Page 59 of Betrothed
At one point, I’d known at least twenty families in town. They were friends with my father, acquaintances with my uncle. They were all powerful, ruthless in whatever business they entered and highly influential. Little did people know certain families who lived here were considered pillars of the community while running it behind the scenes.
When I was a child, their children had been my friends, girls and boys invited to birthday parties and other celebrations. They were safe. They had their own bodyguards as I’d had so we spoke the same language.
But they were never truly my friends, merely playing their parts as I’d done as well.
The boys had gone on to becoming likenesses of their fathers, taking over various positions within the family companies, learning their craft while waiting to take the helm.
Were any of them decent people? Hell, no. And it had been my family who’d been the masters of keeping them under control, using their contacts while running the entire country behind the scenes.
There were people in the country who believed the majesty of those considered members of a Camelot society lived in the Hamptons. A few did, players and politicians, but the real control, the true masters who worked the puppet strings lived in Scarsdale.
Sighing, after finishing uncovering the last bedroom, I noticed Kirill was folding sheets in the library. Perhaps he was keeping an eye on me.
I tiptoed past, determined to keep some space for now.
Once downstairs, I wandered through the halls until I realized there was an entire wing I hadn’t paid any attention to. As soon as I opened a set of double doors, I was immediately in awe.
The room was the one with the turret, the almost octagon shape housing a single true piece of furniture. A grand piano, so large it took up most of the footprint in the room, only two chairs and a couple of walls of bookshelves on the side.
The musical instrument was magnificent, ebony in color, the finish gleaming in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. I was shocked it hadn’t been covered, but maybe the owner hadn’t wanted to disturb the piano’s beauty.
With reverence, I walked closer, remembering the days as a child when I’d been forced to provide entertainment for my father’s friends. I moved to the bench, pulling it out before brushing the tips of my fingers across the top.
Someone had recently polished the surface, not a speck of dust even in the shimmer of sunlight. Even though my musical gift had been turned into an unexpected attribute used for business purposes, I’d never lost my love or enjoyment of making music.
The lid was heavy and as I lifted it into position, I took a deep breath. The scent of the polish they’d used was familiar and for a few moments, I was pulled back in time as I ran my fingers down the length of the keyboard.
The room was far enough removed from the rest of the house, maybe Kirill wouldn’t hear me. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed at my gift; music was simply another clue. I’d given up playing the moment I’d left for college, missing it terribly at first.
But as required by princesses and ogres, adaptions had to be made.
After settling on the smooth surface, I closed my eyes. The music had become a part of my life, as natural as breathing. So now, I could easily remember the keys and notes of my favorite songs, concertos and rhapsodies, sonnets that had always evoked deep emotions.
Nothing had changed, other than the years going by. Trying to avoid being who I was had obviously failed. I don’t know what possessed me to start playing other than the ache in my heart or the butterflies in my stomach. But as soon as I did, I was able to drive the demons away. There was no other sound, no thought of interruption.
Just me and the piano. And what had been the only respite I’d had until I’d reached eighteen.
My fingers were a little rusty, but my concentration was the same. And so, I played.
One song turned into another as a wash of different emotions shifted through me, leaving me tingling all over. The second song became a longer third, the music flowing through me, soothing the demons if only for a little while.
I was honestly surprised my memory was intact, allowing me to enjoy the moment without hating the way I was playing. As I came to the crescendo of a particularly dark piece, my entire body was in sync with the rhythm, my fingers flying on the keyboard.
Beads of perspiration were trickling down my face, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the music.
When I finally reached the end, my fingers remained on the keys as the last sound evaporated in the room.
Only then did I realize I wasn’t alone. I kept my eyes shut even as Kirill clapped, the applause somehow strange coming from him.
But a part of me wanted his approval, something else that would linger in my mind, bothering me as much as my physical response to him.
“That was… incredible,” he said and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was genuinely surprised that I could play.
Whatever possessed me to slam the lid I wasn’t certain, but I did, suddenly nervous and angry at the intrusion. When I finally opened my eyes, I realized why my reaction had been so strong.
A single missed note and my father had criticized me, reminding me of whatever concert I had in the near future. Even if it had been meant for his friends and nothing else.
Kirill was different, the hard, dangerous man allowing me to see a glimpse inside his soul.
