But right now, that mask is gone, and the man beneath it is bleeding through every note he plays. For a moment, he isn’t the monster who took me. He’s simply a man wrestling with his own demons.
The song shifts, and I recognize it from the first note, and my grief crashes into me with the force of a freight train. Before I can stop it, tears prick at my eyes.
He’s playing Bach. Prelude in C major.
Mom’s song.
The one she loved to play on our old upright piano before we had to sell it to pay for a new roof. We didn't have much growing up. But we had that piano. And Mom used to play the hell out of it.
The recognition pulls me forward like an invisible thread tugging at my chest, and I make my way slowly down the staircase, lost in the beautiful music that wraps around me like a spell, drawing me closer to the man I should fear but can't seem to resist.
The Christmas lights twinkle behind me as I approach the piano, and I can see Nikolai’s profile in the soft light. The sharp line of his jaw. The way his hair falls across his forehead. The concentration in his eyes as his fingers dance across the keys.
His eyes meet mine, and I see something sad in their depths. His jaw tightens. But he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t stop playing. He’s lost in the music and whatever meaning it has for him.
Without a word, I walk closer until I'm standing at the piano bench and sit down beside him. Our shoulders brush, and the contact mixed with the power of the music sends electricity racing through me.
His fingers find another chord, holding it as the notes shimmer in the air between us.
Without thinking, I place my hand over his on the keys. His skin is warm beneath my palm, and I feel his pain. Feel the way his whole body goes still. The music stops.
He’s angry.
No. He’s hurt.
You’re a lost cause, Nikolai Morozov.
"Nikolai..." My voice is barely a whisper.
He turns his head to look at me, and suddenly we're inches apart. Close enough that I can see the glassy sheen in his eyes that comes from downing half a bottle of vodka. Close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips.
The air between us crackles with tension. But it's different from before. This isn't the predator and prey dynamic we've been dancing around since I got here. This is something deeper. Something that terrifies me, because I know it’s something I should run from.But I don’t want to.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and my lips part on a shaky exhale.
He could kiss me right now. I can see the hunger in his eyes.
And God help me, I want him to kiss me.
I want it so bad I can barely breathe.
But he doesn’t. He pulls his hand away from mine, and the loss of contact hurts.
“I’m sorry…” I whisper.
His eyes search mine.
“You shouldn’t be. You’re right to be wary of me.”
“I know. Maybe even terrified.” My voice is soft, quiet. “But I think I’m meant to be here. I don’t think I’m meant to be afraid. And I don’t want to run from you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Holly. I’m the very definition of what you should run from.”
My voice is barely a whisper. "You're not the monster you pretend to be."
“Yes, I am,malyshka. I really am.”
I lick my lips and his eyes lose focus as he dips his gaze to watch. When he brings it back to me, I see the war taking place inside.
