Yes, this was better. This was right. Ophelia was certain—as she deftly went through the chapters, trying to get a sense of where Salim had left off with his lessons all those years ago—that she had made the right choice.

When she’d left Nikolai in the breakfast room, her mind had been in disarray. To try to get some clarity, she’d spent most of the morning walking around the city, uncertain where to go or what to do. Initially, she’d wondered if she should rush back to the hotel and accept Nikolai’s offer. But then, an art gallery had popped up in front of her, and she’d found herself wandering inside.

And, as she’d looked at the beauty around her, all she could think was to wonder what Salim would say about the pieces. And once she’d realized that, what she had to do became clear.

Salim was a quick learner. Even after all this time away from the keys, his hands seemed to be adept at remembering the shape they should take on the keyboard. Ophelia only had to put her hands over his to reshape them now and then, when he forgot. She almost got the sense, as they went further with the lesson, that he was occasionally forgetting on purpose, just so she would correct him.

She didn’t mind.

“That’s very good. Can you go from the top of the phrase? From that E, there.”

A good teacher would be watching her student’s hands as he played. But Ophelia wasn’t a teacher, and she found herself instead watching his face.

The concentration there was astounding. He had a focus that she’d rarely seen in others. The kind of focus that others had often told her that she had.

It was mesmerizing, and it made her want to kiss him. But it also, she was surprised to find, made her want to get up off the piano bench, leave the room, and run. The impulse hit her out of nowhere, and it took her a moment to see it for what it was.

“What’s wrong?”

Salim’s focus was impressive, but apparently not absolute.

“What? Nothing. Nothing is…” Her voice trailed off.

Now, that intense focus was set on her. And that impulse to run was all the stronger.

“This has been fun, but I think I should go.”

She went to stand, but before she could do so, she felt his hand on her arm. It wasn’t harsh, or commanding. The pressure was gentle, but firm, and the feel of him touching her was enough to keep her planted on the bench.

“Where is this coming from? You were the one that wanted to meet me here. And now you’re running away?”

It was his soft voice again, with just a trace of his accent.

“Yes, but that was before…”

“Before what?”

Before I remembered how unequal we are. Before I realized that you’ve been with all those women and I’ve been with no one. Before you realize that I’m a fraud who has only been pretending to be anything other than a little dancing machine; before you want nothing more to do with me, and you leave me here, wanting you, with my heart broken.

She didn’t realize she was looking down at the ground until he lifted her chin gently with his other hand. She looked up and into his eyes, and there it was again: that focus. But all of the conflict that she had seen in him, both here and in London, was gone.

Instead, she saw his eyes close, and felt hers involuntarily do the same. Then, she felt the soft, gentle pressure of his lips on hers and a feeling like a trapdoor had opened inside her chest and dropped out everything inside. She felt light—almost weightless—and only knew that she still even had a body because she could feel his arm around her waist, and then his hand on her back.

It was a perfect eternity, and also not nearly long enough, when he pulled back and his lips left hers. She felt her eyes flutter open, and his face—both satisfied and concerned—came into focus.

“What is it, Ophelia?” he asked, the words just barely audible. “Where is this sadness coming from? What could you possibly have to be ashamed of?”

There was no question of running, and no question of lying, and no world in which she could possibly resist answering.

“We’re not the same,” she said.

His concerned look turned to a gentle smile, and she felt his hand rest on the side of her face, his thumb gently caressing her cheek.

“No,” he said. “We’re not. You’re some kind of miracle, and I’m just a man.”

She looked down again.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean…”

She stopped, unsure of how to actually say the words.

Part of her couldn’t believe she was even trying to tell him. Of all the people in the world to tell, a worldly man like Salim was last on the list. At least with the men she’d gotten close to telling before, they were a little bit closer to where she was. A bit less experienced themselves. A bit more attainable. A bit less perfect.

But he wasn’t just some worldly, unattainable man, was he? In such a short time, he’d already become so much more than that. And he needed to know. No. She needed him to know.

Ophelia breathed in, breathed out, and tried to calm herself.

“It’s just that you’ve lived this life, and been with all of these women…”

He looked relieved.

“That’s what bothers you, is it? I can assure you, no woman from my past is going to surface and try to cause problems. I left things on good terms with all of them. And, as much as I admired them, there’s no one I’m holding onto feelings for, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She shook her head.

“No, that’s not what I mean. That’s not what I’m worried about. It’s not that you’ve been with other people. It’s that I…haven’t.”

“And you think that you not having been with many other men—”

“Any.”

The word flung out of her throat without her telling it to. For the briefest moment, Ophelia saw surprise register on his face. Then, it was gone.

“You think that you not having been with any other men is a problem?” he continued.

Ophelia searched his face for some kind of sign of judgement or pity. But there was none there. Only slight confusion and a desire to understand.

“Isn’t it?” she prompted.

Slowly, he shook his head.

“There are those in my country who would think quite the opposite. And I understand, coming from where you do, that there are people that might think it strange, with your age and your place in the world. But to me…no. I see it as a result of who you are. You pour yourself completely into your work. And if that leaves you missing some other things, then that’s just an inevitability. Why would I mind anything that meant you becoming the virtuoso that you are?”

With those words, simple as they were, a weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying evaporated into the air around them. And the hesitation, the fear that had suddenly compelled her to run away evaporated, too.

All that was left was her and Salim.

She leaned up and into him, pressing her lips to his, determined to make this perfect eternity last.