Page 91 of The Contract Marriage

I stand in the kitchen and stare out over the black ocean. Starlight glints like flecks of silver over the ever-moving water. It’s all going to work out. The baby’s going to be great. I’m going to be fine. I look at the horizon. Mom, Pochi, you’ll finally get your long-overdue justice.

I turn away from the view. My eyes land on the white Steinway. I haven’t touched it since I moved in. I just always looked through it like it didn’t exist. Liam hasn’t said a word about it, even though he must’ve spent a lot of effort and money to get it so quickly.

For me.

I remember the blue crystal baby grand hanging from his rearview mirror. How he casually mentioned he’d heard me play, even as the tips of his ears burned.

As though under a spell, I glide toward the piano, run my fingers along the cool cover. Not a speck of dust. Feeling like I’m in a trance, I open the lid and sit at the bench. The keys gleam under the soft living room lights. I hit the G. The note rings out, clear and resonant. I do it again, then use two fingers to execute a slow, clumsy trill. It’s been so long since I played. Ever since I graduated, I didn’t have the time or energy to indulge. My focus was building Luminary & Co. and finding a way to utterly ruin Hugh and his family.

I stop, then try again. And then again. My fingers grow more nimble, the trill steadier and more controlled.

Then they fly across the piano, and my left hand joins in the opening to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Suddenly, memory takes over. My hands move as if of their own accord, striking the right notes with the vigor I used to play with.

In my heart, I hear my mom’s playing—the playful tempo, the smile on her face, the warmth of the early afternoon sun in the giant music room where her Bösendorfer concert grand sat. Sometimes she’d let me play with her, her playing the left hand while I did the right or vice versa.

As we shared the bench, she’d look at me with a grin and nod while saying, “Dun, pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa!” to help me keep up with the tempo.

So I too murmur, “Dun, pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa,” as I play the parts for both of us while the familiar and comforting scent of apples and sugar swirls in the evening.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Liam

Olivia at the piano, playing Rhapsody in Blue and singing along, is about the last thing I thought I’d see when I hurried home from Happy Hour. She hadn’t even glanced at the Steinway after the first night.

Not that I regret buying it for her. The beautiful white piano suits her, and that hasn’t changed.

To hear her play again is a gift. To hear her sing along with a wistful joy in her voice is a blessing I didn’t dare imagine was possible.

The scent of caramelized apples fills my senses along with the music. All along I thought the size, comfort, and security of this place made it my home, but I was wrong. It’s the smell of her baking and the sound of her on the piano. It’s the soft yearning in her voice as she sings Gershwin.

She hits the final note and stays on the bench, her hands resting gently on the keys. The briny breeze toys with her hair, but she doesn’t move.

I hold my breath, afraid to break the moment. I take her in, etching every line into my memory.

The oven dings and my heart fills with disappointment. Olivia starts as though waking from a dream. She jumps to her feet, then flushes when she notices me. “Liam! How long have you been standing there?”

“Just long enough to hear you play.” Long enough to fall in love with you all over again.

Her flush turns scarlet. “Ugh. Sorry. I’m pretty rusty.”

“No, just pretty.”

She smiles, then walks to the oven to pull something out. I head over to see.

“I just made tarte tatin. Want some?”

“Of course.” She could offer me arsenic and I’d probably say yes.

“Okay, we need to wait ten minutes first.” She sits at the counter.

I join her. Her fingers fidget. What’s gotten her so anxious?

She lifts her eyes to meet mine. Hmm. Not a hint of tension. Something in her gaze feels calmer and steadier. More at peace.

“Good news at work?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything.

She smiles mysteriously. “Better.”