Her flushed face…
“How much have you had to drink?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
The lazy smile on her face became even lazier. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said with a slight hiccup. She leaned against the pianoforte for support. “Just a glass of wine… or maybe two. It was quite niceVery civilized.”
He exhaled through his nose. “You should sit.”
“I am sitting,” she replied, gesturing vaguely downward, though she clearly was not. “In spirit.”
Despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched. “That is not reassuring.”
She tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made him shift in his seat. “You know,” she said slowly, as if considering a great truth, “you look entirely different when you play.”
“Do I?” he asked dryly.
“Yes. Less… sharp.” She traced an idle line along the edge of the pianoforte with her finger. “More… human, I think. Because it’s unexpected.”
“Was that a compliment?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid. I don’t offer those to you often. Hm, how about this?” She paused, then added, far too honestly, “You’re very handsome when you forget to be severe.”
That did it. He looked at her fully now, amusement flickering plainly in his eyes. “You will regret that observation tomorrow.”
She blinked, then smiled, unrepentant. “Perhaps. But I won’t tonight. You are as cross as a thundercloud most of the time. Someone ought to coax out the sun.”
“A noble sacrifice,” he murmured.
Encouraged, she went on, words tumbling out with less care than usual. “And the way you play, like you’re trying not to feel anything at all. It’s very unwise. People notice.”
“Helena,” he said, gently but firmly, “you’ve had enough wine.”
She straightened, overcorrected, catching herself with a small laugh. “There. You see? Perfectly steady.” Then, more softly, “You don’t like being seen. Not really.”
The air between them tightened. He studied her face, the careless honesty there, the warmth, the lack of guile.
“No. I do not,” he confessed.
Helena tilted her head to the side. “Why?”
For a moment, he said nothing. He ought not to have answered at all. She was warm with wine and candor, and tomorrow she would remember only fragments, if that. That alone should have made him careful.
And yet…
“Because,” he said slowly, choosing each word as if it mattered, which it did, absurdly, “being seen invites expectation. And expectation leads to disappointment.”
Her brow furrowed, earnest even in her tipsiness. “You disappoint no one.”
A quiet breath left him.
If only that were true.
“You are wrong,” he said, not unkindly. “I have made a habit of it.” He glanced away, his jaw tightening. “It is simpler to be thought cold than to fail at warmth.”
She absorbed that in silence, her gaze still fixed on him. He could feel it, steady and open, and it made something uneasy shift in his chest.
“You play beautifully,” she said again, softer now. “That doesn’t sound like someone who wishes to disappear.”
Before he could reply, she lifted her hand.
