“A tad lonely, I must say.” Quin smiles at me, and I can see the restraint in his body language as he fights the urge to lean down and kiss me. We’ve agreed that we should remain professional in public this weekend. While the tabloids have already surmised the nature ofour relationship, I’d prefer to keep it as private as possible. He glances at Amir. “How was your first commercial flight, Hadid? You didn’t die from shock, so that seems like a good sign.”
Amir rolls his eyes. “Apparently, smoking is prohibited aboard all aircraft carriers. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“I suppose you’ll have to find another way to put innocent bystanders at risk of lung cancer,” Quin hums cheekily.
Amir snorts. “Please.Yousmoke cigars.”
“A terrible vice,” Quin quips, his hand roaming up and down my back. He leans down and whispers into my ear. “I’m in bungalow five.” He slides a key card into my pocket. “Perhaps I’ll see you before the opening ceremony.”
“You booked a Bungalow for a two-day summit?” Amir tuts, getting our room keys from the front desk associate. “And you say that I’m a snob.”
Quin glances at our keys, lifting a brow. “I would argue that the presidential suite is equally as pretentious, if not more.”
Amir clicks his tongue, handing me my card. “I’ve booked you a deluxe suite. I hope it’s up to your standards.”
I snatch the card out of his hand, desperately needing a shower. “I’m sure it’ll do.” I glance up at Quin. “I’m going to go freshen up before dinner.”
“If you must.” Quin leans in and subtly licks the side of my neck. I shiver under his touch. “But I quite like the taste of you.”
Bungalow five. I’ll have to remember that.
With the swipeof a key card, I enter Quin’s bungalow. Classical piano music floats into my ears, the melody so haunting and deep. Swallowing, I grip the train of my custom-tailored evening gown and silently make my way into the main living room, my pulse quickening with each enchanting note.
I find Quin seated at a grand piano, his eyes closed in concentration as his fingers dance gracefully across the keys. If love could be captured in notes, it would sound just like this.
“I didn’t know you played.”
Quin’s eyes flutter open, a faint blush blooming on his cheeks as he looks up at me. He clears his throat. He looks flustered. It’s adorable. “I don’t. Well, I didn’t.” He swallows. “Not until recently.”
I float closer to him, drawn to the piano by both the music and the man creating it. “What changed?”
His fingers linger on the keys, his gaze soft and kind and all-consuming. “Everything.”
He silently beckons me to the bench, and my heart hammers in my chest as I sit beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. I close my eyes as he begins to play again. I’ve never heard this song before, this melody. Every note resonates inside of me, raw and composed. Dark and light. Hopeful and solemn.
“It’s beautiful, Quin,” I breathe out, smiling. “What’s it called?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he hums. “It’s a work in progress.”
“You wrote this?”
“I did.” He lets out a soft breath, the song coming to a gentle, beautiful finish. Quin's hand finds my cheek, and I glance up into his tender gaze. “I’m thinking of calling itla chanson d'Emery.”
I blink. “Emery’s Song? You wrote this for me?”
He smiles. “What can I say, darling? You’ve inspired me.”
I find comfort in his warm touch, warm words. “Did you play for her too?”
It seems like an uncomfortable question. But whether we like it or not, she’s a part of us. A part of me. Her story ended so mine could begin.
Quin swallows. “All the time.”
I expel an airy sigh. “I’m glad.”
“You are?” he asks, slightly frowning.
“Yes,” I say. “Everyone should experience this type of intimacy at one point in their lives. I’m glad she got to share it with you.”
