If she wanted to hear some classical shit, I was going to make sure she got it. I turned the first video all the way up and locked the doors—forcing her to knock in case she got suspicious. I walked over to a panel where I hid my favorite novels, and slumped against the wall for a reread.
Several chapters later, I heard a knock at the door.
“One second!” I called out.
I walked over to the laptop and waited until the cellist reached a half rest before hitting pause and stuffing it into a drawer. I scooted my chair across the wooden floor, made it screech for a few seconds, and then I opened the door.
No one was there.
I stepped out and looked down the hallway. Nothing.
Confused, I shut the door, and then the knocking sound came once more. I turned around and realized it was coming from the outside. I walked over to the drapes and drew them open, seeing James standing on the balcony, white gift box in hand.
Unlocking the glass doors, I pushed them open and stared at him—unsure of what to say.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been stood up and ignored before.” He smiled. “I can also promise you that I’ve never trespassed on an estate.”
“My security guard didn’t tell you that I underestimated how busy I was?”
“No. He told me that your mother was ‘acting like a bitch’ and he gave me twenty-five minutes to trespass behind his back or get the hell off the property.”
I made a mental note to thank Bernie, and pulled James into the room. “I would’ve called you, but she um, took my phone.”
“Are you sure you’re twenty years old?” He joked.
“I’m only sixteen, actually,” I said. “I lied to you. I’m still a minor.”
“Then this is officially the end of us.”
We both laughed, and he pulled me into his arms—giving me a deep and dirty kiss that made me forget my every thought, my every worry.
Steadying me, he slowly pulled away. He walked over to the black Steinway piano that stood on a platform at the center of the room.
“You know how to play the piano?” he asked.
“Yeah, I used to play it more than the cello, but…” My voice trailed off, the painful truth still lingered all these years later.
“But what?”
“Whenever I competed, I only placed second or third, so my mom took it a sign that I wasn’t meant to play it professionally.” I shrugged. “She cancelled all my lessons and told me to stop playing it so often, since second and third place don’t count.”
“Hmmm.” He tapped one of the keys. “Can I hear you play?”
“Right now?”
He nodded.
“Sure, just don’t expect perfection.” I took a seat on the bench and curved my hands above the keys. I played the start of Hungarian Dance No. 5 from memory, trying hard not to miss a note. As I was reaching the end of the first stanza, James took a seat next to me and began playing the complementing bass notes.
He sped up the tempo, forcing me to follow his lead. His fingers moved against the keys with ease, his playing so far superior to mine, that I almost thought he was professional.
We played the last stanza in perfect harmony, our fingers hitting the final key at the same time.
“You’re better than a lot of the people I used to play with when I was younger.” He smiled. “I’m impressed.”
“Me, too…” I crossed my arms. Why did you stop?”
“Because winning first place every time gets boring.” He pulled the case over the keys. “Couldn’t afford to keep paying for it either.” He let out a breath. “You don’t have to stay in this estate,” he said. “You can leave and do whatever the hell you want with your life. You know that, right?”
“Easier said than done.” I shook my head. “Nobody just walks away from this type of life. Most of my decisions were made for me long before I was out of the womb.”
“Everyone is capable of making their own choices, Kate.” He tilted my chin up with his fingertips. “Everyone.”
I wanted to tell him that I wished that was true, that I agreed, but I couldn’t. I was living proof that it wasn’t always the case.
I glanced at his wrist and caught sight of a watch I’d seen some of the top men in Edgewood wear. It was a custom diamond and wood piece, its face was sapphire blue and the letters, S.G. H. were engraved in its face.
“Did one of your clients gift you that watch?” I stared at it. “It’s stunning.”
“Something like that.” He unclasped it and slipped it into his pocket. “What do you really want to do with your life?”
“Travel,” I said. “Travel and work for some huge company that’ll pay me to write up all the magazine ads and commercials for whatever product they’re trying to sell. And whenever I become the best there is, I want to do all the marketing work in my dream house, with its huge wraparound porch and white swing.”