Page 82 of Kissing Games
Returning to his room, he worked on the embroidery for his mother until day turned into night. As he sewed, questions moved restlessly through his mind. Did he dislike certain things in his life just to piss off his parents? Did he like other things only to please Jennifer or Caroline? If he took away these connections, what truth was left behind? What actually made him happy?
He left his room, moving silently down the corridor and the main stairs. Few people were around now and the library was empty. He flicked on a side light and stared at the grand piano. It loomed in the corner of the room, and in his memories. His heart beat faster and his fingers tingled.
No one was here. No one was watching. No one would know.
He lifted the lid and sat down, adjusting the height of the stool before he realised what he was doing. He looked at the keys. Each one was loaded with meaning and memory.
As soon as he’d met Jennifer at their first lesson together, not a note was played without her in his mind. Every bar written by the composer, every emotion the music could elicit was experienced through the lens of his love for her. Without her, music was just sound and playing a mechanical action. But now? If he could let go of the past, could he let go of the link between her and the piano? Could he love playing and music for its own sake?
He rested his hands on the keys as long-buried sensations moved down his arms. His heart was racing. He swallowed, checking he was still alone. He didn’t know where to begin, so started with scales, remembering the feel and placement of the keys. He closed his eyes, his fingers limbering up as he systematically went through every scale: major, minor and chromatic. When he finished, he opened his eyes and blinked. He’d done it. He’d played the piano and his mind had stayed on the notes, not on Jennifer or the past.
Going to put the lid down, he was seized with the urge to push the boundaries. What would happen if he revisited some of the pieces he used to play? Before he could second-guess himself, he dived in at the deep end, into Rachmaninoff’s second piano concerto, the piece he’d played at the summer concert of his final year of school. He’d smashed it. His parents were right at the front. At the back stood Jennifer, shining with love and pride. That was the high point. From that moment on, everything had gone wrong.
He started with the second movement, naturally and easily finding the notes as if he’d played it only yesterday. He closed his eyes and let the music transport him. Emotion swelled inside his body. But rather than Jennifer, it was Valentina, his sister, the pain at ten years of his life lost to Caroline that came to mind. He realised with a jolt that the music was a conduit. It had its innate power, but the real power came from its ability to make meaning out of one’s life and experiences. As he played, joy tingled across his skin. How could he have shut himself off from this for so long? By punishing his parents, all he’d done was hurt himself. Every twatty thing he’d done had not only hurt those he loved the most, but had cut him even deeper.
The music flowed through him, resounding through the piano, dancing off the walls of the library. He smiled, following the music as if simply along for the ride. As his fingers finally left the keys, the last notes hung in the air like threads of gold.
He heard a sniff and his eyes snapped open.
Valentina was standing just inside the door, staring at him.
She was wearingthe black dress she’d worn for their evening in the pub. It clung to her curves as if framing a masterpiece. His body responded immediately, heat and desire expanding past the edges of his skin. She was his agony and his ecstasy. His mouth ran dry. He couldn’t speak, even if he knew what to say.
Her eyes were liquid and luminous, her lips parted. She licked them and his cock jerked in his jeans. She walked slowly towards him, stopping a couple of feet away.
‘Charlie,’ she began, her voice soft. ‘I want to apologise.’
What?
‘When I came back to the castle,’ she continued, ‘I rang Rory. He said if I ever needed anything, I could ask. So I did.’
His brain couldn’t compute. She might as well have been speaking Klingon.
‘We went to his workshop with Zoe and he told me about Caroline.’ She paused and her gaze flicked to his open mouth. He shut it. ‘He spoke to your sister this afternoon and shared with me what you said to her.’ His cheeks heated. ‘Rory was wonderful. It was a very insightful conversation.’
‘Rory? Earl of Kinloch, Rory?’ he croaked in shock.
She nodded.
‘Insightful?’
She smiled.
He couldn’t believe it. ‘Rory? Half man, half orangutan?’
She giggled and his heart did a backflip.
‘I’ve had more insightful conversations with a haggis than I have with him.’
She snorted a laugh but then her face turned serious. ‘So, I want to apologise,’ she continued. ‘You wouldn’t have given me your phone if you had anything to hide. I’m sorry for how I behaved. And I’m sorry for how she treated you. You deserve better, Charlie. You’re a good man.’
He turned his head away from her, his jaw clamped shut, emotion strangling him. He shook his head.
‘No,’ he replied, hoarsely. ‘I’m the one who should be sorry. For everything.’ He felt the heat from her body as she moved closer, her hand on his shoulder. He was teetering on an emotional knife edge. He didn’t dare look at her. ‘How is Isabella and her baby?’
‘They’re going to be fine. Isabella’s out of intensive care and the baby is breathing on his own. She lost her phone when she was admitted, but I spoke to her using Matias’s. She said they hope to be home next week.’
He nodded, flooded with relief.
