The light flared, then died, submerged once again beneath pools of darkness. “How did you learn to play so well?” Kai switched topics so abruptly my brain scrambled to catch up. “Most obligatory childhood lessons don’t cover such difficult pieces.”
Pieces of memories spilled into my consciousness. A golden afternoon here, an evening performance there.
I kept them locked in a box whenever I could, but Kai’s question pried it open with distressingly low effort.
“My father was a music teacher. He could play everything. The violin, the cello, the flute.” A familiar ache crept into my throat. “But the piano was his first love, and he taught us from a young age. My mom wasn’t a music person, and I think he wanted someone else in the family who could connect with it the way he did.”
Vignettes from my childhood floated to the surface. My dad’s deep, patient voice guiding me through the scales. My mom taking me shopping for a new dress and my family crowding in the living room for my first “recital.” I’d stumbled a few times, but everyone pretended I hadn’t.
Afterward, my father swept me up in a huge hug, whispered how proud he was of me, and took all of us out for ice cream sundaes. He’d bought me a special triple scoop of chocolate fudge brownie, and I remembered thinking life couldn’t possibly get any better than that moment.
I blinked back a telltale sting in my eyes. I hadn’t cried in public since my dad’s funeral, and I refused to start again now.
“ ‘Us.’ You and your siblings?” Kai prompted gently. I didn’t know why he was so interested in my background, but once I started talking, I couldn’t stop.
“Yes.” I swallowed the swell of memories and marshaled my emotions into some semblance of order. “I have four older brothers. They went along with the piano lessons to make our dad happy, but I was the only one who truly enjoyed them. That was why he let them off the hook after they learned the basics but continued teaching me.”
I didn’t want to be a professional pianist. Never had, never will. There was a special magic in loving something without capitalizing on it, and I was comforted by the idea that there was at least one thing in my life I could turn to with no expectations, pressures, or guilt.
“What about you?” I lightened my tone. “Do you have any siblings?”
I knew little about Kai despite his family’s notoriety. For people who’d built their fortune on dissecting the lives of others, they were notoriously private themselves.
“I have a younger sister, Abigail. She lives in London.”
“Right.” An image of a female version of Kai—cool, elegant, and decked out head to toe in tasteful designer clothing—flashed through my mind. “Let me guess. You both also took piano lessons growing up, along with violin, French, tennis, and Mandarin.”
Kai’s lips curved. “Are we that predictable?”
“Most rich people are.” I shrugged. “No offense.”
“None taken,” he said wryly. “There’s nothing more flattering than being called predictable.”
He shifted in his seat, and our knees brushed. Lightly, so lightly it barely counted as a touch, but every cell in my body tensed like I’d been electrocuted.
Kai stilled. He didn’t move his knee, and I didn’t breathe, and we were tossed back to the beginning of the night, when the latch of his arms around my waist conjured all sorts of inappropriate thoughts and fantasies.
Tangling tongues. Sweat-slicked skin. Dark groans and breathy pleas.
The point of contact between us burned, taking our easy banter and condensing it into something heavier. More dangerous.
A blanket of static settled over my skin. I was suddenly, intensely aware of how we would look to anyone walking in. Two people crowded on the same bench, so close our breaths merged into one. A deceptively intimate portrait of rules broken and propriety discarded.
That was how it felt. In reality, we weren’t doing anything wrong, but I was more exposed in that moment than if I were standing naked in the middle of Fifth Avenue.
Kai’s eyes darkened at the edges. Neither of us had moved, but I had the uncanny sense we were barreling down an invisible track headed off a cliff.
Get it together, Isa. You’re conversing in a piano room, for God’s sake, not bungee jumping off the Macau Tower.
I dragged my attention back to the conversation at hand. “So I was right about all the lessons.
Predictable.” The words came out more breathless than I’d intended, but I masked it with a bright smile. “Unless you also have some exciting hobby I don’t know about. Do you tame wild horses in your free time? BASE jump off the top of that tower in Dubai? Host orgies in your private library?”
Embers smoldered, then cooled.
“I’m afraid not.” Kai’s voice could’ve melted butter. “I don’t like sharing.”
The ground shifted, throwing me off-balance. I was scrambling for a response, any response, when a loud laugh sliced through the room like a guillotine.
The electric link sizzled into oblivion. Our heads swiveled toward the door, and I instinctively jerked my leg away from his.
Luckily, whoever was in the hall didn’t enter the room. The murmur of voices eventually faded, leaving silence in their wake.
But the spell had shattered, and there was no gluing the pieces back together. Not tonight.
“I have to go.” I stood so abruptly my knee banged against the underside of the piano. I ignored the pain ricocheting up and down my leg and summoned a flippant smile. “As entertaining as this has been, I have to, um, feed my snake.”
Ball pythons only needed to be fed every week or two, and I’d already fed Monty yesterday, but Kai didn’t need to know that.
He didn’t show a visible reaction to my words. He just inclined his head and replied with a simple, “Good night.”
I waited until I was out of the room and down the hall before I allowed myself to relax. What the hell was I thinking? My night had been a spectacular series of bad decisions. First, going to the piano room instead of heading home to work on my manuscript （in my defense, I usually wrote better after a piano session）， then staying and semi-flirting with Kai.
My run-in with him must’ve knocked my good sense loose.
I made it halfway down the stairs when I ran into Parker, the bar manager.
“Isabella.” Surprise lit her eyes. With her lean frame and platinum pixie cut, she bore a striking resemblance to the model Agyness Deyn. “I didn’t expect to still see you here.”
My shift had ended two hours ago.
“I was in the piano room,” I said, electing to tell the truth. Some Valhalla managers got testy about employees using the facilities even in accordance with the rules, but Parker knew about my hobby and encouraged it.
“Of course. I should’ve known.” Her eyes twinkled.
Parker was a gem, as far as managers went. A thousand times better than Creepy Charlie or Handsy Harry from my previous places of employment. Besides my friends Vivian and Sloane, she was also one of the few people in New York who knew—and kept—my secret. For that, I would always be grateful.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but congratulations on your upcoming work anniversary.”