The Devil's Plaything

I think we need space for now. At least, I know I do.

But when I return, we will talk.

23

Sofía

After Valentina left the tray on my vanity, I sipped the tea while sitting at the window. Victor’s note was scrawled in his beautiful script, and I wondered just what we needed to talk about. I’m fighting my emotions, there’s a war raging inside me, and I don’t know who’s about to win.

I lower my feet to the soft, plush carpet and make my way to the door, expecting to find it locked. When it isn’t, I pull it open and step out into the hallway. The house is so big, it could be a castle.

My feet pad over the softness that leads me down the hallways, and into various rooms. I push every door open, taking in the bedrooms that are all furnished beautifully, with dark woods and cherry carpets.

The king ruling a kingdom.

A home fit for royalty.

And I’m one of the mere subjects.

I find one room on the far end of the house that’s breathtaking in its beauty. There are low hanging chandeliers made of black glass. The full moon shines through the floor-to-ceiling window, allowing a dim illumination to bathe the area in silvery light.

Against one wall is a baby grand, the same piano that stood in the store I worked in. And my heart thuds against my rib cage when I recall the moment I first laid eyes on Victor. It feels like it was months ago now, but it was merely a week ago.

How things can change over the course of a few days.

How can a man go from being beautiful, to evil, to attractive again in such a short amount of time? My heart feels as if it’s swinging on a pendulum, back and forth. Between my hate and newfound attraction, I’m torn. I want nothing more to do with him, but then I think about how he feels inside me, how he makes me feel when he’s around me, and I can’t deny there’s something between us.

I’m magnetized by the man who seems to want me as well. I didn’t expect it. I thought he would’ve sent me away after our evening together. He finally got what he wanted; he stole the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t offer—my heart—and he doesn’t even know it yet.

I settle on the small bench seat, my fingers hovering over the keys, as I close my eyes and allow them to dance over the ebony and ivory. The tinkling sounds of a melody take shape as I recall a song from memory.

The room swirls around me, I feel as if I’m on a spinning coaster that’s never going to stop. I hear nothing but the keys as they taunt me with the ghost of my mother, of how she used to sit beside me at the store and play.

She was my everything.

She taught me all I knew, and now that she’s gone, my papá is all I have left. I move with the song, as soon as it comes to an end, a new one starts. Again and again, I play and play until my fingers are numb and I can no longer keep my tears at bay.

The moment silence enters the room once more, it’s broken by the clapping from the doorway. Victor stands, leaning against the door frame, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, blood splattered on his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He looks equal parts man and monster. But I can’t deny he’s handsome in his violence. His angular jaw is dark with two-day old stubble, his eyes glow with satisfaction and danger, and his mouth curls handsomely into a grin that makes me squirm where I’m seated.

He closes the distance between us and stops the moment he reaches the piano. Golden orbs pin me to the spot, and I can’t move as Victor watches me. I don’t know where he’s been, but it looks like vengeance was exacted.

“I’ve missed you.”

“You’ve only been gone for a few hours,” I tell him, rising from the stool before he can settle on the bench. I can’t be near him, he takes all my confidence and injects it with fire of his own. I can’t say no to him. I want nothing more than for him to pick me up and fuck me again, right here on the piano.

“Why did you buy it if you never play?” I ask suddenly, thinking back to the day I first laid eyes on Victor.

“Perhaps I do, and you’ve just never heard me.” There’s a smirk curling his perfectly rosy lips, the same grin that makes my heart stutter.

He reaches for my face, his thumb swiping against the skin, turning me hot and needy. Goose bumps rise along my flesh, and when Victor leans in, I can smell the scent of a cigar from his clothes and the whiskey on his breath. It’s unmistakably Victor—cigars and bourbon.