Instead of looking unimpressed, Max nodded, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. “The music of nature,” he told her. “People don’t really think of the sounds we hear every day as music, but it is. Bird song, the madness and pulse of life . . . it’s all music. It has beat and rhythm. It has notes. Sometimes its staccato and sometimes its legato. But it’s all music.”
“I never thought of it like that before,” Bo replied, and Max smiled at her, before his expression shifted, curious.
“You said you work in the garden,” he said after a moment. “I’ve taken a look at your contract with Geoffrey, and it wasn’t listed as one of your duties. You weren’t paid for it.”
“Oh, I know.” Bo shrugged. “It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” Max frowned slightly, his tone concerned. “If my uncle asked you to take on an additional task, he should have paid you for it.”
Bo shook her head. “He didn’t ask me. I started doing it myself. The garden needed attention, you see, and Geoffrey wasn’t able to tend to it. Not really. Anyway, once I started, I found I couldn’t stop, and I never needed paying for it.” She smiled faintly, her gaze drifting from Max to the window. “It probably sounds silly, but I love that garden. It’s the place I feel happiest. I never really felt like I belonged anywhere until I found it. Everything in it is alive, but only if you care for it. You can’t fake that kind of love. You have to show up; you have to getyour hands dirty. And the garden . . . the garden rewards you for your efforts. Just like your music, I guess.”
Bo paused, a flush creeping up her neck when she realized how much she’d just said. “Anyway,” she murmured, shrugging again. “I can’t not work in it now. It’s part of me.”
When she finally looked back at Max, he was silent. He watched her steadily, his face unreadable, except for the tiniest flicker of surprise in his eyes. Surprise, and a little warmth.
The look unsettled her. Max Fitzroy wasn’t supposed to look at her likethat.Like she was someone worth studying, worth hearing. Like he was seeing her for the first time. For a moment, it made her chest tighten, and she hated that it did. She wasn’t used to this sort of quiet from him. She was used to him arguing, scoffing, finding a sharp edge to hide behind. So, Bo did what she always did when things felt too close. She deflected.
“Umm, what you played though, earlier . . .” Bo cleared her throat. “It was beautiful.”
That seemed to break the spell. Max blinked once, as if coming back to himself, his posture shifting. It was the small, self-conscious adjustment of a man caught off guard. “It wasn’t really,” he replied. “I didn’t get the pacing right. Still, thank you for saying it.”
“No,” Bo argued. “I mean it. It was wonderful. Magical.”
“That’s down to Beethoven, not me. He might have been the world’s most famous deaf musician, but he was also a genius.”
“Beethoven was deaf?” Bo was stunned. “How did he write music like that if he couldn’t hear it?”
“There’s some debate about that, but apparently, he mostly used vibrations. The piece you just heard was composed that way.”
Bo was staggered. “How did I not know this? What else have I missed?”
Max smiled. “Well, did you know that Beethoven was also famous for being a virgin?”
“A virgin?”
“Yes, although there’s debate about that too. If he was a virgin, it didn’t stop him from writing the most passionate love letters.”
Bo shook her head. “So, the most beautiful piece of music I’ve ever heard was written by a deaf virgin?”
“According to some.”
She chewed on her lip. “I mean it, Max, it was beautiful, and that’s not just down to the deaf virgin who wrote it. You played it wonderfully.”
He gave her a small smile. “I’m afraid Kirill Petrenko would disagree with you, but like I said, thank you for saying it.”
She felt embarrassingly unknowing. “I, umm, don’t know who that is.”
“He’s the lead conductor of the orchestra I normally work with.”
“You play for an orchestra?” Bo was amazed.
“Technically, no. I’m a piano soloist, which means I’m more of a guest. However, the Berliner Philharmoniker is one of the best orchestras in the world and Petrenko is an amazing conductor. I’m lucky they invite me to solo with them so frequently.” He stopped, going to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine. “Let’s order some food.”
She nodded, pulling out her iPhone. “You said Indian food, right?”
“Please. Are you okay to order on your phone? Mine doesn’t have that capability.”
“Sure, I can do that and—” she paused, finger hovering over her phone screen. “I’m sorry, did you just say your phone doesn’t have that capability?”
