Page 69 of Teach Me to Fly

“Okay,” he says, after a long pause. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, like right now?” I ask as I follow him.

Reign is already moving toward the front of the store, pulling out his wallet. “I like playing at night, so yeah, why not tonight?”

I stay quiet as he pays for the book, heart thudding. After he checks out, he opens the door for me, his hand brushing my back lightly as I step out into the cool evening air. We walk side by side toward his car, and once we reach it, he opens the passenger door for me and waits until I’m buckled in before closing it gently and getting in on the driver’s side.

By the time we reach the estate, the sky has deepened into velvet blue, stars just beginning to peek through the fading light. Reign parks the car and steps out, and I trail behind him. Without a word, he reaches over and takes myhand. His fingers are warm and sure against mine, sending a wave of energy up my arm.

I glance up at him and he’s already looking down at me with that familiar crooked smile. I roll my eyes, but I don’t pull away. He tugs me gently down the winding path, gravel giving way to stone as we approach the studio. He opens the door, stepping aside to let me in first before he follows right after, turning on the light and then dimming the room to a comfortable brightness before walking over to the piano.

“Sit with me,” he says, as he slides onto the bench and pats the spot next to him.

I hesitate, then walk over and sit down. “Don’t you need your sheet music or something?”

He shakes his head before tapping his temple. “Every song I’ve ever composed lives in here.”

He lifts the key cover up, gently running his fingers along the keys, and then looks at me with an expression that’s a bit more serious now.

“Do you want me to play the song you heard me playing the other day?”

I nod, sitting up straighter. “Please.”

He turns back to the keys and gently places his fingers on them before he begins playing. His fingers move at a precise speed and fluidity that I know took years of practice to achieve, the same sad melody filling the studio space. But I’m not watching the keys, I’m watching Reign.

His eyes are closed, brows slightly furrowed, and his mouth is soft with emotion. He leans into the sound as if the music is pulling something out of him that he can’t say with words. It’s beautiful to watch and heartbreaking to listen to.

After a moment, he speaks, voice low and steady. “Istarted writing this after I saw you dancing in the studio that day.” He opens his eyes, looking at me. “It’s calledHow She Breathes.”

My breath catches as I hold his gaze. “You wrote this…inspired by me?”

He nods. “This was what I heard in my head while I watched you dance.”

My throat feels tight as I look away, realizing Reign really has been watching me a lot closer than I’d realized. He saw something broken and aching just from the way I danced that day and turned it into this…this breathtaking thing.

He keeps playing, and I rise slowly to my feet, walking to the centre of the studio and sliding my sneakers off. He slows his playing slightly as he watches me, but when I begin dancing, the same dance that he saw that day, he readjusts the tempo, matching my pace with instinctive precision.

Dancing to his music feels like nothing I’ve ever experienced and without even meaning to, I shift into Terry’s new choreography—the revised Odette sequence—the one that aches in all the same places I do. When the last notes fade into silence, I turn to him, breathless.

“Why do you keep your music so private?”

Reign pauses, fingertips still resting on the keys. Then he leans back slightly, loosely resting his clasped hands on his lap.

“I’m the firstborn Herrington,” he shrugs. “My father expects me to take over Imperium one day. There’s no room for my music in that world.”

My brow furrows. “I don’t agree. Your music could be in our world. It should be. This piece belongs in Swan Lake.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, but there’s no humour in it. “My father would never allow that.”

“Then screw what your father allows,” I snap, crossing my arms. “You said it yourself—Imperium will be yours one day. So, make it into something that feels like yours. Something you want to come back to.”

He looks up at me, something fierce lighting behind his eyes.

Then, without a word, he lifts a single finger and crooks it at me—calling me forward. The gesture sends a shiver down my spine, but I go to him anyway, stopping just in front of the bench.

He places his hands gently on my hips, his gaze roaming my face.

“When did you become so fiery, Angel?”

---