Page 29 of Vicious Games

Roman stepped behind me and unknotted the blindfold. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

Yes. No. Maybe.

The blindfold fell away.

My mouth dropped open. I immediately recognized the classic dome ceiling and red velvet seats. We were standing on the stage of the Royal Albert Hall, the mecca for all great musicians.

CHAPTER 12

AURORA

My hands flew to my mouth. All I could do was stare in wonder. I, of course, had attended many concerts in the Hall, but to be on the stage? That was next level. It was otherworldly. It was almost an indescribable feeling. The closest I had ever come to this feeling was when I took a hot-air balloon ride over the Cotswolds. Seeing the breathtaking majesty of the historic English countryside in all its glory left me dizzy and elated. I felt that way now. It seemed as if every nerve in my body hummed with energy.

Without thinking, I ran into Roman’s arms. Stretching my arms high to wrap around his neck, I bounced up and down with glee. “This is so amazing! How did you arrange it? I can’t believe it.”

Before he could respond, I broke free and just circled the stage again, trying to commit this moment to memory. I never wanted to forget a single detail. The black patchwork of planks that made up the stage. The worn glow in the dark tape that only the performers could see as they took their marks. The odd smell of wax, grease, and dust that seemed to permeate all theater stage and backstage areas.

I stretched my arms wide and just spun and spun like a child in a field of wildflowers instead of one of the most venerated and historical landmarks in all of Europe.

Catching myself, I stopped. I clapped a hand across my mouth and giggled. “Oh, my God, I probably shouldn’t have done that!”

Roman laughed. “Why not?”

I stretched my arms wide. “You don’t understand! This is holy ground. This is a church! This is… this is… I can’t… it’s just, oh, my God!”

Roman gestured behind me. “You haven’t even said anything about the piano yet.”

I turned. My eyes widened. Behind me was the Victorian Steinway & Sons concert grand piano from our home. I turned back to Roman. “How did you—? When did you—?”

He smirked. “When you were upstairs getting ready. I had a small army come in and move it under pain of death if they made the slightest noise to alert you.”

I hadn’t even noticed. I was so consumed by the sight of Roman waiting for me in the hall in his tuxedo that I didn’t even realize that the piano, which was the focal point of the open floor plan behind him, was missing.

“Why?”

Roman shrugged. “I figured if you were going to have a once-in-a-lifetime experience, you should have it on your own piano. Now, every time you play it, you will remember this moment.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. No one in my entire life had ever done something so thoughtful for me.

I ran back into his arms. Burying my head against his chest, I choked back tears as I whispered, “Thank you.”

He stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head. “You know there is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you by my side.”

I frowned slightly. I had been expecting him to say, to make you happy. For some reason, to keep you by my side didn’t hit in quite the same way. I shook off the ominous feeling. I was being ungrateful and churlish by overanalyzing a simple turn of phrase. This man had just made the impossible possible for me.

Roman tilted my head back and gave me a sweet kiss on the lips. “So do I get to hear you play, or did I waste all this time and money for nothing?” he teased.

I turned my head and stared over my shoulder at the piano, then back at him. “I’m nervous.”

“What do you have to be nervous about?”

“It’s the Royal Albert Hall! Some of the greatest musicians over the last century have played here. These walls have absorbed the notes from the best of the best. I mean Richard Wagner himself walked this stage.”

He stroked my cheek. “Exactly. This hall has waited a century and a half to hear you play.”

Warmed by his praise, I approached the piano. I sat on the bench, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. With my eyes still closed, I placed my fingertips on the keys, feeling their familiar warmth. Leaning forward, I played the first brooding notes of Wagner’s Fantasia in F-sharp minor sonata. It had always been one of my favorites because of the obvious Beethoven influences and seemed appropriate for the moment.

My anxiety receded as the notes took over.

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