Page 179 of Bleed with Me

Aryna giggled so hard she snorted, and somehow that ridiculous little sound eased the knot in my chest just enough for me to believe we could make it work. We could be a real family.

You already dreamed before. The demon reared his head. How did it turn out for you?

The answer was… terrible. It turned out worse than any fucking disaster in my life before or after. And I dreaded the conversation about my past that awaited me, but Nina deserved to know everything. The darkest months of my life included.

“We’re here,” Aryna squealed excitedly, unfastening her seatbelt and trying to get out the moment I stopped. She ran around the car while I fought with the suitcase, the magazines falling from her hands. I only shook my head at her antics, letting her battle the wind as she tried to pick up what she'd dropped.

“Come on, angel.” I opened the door for her, but stopped in my tracks when the piano’s gentle tones reached my ears.

First of all, I hated when someone touched my piano. Out of habit, I expected people to ruin it. Like Zyon did when we were kids and he sat on the keys. Or like Malin did when he chased Zyon and fell on it. Or like Ramzan did when he spilled milk all over it. I was heavily traumatized. But knowing Nina loved playing, maybe even more than me, filled my chest with happiness.

Aryna stared at me, eyes wide, when we entered the living room. Nina sat behind the piano, playing one of Chopin’s most famous pieces: “Nocturne” in E-flat major. I stared at her as if hypnotized when, out of nowhere, she shifted to “La Campanella.”

The transition was weirdly smooth, as if she’d done it a hundred times before, but the difference in pace was striking. Her slender fingers glided through the keys; despite the long fingernails, she played perfectly.

I didn’t move. The afternoon sun spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, wrapping Nina in a warm golden glow. Her long hair fell over one shoulder, swaying gently every time she leaned into a phrase. Her eyes remained closed, completely lost in the music, while her body moved almost imperceptibly with every crescendo, every whisper of the melody. She looked… at peace. Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it.

My gaze jumped to her hands. The left one danced effortlessly across the keyboard. The right followed a heartbeat later, and there it was—the tiny hesitation, so subtle no ordinary listener would ever hear it. Her ring finger lagged by the smallest fraction of a second, forcing the others to compensate. But it didn’t take away the magnificence of her playing. She was extraordinarily talented.

Briefly closing my eyes, I let the music envelope me. My mind drifted off, floating on the cloud made from the quick tones when Aryna slipped her tiny hand into mine. She looked from Nina to me, then back to the piano, as if she couldn’t decide whether the beautiful woman playing it or the music itself fascinated her more.

I squeezed her fingers gently, silently asking her not to interrupt. She nodded with exaggerated seriousness, taking one careful step after another. Her sneakers barely made a sound as she tiptoed across the hardwood floor.

My lips twitched. She was trying so hard, but then the magazines she’d been clutching all the way home slipped from beneath her arm. They hit the floor with a thump.

The melody faltered. Nina’s fingers froze above the keys for the briefest heartbeat before she turned on the piano bench. Her gaze landed on Aryna first, then drifted to me.

Nobody spoke. I suddenly became painfully aware of everything at once. The suitcase standing in the middle of the living room. Aryna hiding behind me. And the ridiculous fact that I faced armed men in the morning without my pulse changing, yet one look from my wife had my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Hi,” I managed, sounding far less composed than I hoped.

“Hi,” Aryna beeped, blinking innocently at Nina.

To my great surprise, Nina smiled. Genuinely. Not like a sinful menace that planned to devour me, or a slightly psychotic masked villainess that stuck her gun into my ass. No. She smiled at Aryna like she was really happy to see her, like none of our problems mattered when the kid was involved.

“Hello,” Nina greeted, bending down to pick up Aryna’s magazines. “What do we have here?”

“Zara’s mommy gave them to me,” Aryna said quietly, half-hiding behind my leg. “To arrange my bedroom.”

“I see.” Nina opened the first one and looked at the pictures of colorful couches and armchairs. “Have you already chosen some?”

Aryna shook her head. Her eyes were wide like saucers, but it wasn’t fear in them, just hesitation, as if she didn’t know what to do. I placed my hand on her shoulder supportively, smiling.

“Go show her which one you like,” I suggested, pointing at the suitcase. “I’ll bring that into your room.”

She nodded slightly, taking an uncertain step toward Nina.

“I’m Nina, by the way,” my beautiful wife introduced herself, stretching her hand out for a shake.

“My name is Aryna,” came the quiet response as I leaned down to take the handle.

“That’s a lovely name,” Nina said, moving to the side so Aryna could sit beside her on the bench. “Do you know what it means?”

I straightened to my full height, waiting because I was curious, too.

“No.” Aryna shook her head, watching Nina curiously.

“It means peace,” Nina explained, crossing her long legs. She rested her forearm against her knee, leaning closer to Aryna. “Your name comes from a Greek goddess, Eirene.” Aryna’s mouth formed a surprised O. “It’s very noble.”