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His fingers slow on the keys as he senses my presence, but I back away into the shadows. I don’t want him to see me yet. See me and send me back to hell.
Quietly I make my way back upstairs and look around the room.
I pray that I see a path on what I should do next.
The next night comes and I hear the music again.
It plays in the same melodious way I heard it play last night.
He’s calling me again.
I get a strong feeling now that he knows I’m okay… and I think he knows I’m hiding.
I could tell when he brought the food up to feed me earlier.
The music is playing again, and I think he’s playing that song because he’s trying to reach that part of me who will talk to him.
So I move.
Just like last night I slip off the bed and make my way down the stairs and to the hall where I see him again. This time I don’t hide when he glances over his shoulder. Deciding that I can’t hide forever I stand in the doorway so he can see me.
A smile curves his beautiful lips and a little laugh rumbles in his chest.
“You heard me then?” he states and I don’t know what to say.
“I just …”
“Come and sit next to me,” he says and I do as I’m told.
I lower to sit and he stops playing when I do.
He looks at me and I avert his gaze, looking at the reflection of us in the window. My face looks much better. I look much better and we look like we’re a real couple.
I look back to him and he stares at me with those eyes. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing those tattoos again. I could be looking at an angel. A dark angel, a dark knight who came to save me from death when I was certain it would come for me.
“Thank you, thank you for saving me,” I rasp and swallow back tears as they threaten to come again. They’re never far.
I haven’t said thank you yet, not like that. I tried to talk and tell him the first chance I got when I first got here but I don’t remember if the words came out.
“I’m sorry I left you,” he replies to my surprise.
I shake my head. “No, that’s not something to be sorry for.”
“It is. It is Megan…” There’s a sadness in his eyes that deepens the turbulence of the storm I always see brewing.
He reaches out and caresses my cheek. The hint of a smile comes back and he holds my gaze again.
“You’re feeling better. That’s why I played for you to come. You don’t have to stay in bed and hide,” he says.
How do I tell him that I’m staying in bed because I don’t want him to send me back to Lucca? I’m not his problem to deal with though.
“I’ll start getting up and moving around,” I promise.
He starts playing a melody again. Slower this time. He looks back to his fingers on the piano keys and brushes over middle C.
His hands flow, moving effortlessly over the keys as he starts playing Beethoven’s ninth symphony finale. It’s one of my mother’s favorites.
He cuts me a glance out the corner of his eye and his lips arch.
