Fighting the frown that always came with the conversation, I rolled my shoulders and pressed down on the keys until an ungodly noise came from the pianoforte. There was no doubt in my mind I’d gotten it wrong, mixed up the keys for the umpteenth time no matter Sophie’s insistence that I’d get it. My mother hadn’t taught me how to play because I never showed interest, and she never liked forcing me into things that wouldn’t make me happy. That was why Sophie disliked her.
“She needs to be pushed, Elizabeth. What better way to discipline her?” Not long after that exchange, I’d started ballet. Sure, my mother had suggested it, but it wasn’t like she’d twisted my arm to get me to go. I liked the pretty leotards and all the pink we’d worn—the bows, the tutus, the uncomfortable pointe shoes I learned to love with time. Ballet became a way my mother and I grew close, and it appeased Sophie in some ways because she saw how I excelled at it.
“You have the fingers for it,” she kept going, waving her hand at me absentmindedly as she flipped through some feminine magazine. It was the same one I’d seen my mother look at and begged to read to me.
“You’re too young to learn what’s in these, my sweet Adele. When you’re older,” my mother would promise.
But the day never came because breast cancer took her from us mere months after she was diagnosed. It was fast, aggressive, and ugly. My father had never been quite right after her passing, but he tried for me. For our family. Considering I was only twelve at the time, he did what he could with what knowledge he had having two little sisters—Sophie and Lydia. Plus, they’d both offered to help whenever he needed it. As always, my father had been too proud. It was a trait I got from him.
“My fingers seem to disagree,” I murmured, dropping my hands into my lap and sighing to myself. “Perhaps another instrument?” Please say no. When I gave up dance after circumstances became too much, Sophie insisted I needed something in my life. Even though I’d long since found joy in painting, Sophie told me the hobby I invested in had to be something “appropriate” for young women because getting paint under my nails wasn’t that. It still made me want to roll my eyes, but I relented and tried what she wanted me to. I owed her that much. She did a lot for me after my mother died, starting Sunday brunches so I’d have an excuse to leave the house for a while, and giving me old albums of photos from my father’s childhood, including some of his teenage years that had my mother in them.
“Piano is classy, Adele.” I’d gotten her full attention now, the magazine forgotten on her skirt-covered lap. She wore her usual attire—a tight pencil skirt with a button-up tucked into the waist that showed off her sleek curves. She garnered every straight male’s attention with the swivel of her hips no matter where we were. But she never flaunted, flirted, or gave any of them a hint of hope. “How are you going to get a man otherwise? Most men of prestige expect their women to have talents that go beyond the kitchen.”
My face instantly contorted with disbelief. “Maybe with my fast wit and brain? It isn’t the fifties anymore, Sophie. Women can be individuals.”
Her eyes rolled, something she did often when I opened my mouth to point out how derogatory she was to her own sex. “Trust me, darling, men don’t want wit.”
“On the contrary,” a new voice cut in from the doorway. Looking over my shoulder, I smiled wide at Lawrence McKinley’s casual stance against the doorframe of the parlor.
“Oh, hush.” Aunt Sophie stood, a smile on her own face that contradicted her tone. “I wish you wouldn’t encourage Adele on her silly thoughts. Come, give me a hug.”
Lawrence was a friend since we were in diapers. We did everything together from bathing to schooling. We fought like siblings growing up, but things changed during our experimental pre-teen phases, which lead to us being each other’s first everything a few years later. Too young, I realized now, but I didn’t regret it. Even though we were still good friends, we never turned into more for a lot of reasons. Mainly because of his obsession with his male teammates, and mine with a certain forty-year-old business mogul.
My best friend wrapped Sophie in his freakishly long arms that were muscular from the sports he played. Football was his favorite, but baseball was what he was best at, which was what he got a scholarship for at Bentley University, a private school in the city. “I find Adele’s thoughts anything but silly. You should see the way men look at her on campus. I doubt they’d care if she couldn’t play the piano to save her life.”
“Hey!” He wasn’t wrong, but I couldn’t help but frown over his bluntness.
He walked over to me and pressed a kiss to my temple like he always did in greeting. If it weren’t that, he’d pick me up and spin me around until I got dizzy. “You know I love you, Della, but you’re not a musician. Never were.”
Standing, I playfully shoved him away. “I know that but you’re my friend. You’re supposed to lie and tell me how talented I am.”
His laugh was deep, rumbling his broad shoulders until I couldn’t help but join in. “As your best friend I’m obligated to tell you the truth. You suck. Now painting? You’re better than anybody at that. Have you seen her work, Sophie?”
“I have. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good. But—” I tuned her out while she explained why painting wasn’t classy, clean, or good enough for me to do. It didn’t matter what she thought. I found painting relaxing. Like dance was, once upon a time. I’d only just started listening again when Sophie shook her head at us. “I never understood how you two never dated. We all thought you’d be engaged by now.”
Perhaps Lawrence’s bisexuality wasn’t obvious to those who didn’t spend enough time around him, but to me it was plain as day. It didn’t matter who a person was, he had eyes for anyone good looking. That had been me once, but even after our teenage transgressions we knew it wasn’t enough. He was my friend, the very best, but nothing more. He’d asked me if it was because of Theo, how I looked at my father’s friend, because even he knew it was more than a crush.
“Now who’s silly,” I replied softly, looking at Sophie. “We’re still young. Just because you were married at my age doesn’t mean I want to be, and I doubt Ren does either.”
“That’s because you haven’t even tried.”
Ren dropped an arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side. “I tried setting her up with one of my teammates, but she said he wasn’t her type.”
“Alec spends more time talking about himself than anything else. Do you really blame me for not wanting to be subjected to that?”
Sophie waved her hand in the air. “You don’t want to be with a college boy anyway. They’re too immature. It’d suit you better to be with somebody older.”
My mind instantly went to Theo, and Ren must have known it based on the way his lips quirked up at the corners. He used to tease me about my “stupid girly crush” when I admitted that I liked Theo West. As time went on and I got older, we both realized it was more than that. He was older than my twenty-two years, but he was a few years younger than my father. I’d kept that in mind whenever my conscience told me it wouldn’t work. I’d seen how his eyes wandered over the past few years like they never had before, and if the early morning he’d stormed into my apartment so long ago now wasn’t an indication, he’d certainly felt something for me that I held onto no matter what he told me. “I’m not dating right now. I’ve only got a semester left of school. I want that to be my focus.”
“Of course,” my knowing best friend played along, causing me to elbow his stomach. He moved his arm and winked. “We should probably go. Or did you forget you agreed to go to the house with me tonight?”
Sophie frowned at him. “That frat you’re part of? I’m not sure Adele should go there after the brawl that happened last time.”
“It was hardly a brawl,” I argued lightly. Two guys were arguing over a girl and it got a bit messy. Beer went everywhere, including all over me. I’d broken a heel. Somebody accidently yanked my hair trying to catch themselves when the men bumped into the crowd. It was an interesting night to say the least.
“She’ll be safe, Sophie. I promise.”
“I feel like I need to protect her now…”