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“It’s really hard to play Tchaikovsky. I’ve tried,” I add with a weak laugh.
His eyes narrow. “You know that song?”
“‘Flight of the Swans?’ Of course. It’s from the most famous ballet ever.”
Looking down, he rubs a hand over his beard. “It was Anya’s favorite.”
I pluck up the courage to step closer. “Where did you learn to play like that?”
“My mom taught me.”
“She must have been a good teacher.”
A faint smile flickers over his lips. “She was.”
“You don’t have to stop on my account. I can come back later, or you can play while I work. You really do play exceptionally well. It was very”—a sob builds in my throat, and I swallow it down quickly—“moving.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t play for anyone else.”
“Did you play for her? For Anya?”
He looks past me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. Finally, he nods. She was a lucky woman to have the love of a man like him. I’d voice that, but he wouldn’t take kindly to me referring to his dead wife as lucky, so I remain uncharacteristically quiet.
He stands abruptly. “I’ll leave you to get on with whatever you’re doing.”
I remain frozen to the spot, staring up at him as I feel a tugging on my heartstrings. It’s my fault he stopped playing, and now he’s leaving and I desperately want to ask him to stay. I’m sure that his wife’s favorite song brings him some comfort, and now he looks so sad and lonely. But I also want him to stay because I feel something in his presence, something I haven’t felt in such a long time that I don’t even know how to describe it. Safe? Seen?
With a shake of my head, I clear my throat, aware that I’m staring at him like a moron. “I-I’ll be working in here for the next few weeks I guess, depending on how much there is to sort through and organize. So, if there’s times you like to be alone in here, then I can work around you, or…” Squeezing my lips shut, I stop babbling.
His brow furrows in a frown. “Or?”
I chew on my lip. “Or, um. I kind of like company when I work, so don’t ever feel like you can’t be in here just because I am.”Why did I say that? This is his house. Of course he knows he can be in here whenever he wants. Moron!
His frown deepens into a scowl, and I feel even more stupid than I did a few seconds ago. Without another word, he stalks out of the room, leaving me to let out the breath I was holding.
Well. That was awkward.
I glance around the room, eyeing the huge pile of boxes in the corner. Slipping off my shoes, I flex my toes on the warm wooden floor beneath my feet. I was so focused on Lorenzo, I failed to notice my incredible surroundings when I walked in here. I know I joked about Beast’s castle, but this library really is like something from a fairytale. Three walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, most of which are crammed full of books. There’s a ladder on each wall—the kind that has wheels and is attached to the bookcases. I brush my fingers along the spines as I pass by, noting the rare first editions and leather-bound encyclopedias. It’s marvelous. I could spend six years here and not get bored. Stepping further into the room, I blink at the sunlight filling the space thanks to the massive sash windows.
Wandering to the large oak desk beneath the window, I run my fingers over the wood and smile to myself, imagining Lorenzo sitting here, head bent low and brow furrowed as he works, while I’m sorting through his mom’s things in the corner. Although given the scowl on his face when he walked out of here a few moments ago, that’s not likely to happen any time soon.
ChapterSeven
LORENZO
The library is filled with the scent of jasmine and lemon and it stops me in my tracks. She sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by piles of books. I forgot she was in here sorting through our mom’s stuff. Before I can sneak out, she looks up and catches my eye, giving me a huge smile like seeing me is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.
“Hey! I hope you don’t mind me getting an early start, but I couldn’t sleep knowing all this stuff needed sorting.”
Clearing my throat, I close the door behind me. So she heard me playing piano last night; it isn’t like I shared anything meaningful with her. Just because she’s in here doesn’t mean I can’t work in here too. She’ll stay on her side of the room, and I’ll stay on mine.
“Morning,” I say, taking a seat behind my desk.
“Your mom has some incredible first editions in here. Did you know that?”
I switch on my laptop and avoid her gaze. “Yes.”
“I mean, some of these are super rare. Did you know she has—”
