Sophia

 

 

I took an entire three minutes to debate what I'd play for him. Typically, when someone asks me to play the piano, I'll dive into the easiest song I know; Mozart's Moonlight Sonata. I can play it with my eyes closed but I didn't want to revert to the familiar. Instead, I chose Schumann's Arabeske. It's a piece I struggled with for more than three months before I finally perfected it in my senior year of high school.

As I finished the last note and opened my eyes, I turned to see Nicholas sitting in a leather chair less than a foot away, his eyes glued to my hands.

"Sophia," he whispers now, a full thirty seconds after I regrettably took my fingers from the keys. "That was breathtaking. I don't think I've ever heard anything more beautiful."

It was good. The music flowed through me. It didn't hurt that this piano is tuned to perfection. My impulse is to play another song and then another. I could literally sit here all night and savor the sound of this beautiful instrument.

"Your piano is magnificent." I stare at the open lid. "If I had it, I'd never be able to tear myself away from it. This is my addiction."

"I can see why." He taps his earlobe. "I can hear why. You have a gift for this. You must know how incredible you are."

I blush, but it's not from the compliment. It's from the look on his face. He's mesmerized. My first piano teacher would repeat during each of my lessons that my goal was to captivate those who heard me play. I'd search for that certain look in the eyes of the people who came to my recitals. I didn't see it at first, but as my body learned to appreciate and master the music, I began to see it more and more.

"I know that I'm good," I admit without faltering. "I could have been better if I'd have chosen to pursue this."

"Why didn't you? Was it because you wanted to design clothing?"

That's obviously part of it. The other is that my parents didn't see a sustainable future for me as a professional pianist. I didn't either. I never wanted my passion to play to morph into an obligation. I play because it brings me inner peace, not because I'm dependent on it for a paycheck.

"I love designing more than I love playing." I turn on the bench so I'm facing him. "At one time my heart was split in two but I want to see my designs on people. I play the piano for a different reason than I design. Playing fuels the creative part of me and designing is the outlet."

"They go hand-in-hand." He clasps his hands together before he steeples his index fingers to bring them to his lips, his elbows resting on his knees. "When's the last time you played?"

"There used to be an independent music store a block from my apartment." I place my hands in my lap. "I'd stop there at least a few times a week on my way home from work to play. The owner didn't mind. When he decided to close his shop last summer he asked if I wanted to buy the piano, but I couldn’t afford it."

His shoulders lower as his hands tense. "I told you earlier that you can stop by to play this one whenever you want. I meant that."

It's a generous offer that I'm seriously considering. Not only would it give me a chance to play, but it would mean more time spent with him. I'm beginning to wonder if I misjudged him. He looks at me like he wants to eat me up, but his words and his actions are restrained. He's not rushing me into something I may not be ready for and for that I'm grateful.

"Maybe we can work out a schedule for visitation," I joke.

"That discussion needs to include details about what the visitation will cost you."

The air around me suddenly feels much thicker. I've been hyperaware of everything about him since I arrived. That's not surprising given how he's dressed.  It's all black, from the trousers to the button down shirt. The only color that's visible on him is his eyes. Each time I see them, I'm amazed at how strikingly blue they are. Mine pale in comparison to his.

I don't back down from his statement. It might be the faint buzz I feel from the glass of cheap wine I had with dinner. It could be the rush I experienced from playing such a difficult piece so effortlessly. Whatever it is it fuels me to look him straight in the eye. "Is the price steep?"

"It's manageable."

I feel my face heat. "How do you know it's manageable for me?"

"You've kissed a man before, Sophia. We'll start there."

"A kiss?" The words catch in my throat. It's not as if I've never been kissed. I have by plenty of men. I remember some of those kisses with a longing that's faint but familiar like the smell of rain in the distance after a long drought. I can't recall the taste of the lips or the names of the others. Those are the men I didn't share my body with because their kiss wasn't enough to make me wonder what it would be like to taste more.

He leans forward on his elbows, his hands parting. "You want to kiss me. You have since we met."

"No, I haven't," I say with conviction even though I know it's not the truth.

"You're a liar." He stands and faces me. "Give me your hand."

I stare at his outstretched hand for a heartbeat. The skin is smooth, the lines that cross his palms faint. My gaze follows the path of his skin up the sleeve of his shirt that covers his muscular forearm and bicep before it lands on his face. "Just a kiss, Nicholas?"

"One kiss." His fingers curl in unison, beckoning me to take his hand.

I place my hand in his knowing that I can't turn back. I don't want to. I want to kiss him. Hell, I want so much more. He's every woman's dream. His black hair is a tousled mess. The subtle shading on his jaw gives him an edge that promises of a hint of roughness. His lips are full and pink. They're the most kissable lips I've ever seen on a man and he's right. I've wanted to kiss him since the moment I turned to look at him on the subway.

"Come here," he whispers darkly as he tugs me to my feet.

I don't resist when he rests my hand on his chest over his beating heart. His pulse is racing and his breathing is shallow. If I didn't know better, I would think that he's as nervous about our first kiss as I am.

I don't say anything when his hand slides up my arm to the back of my neck. I draw in a deep breath when he tilts my head and looks into my eyes. I smile at him before he bites his bottom lip.

"You're beautiful, Sophia," he says in a husky voice. "I've never met anyone like you."

I close my eyes just as I feel his lips touch mine.