The question surprises both of us.
Him, because he actually pauses to consider it. Me, because I am willingly standing in a stranger’s space when every instinct says I shouldn’t.
I file that away for later.
Chapter twenty-seven
Erik
Remy would be proud. I remembered who someone was without his prompting.
I turn back to the piano and settle onto the bench, eyes dropping to the sheet music spread across the top. I’d been making minute adjustments before she interrupted me. Or before I interrupted myself.
I don’t return to the Angel’s music.
Instead, I start something new. A piece that came to me in my sleep.
It will have to come near the end.
It begins the way everything does. Haunting. But then it shifts. It moves into yearning, into strength. And from that strength, hope emerges. Faint. Fragile. Hard-won.
My fingers find the keys and the words follow, inevitable.
Too many years fighting my fears
Hoping to survive my fate
Too many days being led astray
Now I stand firm
Waiting to see
How I go on from here
I stop at the faintest sound. Bare feet moving across carpet.
I turn and meet her wide brown gaze.
“What’s your name again?”
“Christianna.”
“If you’re going to stay, don’t move around. It’s distracting.”
She nods immediately.
My attention catches on her damp hair, the thin fabric of her camisole clinging where it shouldn’t. My focus snaps too sharply.
I shove back from the bench and cross the room in two strides, yanking a T-shirt from my closet and tossing it at her.
“Here. Cover up more.”
I grab a blanket from the top shelf and drop it over the back of the chair without looking at her.
I resume my piece, playing it several times before the lyrics return.
Chapter twenty-eight
