There's something different in her tone; her words may seem cocky, but it doesn't feel like it. For some reason I feel her tone nagging at my chest; she sounds so exhausted and casual at the same time and I can't wrap my head around it.
“Working hard or getting perfect grades?”
“Both.”
I stare at her thoughtfully, digesting her words. The thought of celebrating doesn't even occur to her and for an unknown reason, that bothers me.
I always assumed she probably partied or celebrated in some way; I mean, she converses enough about how perfect her grades are, I always thought she did that because she was proud, she's clearly not proud enough.
It isn't just because she's used to getting perfect grades, but it almost seems like she expects that of herself, so she can never celebrate it; it’s almost become monotonous. She's so used to it, to working hard and never having any time to stop and enjoy it.
Her words from the day she was in my art room kept playing in my head.“I always thought learning how to play the piano would be cool.”
I suppose I've never once not thought about celebrating an achievement, no matter how little. I'm aware that's because of the money I have and I'm also aware that I've thrown that in her face most of her life, so why am I suddenly feeling as though ice cold water is washing over me?
No way; this won't do. I'm not letting her brush her achievement under the rug.
“Come with me,” I say. I don't give her anytime to think before grabbing her hand and practically yanking her along with me.
“Wait, where are you taking me?” she asks, confused, but I don't answer her, not until we've both reached my living room.
I walk her towards the grand piano in the corner of the room—it's been collecting dust for quite some time. I let go of her hand and try not to dwell on the feeling of loss.
“Sit.” I gesture towards the black piano bench.
She raises her eyebrows. “I'm supposed to be tutoring you, Juliette.”
“We can miss a day; I think this is more important,” I say waving off her concerns in a serious tone.
“Playing the piano?” she retorts, amused.
“Celebrating,” I clarify.
Her eyes soften. “Juliette—”
“Let me teach you how to play,” I plead and demand at the same time.
I want to do this; I want to teach her something that she doesn't have to work hard at. She can have it for herself without any expectations or rules.
“Fine,” she retorts and I'm shocked at how quickly she agreed, she really must want to learn how to play.
She sits down and I take a seat next to her. My mother would kill me if she knew I was letting Adaline touch this piano. After all, it's a Steinway & Sons Fibonacci. Then again, she'd also kill me if she knew I begged Adaline to go down on me.
“I'm going to start playing. Focus on my fingers and repeat what I'm doing once I'm done,” I tell her and she nods, already looking down at the keys in amazement.
This is not the way to teach someone the piano, but then again, I've never taught anyone, so I'm just winging this whole thing.
I begin playing the first few notes of Nuvolo Bianchi by Ludovico Einaudi. Maybe I should have picked something easier, but I want to play this song; it feels right to play this, with her.
My fingers glide on the keys and I feel a rush of adrenaline take over my body. I haven't played in a while, I forgot how enticing it is.
“Wow,” she whispers softly and I smile, feeling her eyes on me as I continue to play the notes slowly so she can remember.
It's hard to focus on playing when her shoulder is pressed right next to mine and she's this close; I keep getting engulfed in her scent.
Why does she always smell so delightful? More importantly, why am I bothered by her scent when I've literally had my tongue inside her mouth before.
“Your turn,” I say, stopping slowly and watch as she sighs, readying herself.
