Page 85 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

My heart pounded unreasonably fast. A nugget of shame slid in right beside it. I’d let him have it back at The Painted Lady all while he’d been doing something kind for me.

I’d misread him. I’d so misread him.

No one had ever paid this much attention to what I liked. Even when I’d dated Pete, the day he’d gotten me flowers for my birthday, as sweet as that was, he never knew my favorites. He’d never paid that much attention. When we’d gone to restaurants, he’d forgotten my preferred drink. He’d even ignored me the time I’d gotten the flu.

But Duncan, the last person I’d expected to notice anything about anyone,hadpaid attention. He’d gone above and beyond my expectations—which had been zero, by the way.

When I’d told him I wanted an act of service—I hadn’t meant for ME. But he’d done that—sometimes even before I’d asked.

He’d had the drinks and book room all prepped before I’d even asked that of him. And something told me the flute thing would have happened regardless. Because he noticed the little things.

I opened the case and stroked the silver instrument, letting my fingers trace the flat and sometimes open keys. Gingerly, I removed each piece and aligned them, securing them together. Then I lifted the instrument to my lips, reached for air from my gut, and blew.

The sweet sound filled my room. It was rich and fluid, trilling in its soft, wafting way I’d always loved. There was something more this time, though. This time, the sound was more penetrating and silvery, and I could tell this was the best instrument I’d ever played on.

Lowering the flute, I shook my trembling hands and then brought it back to my lips once more, placing the flute in just the right position for air to blow across the opening in the head.

Again, the airy, lovely sounds filled my room and this time, I moved my fingers. I played through a few scales, feeling the motion loosen some of the stiffness in my hands until the fingerings came more easily.

Then, keeping my eyes on the window and the view of the lake outside, I ran through what I could remember of the last piece I’d worked so hard to master. It was Mozart’s flute concerto, and I’d won the competition to play it for a local concert with orchestral accompaniment.

I’d memorized it so I wouldn’t have to use music while I was on the stage.

It was after that they’d offered me a seat, but my job—and the attention Dad needed—was too demanding. I turned it down. But I’d forgotten the release playing music gave me. A release I desperately needed.

I lifted the flute to my lips once more. The notes flowed, the music surged, and I played. My fingers skimmed through the more difficult passages, the notes lingering in the slower ones, until I concluded the first movement and lowered the instrument.

“I’ve never heard anything like that.”

I turned to find Duncan leaning against the door jamb. His arms were folded across his chest, and he watched me with fire in his gaze. He’d changed out of his suit and now wore a muscle tee and jeans.

I tucked my hair behind my ear. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Since you started.”

I lifted the flute, feeling both admiration and chagrin. “When did you do this?”

“I made a call after we talked this morning. It was delivered while we were out.”

I stared at the flute in my hands. “Thank you,” I said, though the words didn’t seem like enough.

He edged farther into the room, standing between the door and the bed. “How long have you been playing?”

“Since Jr. High.”

“Will you play something else for me? I had them deliver some arrangements in case you needed some music.” Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed to the stand and flipped through one of the books sitting there.

I gazed at him, still completely disarmed by his thoughtfulness. He was sincere. And acting slightly awkward, too.

Not that I blamed him. He and I had just had a really rough conversation not an hour before. A rough conversation where I’d told him exactly what I’d thought of him. A conversation where he’d apologized for the way he’d acted toward me, too.

I realized now that even though what I’d shared had been true, my judgment had been slightly flawed. I hadn’t realized he had this other side to him. I hadn’t seen the full picture.

He strode to the chair in the corner near the window and settled himself into it. And he wasn’t swallowed by his phone orstaring at his tablet. He leaned forward in the chair toward me, looking right at me.

I didn’t move for several moments.

Duncan fidgeted in the chair and then gestured to the flute in my hands. “If you want to, I mean,” he said. “I’d love to hear more. What you just did was like something on the radio. I’ve never heard anything like that in person.”

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