Page 124 of Pucking Them
Robyn glances at me, concerned.
“Okay?” She rests her hand in my lap.
I nod, turning to kiss her because I want to and because I can.
It’s a small thing. Yet it’s also the largest thing in the world.
“You were amazing. Fucking courageous, Jude.” When Robyn reclaims my name, I know that I should never have allowed Bruno to steal it for a moment.
I kiss her again. “Hmm, as courageous as the woman who proudly declared me to be her boyfriend.”
“Only because I couldn’t claim you as my husband. I’m possessive like that. Sue me.”
I grin.
Then I take some more courage into my hands and turn to look at the small, raised stage at the front of the hall.
A slim woman in her early forties with long, glossy black hair and elegant fingers is seated in front of the ancient, upright piano.
Maria is still as pretty as ever.
She is focused, shuffling the music sheets.
A warm circle of haloed light falls from the single spotlight.
Maria doesn’t glance at the audience. She never does.
It’s as if she is playing for herself in her own world, and if anyone else hears her play, then it is nothing to do with her.
It’s why I knew that it was safe to sit here like this and listen.
Perhaps, I am indulging in something that I have no right to. But this is as close as I can come to introducing Robyn to Maria.
Unfortunately, Robyn has met Bruno.
I won’t let that happen again.
When Robyn finally sits straighter, laying her long fingers on the keys, conversation dies down. There is a thrilled anticipation in the air. It is electrifying like a storm about to break.
I entangle my fingers with Robyn’s.
Robyn is staring intently at Maria, as taken in already as the rest of the audience is.
Then Maria begins to play, and Robyn draws in a sharp breath. She shuffles forward, perching on the edge of her seat, spellbound.
I allow the incredible music to wash over me, losing myself in the haunting Chopin. The piano is off-key; its tone is uneven but also warm and mellow. I like it more than my Steinway at home.
As Maria’s fingers glide over the keys, each note echoes around the Virginian hall, transforming it into a new, fantastical world.
Suddenly, I remember why it made me so happy to sit next to my sister on the piano bench while she played.
She still looks like an angel.
I slip my hand into the pocket of my trousers. I keep my gaze fixed on the stage as I fiddle with my phone.
I know that I have pressed the right thing, when Robyn’s hold on my hand becomes a death grip and she doubles forward.
I smirk.
