Page 111 of Only for Him
The darkened corridors of the mansion whisper around us, shadows drawing close, the stakes echoing through the silent chambers of my mind.
28
GISELLE
It’s stillhours before dinner and Roman’s decision, and I’ve had nothing to do but wait.
Dakota returned to her bedroom as soon as we were done talking, and Rosa went somewhere. I found a game room with a TV, watched something stupid to distract myself then tried to play myself in pool.
I’m just admitting to myself that I’m shit at pool when I hear piano music coming from somewhere in the mansion. The melody is haunting, curling around my thoughts like smoke.
I imagine Roman in a library, tumbler of expensive vodka in hand, cigar in the other, listening to classical music as he thinks through our options.
Except I’ve never heard this song before, and it’s beautiful.
I need to know where it’s coming from.
I drift through the sprawling mansion, wondering which of these halls I’d run down last night. It’d been too dark for landmarks,and all I remember of the place where he finally caught me was the ceiling.
I was too busy being burned to ashes to take detailed notes.
Remembering it whips up more need inside me. But without the chemical fog of adrenaline, I find it easier to shush it.
Easier, but not easy.
I move through the dimly lit corridors, the sound getting louder and more mournful.
The music flows through the air like liquid night: rich with an undertone of longing. Each chord sends a shiver down my spine.
It’s beautiful and dark, captivating in a way that grips me from the inside out.
I follow, entranced, until I reach a room at the far end of the mansion, illuminated by a slant of light cutting through the doorway.
It’s not what I thought.
It’s Roman, but he’s not playing a record, he’s playing a grand piano.
His long fingers dance over the keys, his expression a mixture of focus and sorrow.
And just like that, I forget how to breathe. The room around him fades away, leaving only the haunting sound and the dark silhouette of this man I once craved and loathed in equal measure.
It’s not equal anymore. Far from it.
Now that I know what he does—how he hunts, what he protects—it’s harder to hate him, to pretend he’s only a monster.
Watching him play, it’s hard to do anything but need him.
He plays as if the world depends on it, every note a vow. It drags something deep and aching out of me, like he’s reaching into my chest and finding the softest part.
I wonder if he realizes how much he reflects the very sound he creates: stormy, seductive, shadows layered on shadows.
Without thinking, I step further into the room, the quiet creak of the floor underfoot breaking the spell.
He glances up, those piercing blue eyes locking onto mine with a jolt of electricity.
The music falters, but he doesn’t stop playing.
“I don’t take requests, little viper,” he says, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. The tease hangs in the air between us, laced with challenge.
