Characters Revealed: Isabeau Montgomery

My Dear Reader-

My name is Isabeau Montgomery. You may know me as the owner of Izzy’s Bar in Long Island City, New York, but thirteen years ago...
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I’m sorry. The past is difficult for me to talk about. You see, when I was four I turned the music world on its ear by sitting down at a piano and playing Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor perfectly, after hearing it only once. I’m what they call a piano phenom, a child with an ear for music; a prodigy. Instantly, I became an international sensation. The media went crazy, people flocked from all over the world to watch me play. I didn’t understand any of it. I was just a little girl doing what I loved. Until what I loved was turned against me.

I survived the accident that took my mother’s life. I recovered the use of my left hand, but never played the piano again. I grew up, inherited the bar after my biological father passed away, and settled into life as a business owner. A life without music was a struggle at first, but I was doing fine. I was happy…until one night, after midnight, Noah Clark walked through my door.

He came to town to record a demo, secure a record contract that will help him reclaim his past and put Black Phoenix back on the charts. I recognized him the moment I saw him, not as the famous rock singer, but as the man who was going to change my life—whether I wanted him to or not.

Noah has this way of looking at me, of seeing me, the real me, not the mask I wear. I feel connected to him, felt it the moment he entered my world. He calls to me, on a level much deeper than simple sexual attraction. When I’m with him I’m not as lost or alone. When I’m with Noah…I hear music where for years there was nothing but silence.

Which is why I push him away. I can’t allow him to get too close to me or he’ll discover my secret, uncover the lie I’ve been hiding behind. Noah might understand me on a level no one before him ever has, but what he doesn’t understand—what he can’t possibly understand—is sometimes the past is better left alone.