Page 115

“You. With me. Slowly.”

I kiss her again, and she guides my hand to the back of her neck, rising on her uninjured foot to meet me. I can feel how tired she is beneath her resolve. She can feel how badly my hands want to hold on.

We move toward the bed together. I help her sit, then kneel to ease off her shoes. Her ankle has begun to swell above the sock, and I pause, holding it in my palm.

“You should keep it raised.”

“I will.” She brushes her fingers through my hair. “Come up here.”

I take a pillow from the chair and place it beneath her leg before joining her. Cassie gives me a look that says she knows I would bring the entire medicine cabinet if she let me. I brush my thumb along her cheek and wait for her to pull me down.

The last light fades across the bedroom as I kiss her again. Cassie slides her fingers beneath the collar of my shirt and draws it over my head, stopping when the movement pulls at her injured arm. I help her free it without jostling the dressing, then lay her hand against my chest.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she murmurs.

“What thing?”

“Acting like I’ll break if you touch me.”

“You were in a burning stable this afternoon.”

“And I’m here with you now.” She guides my hand to her waist. “I’ll tell you if something hurts.”

I believe her, though it takes effort to let her set the pace. She pulls me down for another kiss, and when I pause to check her expression, she answers by pulling me closer. I can feel some of the tension leave her, and I let my own guard fall with it.

We take our time, moving together slowly, and afterward I pull her into my side while her breathing evens out.

Cassie has chosen to stay, and I want to believe I’ve given her enough truth for that choice to be hers.

Sofia calls us down for dinner before either of us can fall asleep. Cassie insists on walking, so I stay beside her on the stairs and let her take her time. Sofia and Leo are waiting in the dining room with soup, bread, and questions about Cassie’s injuries. Cassie answers them while Murphy prowls beneath the table, hopeful that someone will drop a piece of chicken. When Cassie’s appetite fades, Sofia puts the remaining soup away. She and Leo leave for their own house soon afterward, and I walk upstairs beside Cassie, matching her pace on each step.

Cassie falls asleep with her ankle raised on a pillow and her hand resting over mine. I stay awake until the voices downstairs fade and the house settles around us.

I wake when Murphy climbs onto the foot of the bed. Cassie is asleep beside me, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her bandage is still in place, and her breathing is clear. I check both without touching her, then ease out from beneath the blanket.

The clock reads after one. I should sleep while she does. Instead, I put on a shirt and go downstairs.

A guard stands beyond the front windows, facing the drive. I pass the library and enter the music room at the back of the house. Moonlight reaches the piano through the tall windows, enough for me to find the bench without turning on every lamp. I switch on the small one above the keys.

My mother bought the piano when I was thirteen. She played in the evenings after work, usually with a book open beside her because she liked to change songs whenever she remembered another. Misha would come over and ask her to play the same melody until he could hum it on the way home.

I rest my hands on the keys and begin softly. The first passage comes easily. By the second, I can picture Misha stretched out on the rug with a schoolbook he had no intention of reading. My mother sits beside me, turning the page before I need her to. For a little while I can remember them in the same room, alive at the same time.

I play through to the end, then begin again. On the last page, a floorboard sounds behind me.

Cassie stands in the doorway wearing one of my shirts. Her hair is loose around her face, and sleep has left a crease on her cheek.

“How long have you been there?” I ask.

“You were already gone when Murphy stepped on my stomach.” She comes into the room. “I followed the music.”

I rise, but she waves me back to the bench and walks the rest of the way herself. I pull out a chair for her beside the piano.

“That’s beautiful,” she says as she sits. “What is it?”

“My mother played it when Misha and I were young. I never learned its name.”

“You know every note.”