don't go nuts Rin. I own one myself and it plays like hot knife in a stick of butter. It's that smooth. I don't know what you would be fussing about."

Rinoa sighed and remembered the deaths at Carnegie. "I think my Strad's possessed."

"Nonsense. Those violins may be antiques but I don't see any reason why they should have some force that could make you play wacko. What really happened now?" asked her friend.

"It's…huh…it's complicated." Rinoa rubbed her temples, trying to suppress a possible headache. "I'll tell you on the way to the library."

Nick complied with her and decided to follow his friend to the legendary music archives of the great theater. She began recollecting bits and pieces of the incident, telling him how she began playing the caprices and how the patrons died like flies in an electric current. Nick did nothing but listen, as he didn't want to aggravate the situation. By the time the story ended, they had reached the archives.

They both put their hands in their pockets as they roamed the immense room. "So what exactly are we looking for?" asked Nick as his eyes followed Rinoa's gaze.

"I'm thinking of looking for some kind of diary by Antonio Stradivari or Niccolo Paganini. That could help me find some clues about the violins that were played in their hands. Perhaps…if I could find a tome or a record on every violin manufactured by Stradivari, that would be extremely helpful," she said, never facing him while scanning the area for the possible location of her materials.

Nick was already leaps ahead of her when he went down the instruments aisle, and returned to Rinoa later with an ancient-looking manuscript covered in an acrylic case. On top of the case was a pack of gloves and a pair of tweezers with rubber tips used to turn the fragile pages. "Nick, you are brilliant!"

He grinned at her and said, "Why thank you! And by the way, there is an oxygen-less room for us to read that thing if you would follow me."

Rinoa shook her head in amazement and asked, "How do you know these things?"

Nick looked back, winked at her, and replied, "I have quick eyes."

They headed towards a room that had warnings in several different languages. Rinoa understood that for them to enter, they would have to wear oxygen masks, as the place was designed exclusively for books that survived the tests of time and would have to be kept in such an environment.

Outside the room, there was a rack with shelf after shelf of disposable oxygen masks, and putting theirs on, they entered the room.

Taking both their seats on the luxurious leather chairs of the sans airs chamber, Rinoa pulled the book out of the acrylic case gingerly and set it very gently on the table. Using the tweezers, she began to turn the pages carefully, making sure that she found the Sedizione in one of these pages. Nick helped her in checking the details in the handwritten text, trying to see if the drawings resembled her violin in any form. None of them did yet, however, and they were beginning to feel hopeless when they had gone three quarters of the way through the book without a single find. Rinoa was just about to quit searching when she turned another page and gasped.

"Nick! Look!" She carefully lifted a tiny portfolio inserted in the last few pages of the tome. It didn't surprise her that something like this could have been inserted in the book. What surprised her though, was the fact that on the cover parchment, in very elegant script was written the name of Niccolo Paganini.

Nick and Rinoa looked at each other, and she started to flip each page. The old text contained the writings of the virtuoso composer, and what surprised them even more was that someone had written English notes on separate sheets of paper pasted beside each letter. Rinoa read the first one.

"Caro Contessa Rossellini,

I have received your letter from the pageboy you sent today. While it delights me to know that you desire my services and musical talents in your lavish court, I must question you first as to whether you would have the daring bravado to invite a person such as I into the circle of rich aristocrats that grace the lavish halls of your home.

You have heard the stories about me. Yes, Madame, I was placed in prison accused of a crime which I would never have the penchant to commit, and I am grateful forever to your brother for relieving me of another few years in that dank cell. I did play all my pieces with ease on the G String, and as arduous as the task was of performing the most difficult scales, trills, roulades, and pizzicatos, I managed to perform my greatest masterpieces with that instrument. It is perfection in the form of wood and string…that violin. No other instrument captures the accuracy of the dancing winds and the spell of sound better than this one which I hold in my hands. It is an infinitely more serviceable luxury now…but in the hands of amateurs, it is a disastrous plague. In mine, it is the greatest masterpiece the human mind can create. The concertos which I have composed will please you.

Enclosed in this letter is a copy of the score of my Opus 1. They are exclusively for the virtuoso yet I trust your association with Stradivari has allowed you access to one of his great instruments. Use it well, and when the time shall come, I will attend your court with my pet. Grazie signora, and addio.

N. Paganini"

Rinoa and her friend looked at each other. "One string?" they said together in unison.

"Gosh, the guy must have one possessed hand there…one string! And of all strings, the G string!" exclaimed Nick.

"I would have died in a concert if I only had one string…" Rinoa said in wonder as she stared blankly at the letter. She turned the page and found another letter, this time addressed to Antonio Stradivari. 'So Stradivari was one of Paganini's correspondents.'

"Caro Antonio,

I have received the horsehairs I asked from you today. How unfortunate it was for the horse you chose for this violin, for your perfectionism allows only the finest hairs on the beast to be included on my bow!

Tonight, I shall be performing at the house of Contessa Rossellini. The woman has personally requested that I perform one of the 24 caprices which I have written for the beautiful and sonorous tunes of your violins. I have a problem though, as the violin I had so successfully played with during one of my concerts sounds hollow. Very much unlike the fine pieces of art that are your instruments.

Send me one of your finest Antonio, as the countess deserves only the finest. I am an admirer of your violins, and nothing brings me greater pleasure than having to draw my bow over the strings of your fabulous creations.

Until we meet again.

N. Paganini"

And again, Rinoa flipped the page. It was another letter to Stradivari.

"Caro Antonio,

I don't understand this latest violin you have given me. As beautiful as the sound is, rich and deep and almost baritonal, there is something about this new specimen which I find strange…I almost feel like it's calling me to play it's music.

I have done something Antonio. My caprices, apparently, have certain difficulties which only I could conquer through certain means, and I have done it…if you understand me fully.

I don't know how to continue on from here. I shall write you again.

Addio.

N. Paganini"

Another turn of the page with Stradivari as the correspondent yet for a third time.

"Antonio,

The instrument is brilliant. It is taking over now…you are a genius. While your other violins sing…this one seduces. Make more of these violins and I shall write an opus after your amazing mind.

Grazie mille. Addio"

Rinoa and Nick stayed in the room for more than an hour, flipping through various letters of Paganini to people in the music society. Some of them were also addressed to family, with an occasional blabber or two about his concerts and such.

After an hour of glancing across Paganini's inner thoughts, his feeling about his instrument, and even more letters to family about useless things like the latest meal, a new restaurant, the Palermo scenery, and the archaic beauty of Cremona, Nick and Rinoa left the library.

Rinoa was all this time thinking about Nick. She had remembered how since they were children, Nick used to come to her house and help her with her violin. They were only kids back then, yet looking back over those years, she thought about how kind and wonderful it was of him to notice a homebody like her. Then again, they were next-door neighbors. Yet, he was somewhat different…in a way special. She looked at him and felt that the more she was with him, she felt more like she wanted to be closer to him. Would it be enough for them to be friends?

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Sorry for the extremely long wait, but I'll have another chapter ready soon…in about 3-5 days maybe. I lost my original document you see, so I wasn't able to write until now. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please read and review my story. Thank you very much and have a great time with the holidays!