The Girl in the Painting

It’s my turn to smile. “We have a song, but you just haven’t heard it yet.”

“You realize that makes no sense, right?”

Her adorable incredulity urges a soft chuckle from my lips. “Yeah, but once you hear the song, you’ll understand.”

“Okay…” she singsongs the lone word and pauses just long enough to search my eyes dramatically. “Are you going to tell me, or are you trying your hand at telepathy?”

“Oh… You want to hear it?”

She rolls her eyes and I laugh.

“Give me a second,” I say and sit up. “I need to grab my phone.”

A minute later and I’m climbing back into bed with a gloriously naked Indy. “Come here,” I say and rest my back against the headboard, and she snuggles back into my body.

“Are you going to tell me the name of the song?”

I shake my head. “Just listen.”

With the help of my phone and the Bluetooth speakers throughout my house, I turn the volume way up and hit play. The opening of Ghinzu’s “Sweet Love” begins to fill the space around us, enveloping us in the soft, subtle piano notes.

And then the lyrics come.

Slow. Steady.

But it only takes two lines, and Indy is climbing into my lap, her thighs straddling my legs and her hands on my face. Tears are in her eyes, and a smile is on her lips. She locks her gaze with mine but never stops listening to the song.

The music grows in power. Stronger. Deeper. Until it reaches out and touches Indy’s skin in the form of emotional eyes and goose bumps making a path up her arms.

In an instant, she leans forward and kisses me, a moan on the tip of her tongue. And I wrap my arms around her body and savor the taste of her mouth.

It doesn’t take long for our kiss to turn passionate.

Panting breaths.

Greedy hands.

Erratic lips.

She lifts her hips up, and I slide inside of her.

Our eyes are locked and our lips are just barely touching, and I move inside of her. Slow at first, but as the music speeds up and the lyrics say everything I want to tell her, everything inside my heart, the urgency and need for her become too strong to deny. And I can’t hold back.

I can’t go slow.

I need to feel her wrapped around me, taste her lips, touch her skin, kiss her breasts.

I need it all. I need her.

My sweet love.

My once-in-a-lifetime, written-in-the-stars, forever-starts-right-now kind of love.

Two years later

Indy

My shoulders are back. My spine is straight. The fingers of my left hand engage the strings of my violin, and my right hand drags and pushes the bow back and forth, bringing the music to life.

The notes start out clean and clear, but they morph into an airy, almost magical harmony. And the divine vibrations travel from the violin to my fingers to my chin to my chest to my heart. It feels so heavenly and my body melts into the moment.

Occasionally, my eyes drift to the sheet music, but it’s more out of habit than needing to follow along. Mostly, though, I just lose myself inside the music and play.

God, it doesn’t get any better than this.

The sounds remind me of sunrises and sweet dreams. And there is this intangible quality to it. Like you can sense the beauty, but you can’t quite grasp what it is that makes it so beautiful. What makes it so special.

As I hit the final notes, I shut my eyes and savor how good it feels to play.

How satisfying it feels to move the bow across the strings.

How amazing it is to feel the music pulsating inside of me.

Yeah, this is my happy place.

Eventually, though, reality pulls me out of my trance in the form of a familiar voice coming through the sound booth speakers.

“Great job, Indy,” Don, the producer, says. “I think we’re all set here.”

I open my eyes and offer him a nod through the glass before setting down my violin and taking off my headphones. And just as I walk out of the sound booth, Bram is there to greet me with a big, friendly smile.

“Looking as beautiful as ever.”

That’s definitely sweet, but it’s a flat-out lie. I’m thirty-eight weeks pregnant and ready to pop. Beautiful left the building about two months ago when tired, uncomfortable, and puffy showed up without an invitation.

“Yeah, right.” I huff out an annoyed sigh. “I’m as big as a house.”

“You’re gorgeous. My favorite and most gorgeous sister-in-law,” he says with a grin, and an amused laugh leaves my lips.

“I’m your only sister-in-law.”

“But my favorite and most gorgeous one, nonetheless.” He winks and reaches out to gently rub my belly. “How’s my little niece doing?”

“Good.” I glance down at my stomach and offer up a silent prayer that my ever-growing belly has reached its peak. “Hopefully, she’s ready to come out soon.”