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“Of course it looks good,” I grumble, wiggling out of his arms. “Because everything looks good in your penthouse.”
He merely grins again.
“Come on, honey. Why don’t I give you a tour while they finish up? Then you can play me something to show me your skills.”
Still reeling, I allow him to tug me away from the expensive gift and show me around the place I’m going to be staying for the next six months. When I agreed to this job, I was expecting some luxuries because what client doesn’t pamper a girl in his care? But still, this takes things to another level. Two hundred thousand is no small thing. That’s the equivalent of an expensive luxury sports car.
I follow him in a daze as he shows me through the apartment, opening door after door. There must be at least six bedrooms and seven baths. There’s even a solarium off to one side, and an office nook that Luke says will be my private sitting room. Then, we return to the living room, and before us stands the gorgeous grand piano wiped clear of fingerprints and dust. It’s a beautiful, gleaming behemoth and I choke a bit, the breath catching in my throat. Luke turns.
“Is something wrong, sweetheart?” he asks.
“Why are you doing all of this?” I ask hoarsely.
“What do you mean?” he asks, black brows drawing together.
I cross my arms over my chest and take a deep breath because he’s not talking his way out of this one. I pin him with a look. “I’m not a fool, Luke. I’ve had a lot of jobs working for City Girls, but none like this one. You didn’t have to buy the piano. Hell, I can’t even take it with me once the job is over, so I don’t understand why. What are your true motivations?”
He throws me a contemplative look before stuffing his hands into his pockets and resting one hip against the piano. How can he be so casual when I feel like I’m losing my mind?
“I want this to be believable, Patty, you know that.”
I nod sharply. “Yeah, I mean, I get that, but buying me a piano, and having me stay over 24/7? Isn’t that a little over the top?”
He tilts his head at me, the ghost of a frown tugging the corners of his mouth. “You don’t like it?”
“Luke,” I start to run a frustrated hand through my hair, and then I remember it’s tied up in a bun and settle for scratching at a fake itch at the back of my head. “That’s not the point. Of course I love all of this. You’ve given me access to luxuries that I’ve never dreamed of, and you know your penthouse looks like it’s out of Architectural Digest. It’s just that …” I wrap my arms around myself, unable to continue.
“But what?” His voice is soft, inviting. “Tell me, sweetheart.”
I look up at him, and his gaze is uncharacteristically gentle. I want to tell him about my fears. I want to tell him that I don’t want this dream to end. I want to trust him and to throw myself into his arms. But Simona’s warning echoes in my head: Don’t go there, Patty. That’s not for girls like us, and you know it. I shake my head and let my shoulders fall with defeat.
“And I don’t know,” I mumble, my eyes suddenly hot. “It just feels over the top, that’s all.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he growls while pulling me into his arms. “Don’t worry about that, please.” He pulls me into his arms. “You deserve it. You’re doing a fantastic job, and I can tell my mother already loves you. You’re helping me more than you know, honey, and you’re worth every penny.”
I take a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay.”
With that, Luke kisses the top of my head. “Speaking of which, why don’t you play me something? You were going to play me something at the Soho Grand, remember, but never got the chance.”
I blink and take another deep breath before looking at the piano. Its smooth, ebony surface shimmers in the light from the window and I send a silent “sorry” to Scrappy in my head because even from here, I know the Steinway will blow Scrappy out of the water. Even more, I’ll be the first person to touch this instrument, and despite all of my reservations about Luke, this is a once in a lifetime chance that I have to experience.
“Okay,” I say softly before easing out of his arms. Then, I sit on the bench and lift the fall-board from the keys. The white and black keys glimmer, the rectangles geometric and eye-catching. In my head, I name this piano Marguerite as my hands hover above the keys. Then, they descend slowly and I begin to play “Mass” by Zwera, a soothing, gentle melody that reminds me of lovers meeting for the first time. My body sways as the music flows from my fingers and into the body of Marguerite.
