She giggled and the sound caused that blooming in my chest to perform somersaults now. “How did you manage before I arrived?”
I knew she meant in relation to fastening my tie, but I answered with complete honesty with no thought for the tie. “I don’t know.”
A long stare and a heavy atmosphere threatened to take over again and I needed it not to. I sat at the piano and as I began to strike the keys, she shook her head at me.
“Hardly classical, maestro.”
“That would be more fitting for the conductor, but I would dispute your claim as Happy Birthday is indeed a classic.” I allowed the music to merge into something else. A composition I had begun and never finished a hundred times or more, but tonight, more of it came to my fingers, almost composing itself.
I permitted my eyes to glance up, watching her sitting on the upholstered stool in front of the sofa. She appeared lost in the music, a gentle sway barely noticeable as she observed me play. Her eyes moved across the keys as she tracked the movement of my fingers, her studious glance almost caused me to falter. I don’t know that she was even aware that her image held my attention before I returned my full focus to the keys and the piece that could become a symphony that was truly hers. She was as consumed by the notes and melody as I was by her, and I harboured a hope that she might sense that this was a new and original piece that no one else has ever heard, that privilege was hers alone. Risking a final glance before moving through the crescendo, I could have sworn she swept a tear away.
She felt it, and if that wasn’t the best feeling in the world, I didn’t know what was. That was a lie. Kissing her was the absolute best feeling, but this was a very close second.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Clover
Sitting on the stool I was transfixed as I listened to the sweet music he made, but it was more than that holding my attention. From the second he took his place at the piano, my attention was rapt. His poise was sublime and the way he moved his fingers was like magic. The ease with which they danced across the keys, literally forcing them to submit to his will until the sweetest of sounds rang out, echoing around us, bathing us in emotion without a word being said. My eyes were consumed by the movements of his hands and fingers. They made me imagine and feel things I really shouldn’t. He was not my boyfriend or my lover, he had made his feelings on that very clear on more than one occasion. The piece began to build and that is when a tear fell. Brushing it away I refocused on the bracelet I wore. The thought and time that had gone into this must have been significant and it was all his idea. I knew it was. The other gifts had Zoe and my friends written all over them but this, well it was something else. It was me, everything I had been and was. Each piece held a part of my heart that when myfather died, I feared would never be whole again. The same heart he too had hurt, but he had also healed it. The two halves of a heart meant more than my parents joined as one, which is what I thought most people would see as the meaning behind it. No, it was my heart, whole when together, then broken by the loss and pain of grief, but maybe they could be put back together again.
I sensed the music was likely to end soon, so I pushed such thoughts from my mind. I needed to take some responsibility for protecting my own heart and romantic notions.
Closing the lid of the piano, the bending and stretching of his fingers had ceased, the smooth and fluid movements they made as they moved along and over the keys no more. I remembered the speed with which he glided along the black and white keyboard, the varying force he used to strike the keys and an involuntary tight clench of my thighs was instinctive. I cast my mind back for possibly the hundredth time to how they felt, stroking, caressing, touching and probing my body.
I felt his eyes on me, watching me shudder, but still he waited for a response to his new piece.
“That was wonderful.” The heat crept up my face into a blush that also travelled downwards, pooling in my belly.
“Thank you.” He smiled, revealing perfect teeth, straight and white. “I do believe you’re my number one fan, Clover, which is fortunate as you are my muse.”
I flushed until my face resembled a deep shade of scarlet because I really was his number one fan, for more reasons than his prowess on the piano. The way he said my name gave me gooseflesh.
“Your tie,” I stammered, stepping closer until I could reach up and with shaking hands, folded the fabric until it formed the perfect bow. I took a moment to admire the cutting figure he presented in his tux and dickie bow . . . my mind wondered to a time when I might undo the tie, to strip him.
These thoughts were not going to help my crimson hue nor the dampness I could feel coating me and my underwear.
“Thank you.” He leaned in and landed a single gentle kiss to my cheek and then he left.
The caterers arrivedwithin seconds of Dominic leaving and laid out the food under the watchful eye of security. Banners and balloons I hadn’t expected also arrived and the bar was also set up with a limited supply of alcohol.
My friends were next to arrive and with music playing we began to party. Food, drink, dancing and singing ensued. Laughter was the only other sound, and in that moment I was truly happy, even with fleeting thoughts of how different this celebration would have looked back home in the village with my parents.
At a few minutes before midnight my phone sounded. Brandon. He was a boy I had been out with a couple of times. I liked him. My friends weren’t as keen and said he was a bit of a douche. I hadn’t seen that side of him but knew it wouldn’t go anywhere between us. I didn’t really want it to, but we usually had a laugh when we were together.
I resented his disrespect towards Dominic, and he wasn’t my dad, a fact Brandon knew full well.
I did not lol but had no intention of getting into this with him.
