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“Sorry, everyone.
We are closing now.
You need to leave.”
Security explained the situation to the tourists, who groaned in disappointment as their visit ended early.
“Mr.
Moretti, the visitors have been cleared,” said a man dressed like a manager, eager to please.
He was not a company employee, but a manager from the property-management firm.
“Good.
Take your people and leave.
Our cooperation ends today.
Thank you for maintaining the building all these years.”
Julian spoke directly.
“I do not understand…”
The manager needed several seconds to process that he had just been fired from a tourist attraction.
After the ticket booth and barriers were removed, Julian shut the front door and turned to Faith and Taylor.
“This is my new home in Chicago.
Help me take down the remaining ropes and covers.”
“Cool,” Taylor said sincerely.
“We are living inside a tourist attraction.”
“This must be how rich people think,” Faith said, amused despite herself.
Taking the house back would cost Julian a great deal in annual tour revenue, but he clearly did not care.
“There is a Steinway.”
Taylor spotted the piano in the next room and rushed over to press a few keys.
The sound was rich, warm, and beautifully maintained.
“You can practice when you have time,” Julian said as he passed.
He began exploring the house: the luxurious top-floor bedroom, the music room, a small theater, a ballroom with high ceilings, the study, the wine room.
The kitchen had restaurant-level equipment, gold-plated faucets, crystal chandeliers, and even a DJ booth that looked as if it belonged in a nightclub.
Some of the fixtures were dated, but everything had been preserved well.
The basement had been converted into a large swimming pool.
Julian tested the water system.
It still worked.
A dangerous idea involving Faith and the pool crossed his mind.
When he came back upstairs, Faith and Taylor were seated together at the piano, playing a four-hand arrangement.
The piece was Strauss’s “Radetzky March,” bright, rhythmic, and full of movement.
It brought to mind horses in a dressage ring, elegant and quick.
When the piece ended, Julian applauded.
“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, checking the time.
It was already five-thirty.
“Five Guys,” Taylor said immediately.
“If the boss is paying, at least choose something expensive,” Faith said, tapping Taylor’s forehead.
“Nashville has burgers too.”
Chicago was America’s third great city, larger and more expensive than Nashville in almost every way.
Julian thought for a moment.
“We had Italian last time.
How about French?”
Faith whistled.
“I know a place, but it is hard to get a reservation.”
Then she remembered the recent past and added, “And this time, not too much wine.”
“Do you have the number?
We are not going anywhere.
We will eat in the ballroom.”
Neither woman understood what he meant by eating in the ballroom.
That evening, when an entire chef team and more than a dozen servers entered the house, they finally did.
Julian had brought the restaurant to them.
A little later, several musicians in tailcoats arrived with cellos, violins, other strings, and a saxophone.
“These are principal players from a touring Amsterdam chamber ensemble,” Julian said.
“They happened to be performing in Chicago, so I invited them for a private performance.”
High emotional intelligence called it an invitation.
Low emotional intelligence called it atmosphere for hire.
Faith and Taylor looked at each other, speechless.
Every ingredient was top tier.
The wine was Egon Muller Riesling, one of the most expensive white wines in the world.
Halfway through dinner, Julian asked the musicians to play “Por una Cabeza.” He wanted to recreate the famous dance from Scent of a Woman.
The body’s original owner had taken ballroom dance in college.
For Julian, this was easy.
“May I invite you to dance, Donna?” he said, borrowing the film’s line.
Faith shook her head.
“I cannot dance like that.
Let Taylor do it.
She studied.”
“What?”
Taylor had been chewing escargot and looked genuinely startled.
“He is the man trying to make you famous,” Faith said.
“Dancing with him will not kill you.”
From Faith’s perspective, Taylor and Julian had barely spoken.
This was a good chance for them to get more comfortable with each other.
“Fine.”
Taylor wiped her hands on the tablecloth in a panic and followed him to the center of the ballroom.
Julian placed one hand at her waist.
Taylor still had a little softness in her face, but her body was slim.
Even at five foot eleven, her waist was narrow for her height.
“Sorry, boss.
I am nervous.”
One of Taylor’s hands slid under Julian’s arm and rested against his back.
The other stretched out and linked with his.
Her hand was very soft.
Julian could feel calluses in her palm from years of acoustic guitar.
There was also one awkward fact: Julian’s height was close to average.
Standing together, he realized Taylor was slightly taller.
When the dance began, Taylor naturally led.
At one point, because of the height difference, Julian’s hand slipped lower than he intended.
Taylor stiffened, flustered, and missed several steps.
Julian adjusted immediately and tried to ease the awkwardness.
“Do you know why this piece is called ‘Por una Cabeza’?”
“Because the piano and violin are always one beat apart?” Taylor guessed suddenly.
“It means ‘by a head,'” Julian said.
“It is a horse-racing phrase.
The song compares the pull of gambling with the pull of a dangerous woman.”
The piece reached its final phrase.
Taylor leaned back, one leg rising as her body opened into the pose.
Julian bent with her, one arm firm around her waist, the other lifting her leg into the line.
Their faces were very close.
The song ended.
One step away.
Faith stood and applauded.
They had danced beautifully enough for a local ballroom competition.
She could not see every detail from where she stood, and she certainly could not hear what they had whispered.
Julian and Taylor held the final pose for two or three seconds before Taylor pulled free and hurried back to the table.
For the rest of dinner, Julian and Faith did most of the talking.
Taylor only joined in occasionally.
“The press conference is the day after tomorrow,” Julian said.
“Taylor still does not photograph as well as she should.”
That was the polite version.
“Tomorrow I will arrange a full image overhaul for her.
Company expense, of course.”
“Thank the boss,” Faith said quickly to Taylor, who still looked half-lost.
“Oh.
Thank you, boss.”
Taylor nodded, but her mind remained with the dance.
It was the first time a dance had put her that physically close to a man.
The feeling was strange.
She could not name it.
If her love songs before had been built mostly from imagination, now Taylor had felt something real enough to trouble her.
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