Page 96 of Wrong For Me

Leo

The interview goes about as well as I could hope for, considering the circumstances. Denise and her research partner, Dr. Edith Dunn, are both friendly. They’ve also both been drinking. Apparently, Dr. Dunn was the committee chair for the entire awards ceremony earlier, and she’s definitely in need of some liquid calm to take the edge off, if the way she’s chugging her beer is any indication.

So the interview is chill and conversational and I don’t think either of them is clear-headed enough at the moment to notice how very much my brain is not in this meeting.

They keep me for less than an hour before Dr. Dunn starts yawning so much she can barely eek out a sentence. They tell me they’ll send over some information on the internship and we can schedule a more formal video interview with the rest of their team in a few weeks.

I keep my shit together long enough to shake their hands and thank them for the opportunity. Then I’m practically running through the hotel lobby to get to the elevators, to get back to Rose.

My stomach drops down to my knees when I find the room dark and empty. She’s not here. Panic grips my chest. She wouldn’t have left, would she? Her dad probably has a private jet or something, he could definitely get her out of here on a moment’s notice if she was upset enough.

But is she that upset? Did I really push her that hard?

I feel stupid for my panic when I see her laptop sitting on her bed. The book she was reading—some paperback with a dragon on the cover—is still on the table between our beds. I’m sure a look in the dresser would reveal her clothes.

Get your shit together, Malone.

But if she’s still in the hotel, why in the hell isn’t she in the room? A sudden image of that asshole’s hand on her bare leg flashes through my mind. Apparently they’d already exchanged phone numbers. Was she angry enough to go off in the middle of the night to find comfort with the sweater vest?

The sweater vest probably never makes her so angry she cries, asshole.

I can’t just sit up here, wondering where she is. I need to know she’s at least okay. Even though it hurts like a bitch, I make myself a promise that if I find her safe and she asks me to leave, I’ll respect that. Even if it means leaving her with another guy.

It’s late now, after one in the morning, and most of the resort’s bars are emptied out, the staff already beginning the process of shutting down. I make my way around the main floor, stopping at each of the bars and lounges I come across, the unease in my stomach growing by the minute. What will I do if I can’t find her? The idea that she might be in that guy’s room makes me feel sick.

I’m surprised when I hear soft strains of piano music drifting across the lobby from the solarium. The glass enclosed room sits adjacent to the reception desk and has been fairly full every time I’ve walked by. The resort serves a fancy breakfast buffet and a high tea in there, neither of which I’ve had any interest in partaking in. But tonight, the room is almost completely empty, the lights dimmed, the night pitch black outside through the glass walls and ceiling. There’s a woman in a server’s uniform drying glasses behind the bar, her attention darting back and forth between her work and the woman sitting at the piano.

Rose.

I freeze in the entryway, my mind trying to make sense of what I’m seeing and hearing. Dressed in leggings and a tank top, her hair piled up on top of her head, Rose looks like she normally does before bed. But she seems anything but tired. Her hands are practically flying across the piano keys, playing some classical piece that sounds vaguely familiar to me.

How did I not know she could play? We’ve talked about music several times, and she never once mentioned it. And she isn’t just plucking out a few notes—she’s good. Like seriously good. I’m no expert, but I can’t imagine too many professionals playing much better. Her song twinges at something deep in my chest, the melancholy notes bringing goosebumps to my arms. It’s beautiful and sad and encouraging and heartbreaking all at the same time.

She draws me across the empty room, the same way she always pulls me closer, until I’m standing right at her side, my attention completely captured by the sight of her slender, delicate fingers moving across the keys. I think she must notice me, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t say a word, just keeps playing. Eventually I sink to my knees next to her piano bench, watching those fingers in their sad dance.

I’m not sure how long we stay there like that, Rose playing the piano while I kneel at her side. She doesn’t stop until she finishes the piece, the last note echoing in the empty glass room. Finally, she turns to me and the emotion I see in her eyes takes my breath away.

“You play piano,” I say dumbly.

Her mouth twitches. “It’s pretty much impossible to grow up with my grandfather and not end up knowing how to play at least one instrument.”

“Why didn’t I know you could play?”

She shrugs. “I don’t talk about it much. People always want to know why I’m not following in the family footsteps. It gets tedious.”

“Whyaren’tyou following in the family footsteps?” I ask. “You’re amazing, Rose.”

Again, she studies my eyes, like she’s trying to determine if I’m sincere. “Thank you, but it was never my dream. My cousin Will and some of the younger kids always had that plan.” She shrugs. “I don’t like crowds. I don’t like being the center of attention. Playing piano is something I do just for me.”

I almost laugh. She doesn’t like being the center of attention. Funny how she’s always the center of mine.

“I was an asshole earlier.”

Her lips press together. “Seems to be a common theme.”

I deserve that, I know I do. But it still stings. I think about what Bodhi said earlier.Grow the hell up and have a conversation.As I look into her gorgeous blue eyes, I realize that I don’t really have a choice. I can’t stay away from her any more, can’t keep pretending she doesn’t mean something to me. So, I take a deep breath. Time to take Bodhi’s advice and grow up.

“When you got that text from your aunt, when you asked me about my best night ever—I didn’t even need to think about it. It was our night in Lake Tahoe. Our night together.”