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Reagan
My hands itched to grab my credit card and go to the nearest mall. It was such an insufferable day—first, the guest, the fake girlfriend stunt, and then Matthew. I couldn’t believe the asshole expected me to start work at seven in the morning.
Jesus. I didn’t know working for Matthew could be so exhausting that I wanted retail therapy this badly. But I knew my bank account wouldn’t let me, not if I wanted to survive the month.
On the bright side, at least Matthew wasn’t so bad to look at. The man was fit as fuck, and I couldn’t believe that I was still able to think straight with him in sight. I was physically attracted to the man, I admitted to myself. I could fantasize all day about his muscles under his crisp suits. But the way he used his phone in front of me was pushing my buttons, and I couldn’t seem to get past his overbearing behavior either.
I was walking out of Matthew’s office to see Alejandra about dinner when the majestic grand piano winked in the dim light of the empty banquet hall, its lid closed. I stopped on my feet, carrying my bag in one hand and pushing the double French door, praying it was open.
The door wasn’t locked, and my heart skipped a beat as I stepped into to the room. My white, square-toed heels clattered against the pristine marble floor. It had been so long since I played the piano, or even touched one.
I climbed the stairs and saw that the fallboard was a little dusty, but once I lifted it, it revealed ivory keys that hadn’t seen the light of day for quite a time. They were calling my name. And the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the piano bench.
Then, the gentle caress of the melody began like moonlight shimmering on a tranquil lake, an ethereal dance between the A and the D keys. I didn’t need a music sheet to play Clair de Lune because I knew it by heart. It was one of the complex pieces I learned with Mommy.
I closed my eyes and let my body sway along with the dreamy and calm sounds of the piano, even though the keys had uneven volume and sustain issues. I couldn’t complain because I needed to play so badly.
When I left home, I didn’t realize that this was one of the things I needed to give up. I was missing the comfort of having a piano nearby, something that could help me clear my head. This week came as a shock, and I didn’t allow myself to process everything because I knew I would spiral. But for a week, I knew I had gone a long way from who I was before I got this job.
Then, all of a sudden, I missed home. Not the one where Ryan was in trouble, or Daddy was drunk. I missed the home where Mommy would play the piano in the sunroom while I did my homework or how we celebrated Christmas together. I missed how the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg during the holidays. I missed the crackle of fire when it was raining, and Mommy composing a new piece of music for me.
I didn’t stop, even when I felt my eyes sting as tears started to build. I kept playing, humming with the tune, forgetting that I was probably trespassing in the banquet hall and touching a precious piano.
“You know you’re not supposed to be here.” The booming volume of Matthew’s voice echoed across the room, startling me so much that I pressed the wrong key.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw that he was standing by the stairs, wearing his usual black suit. He looked beautiful in this lighting, his eyes a mix of admiration and something else that told me that I shouldn’t be in here.
I returned my gaze to the piano keys and sniffled silently, wiping the lone tear that rolled down the side of my face. I squared my shoulders, cleared my throat, and met Matthew’s gaze again.
“Why?” I asked, my voice small. “Nobody’s in here anyway.” Matthew narrowed his eyes at me but didn’t take a step toward me.
“You were playing Clair de Lune,” he pointed.
“You know Claude Debussy?” I raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“I know of him from my music lessons as a child.” Matthew drew in a long breath as he finally took a step closer, and I felt like, as he did, that he was literally taking my breath away. “Unfortunately, music wasn’t my calling, unlike you.”
I didn’t expect Matthew to see me in such a raw and vulnerable state, not when he just called me out for being rude to a guest. But here we were, forgetting about the fake relationship he had presented to his parents and the fact that a guest had complained about me. Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave mine as he closed the gap between us.
“The piano needs tuning,” I pointed out when he reached my side, towering over me. I snapped my head back to the porcelain keys, my fingers dancing against the porcelain surfaces. “It’s a beautiful and expensive piano. You need to take care of it.”
“No one has played it for months. I didn’t see the point.”
“Why get it then?”
“A guest requested live music for the hall. I thought it was a good idea until we couldn’t find a pianist in the city to commit full-time to the job.” Something told me that he didn’t look very hard. Musicians wouldn’t pass up an offer like this—even me. If Matthew told me to play the piano for his guests every single night instead of cleaning rooms, I wouldn’t say no to that. But I didn’t question him.
“A waste then,” I sighed, begging God to let Matthew leave because the electricity dancing in the air right now was dangerous. Was there something about the music that made me feel like this towards Matthew right now, even though I had just been thinking that he needed to work on his personality.
“Reagan?” God, even the sound of my name on his lips was something else tonight. It must be because I was hungry and tired, right? It must be that.
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?” Again, it was the question he had asked me earlier like he was expecting something bad from me. Like what? Was he looking for a valid reason to punish me? I wanted to tell him why I had moved out, but I didn’t want anyone to pity me because I chose to look out for myself.
“Who knows,” I joked, looking up at him. He was still standing beside me, his height covering the sole fluorescent light illuminating the hall. “Maybe I was really sent here to spy on you.”
Matthew was handsome. If I didn’t know he was my brother’s age, I would say he still looked like he was in his thirties. But he wasn’t. But the fact that he hated my brother’s guts and that he was off-limits only piqued my interest more. It might have something to do with me always wanting things I couldn’t have.
