THE MUSIC OF US

Chapter Three

Thursday evening arrived with its usual heaviness.

Every Thursday, I dined with my grandmother, Baroness Hanna De Rosa. It was our tradition. The matriarch of our family demanded it, and I obeyed without protest.

The De Rosa matriarch was a woman of power. Every movement she made carried grace and authority. Even after losing her only son and daughter in law in the plane crash ten years ago, she remained unshaken. She ruled the boardroom with a calm that inspired fear, and she ruled me with a love that often felt like duty.

This dinner, however, would be different.

I knew her well enough to sense her intent. There would be another woman waiting at that dinner table. Another carefully selected candidate meant to become my wife. Another face with the same delicate smile, rehearsed charm, and hollow eyes.

I was tired. Tired of polite pretenses. Tired of being a project to be fixed.

That afternoon, I stood at my study window, thinking of how to escape the inevitable. The soft rustle of the wind drifted through the garden. Then I saw her.

Margaret Josemaria.

She was running across the courtyard, chasing something small and fluttering in the air. Her scarf. The breeze had carried it off, and she laughed softly as she tried to catch it. Her dark hair came loose and tumbled down her shoulders. The sunlight caught it, turning the strands into waves of black silk.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe.

The sight was effortless, almost magical. She looked alive, untouched by the stillness that ruled this place. In that instant, an idea came to me. Reckless. Unplanned. Desperate.

I pressed the intercom.

Mr John appeared moments later.

I typed quickly.

“I need a favor. Miss Josemaria will accompany me to dinner tonight. Tell her I request her company. Help her prepare. She must look the part.”

Mr John hesitated. “Sir, that might not be appropriate. She is a guest, not…”

I gave him a steady look, and he nodded. “As you wish.”

When he returned hours later, he carried a quiet smile. “She agreed,” he said. “Although she is nervous. She mentioned she has nothing suitable to wear.”

I had expected that.

“Take her into town,” I wrote. “Get her everything she needs. Dress, shoes, hair, accessories. Spare no cost.”

He bowed and left.

For the first time that day, I felt anticipation rising in me. Not excitement, but something unfamiliar. A pulse. A memory of what life used to feel like before it turned into an echo of silence.

It was past seven when I descended the stairs, dressed in my black suit. The hall was quiet, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and faint perfume. Then I saw her.

Margaret stood at the bottom of the staircase.

She wore a satin dress the color of rose petals, soft and flowing. Her hair framed her face in gentle curls, and a delicate shine touched her lips. The simplicity of her beauty struck me harder than I had expected.

I stopped mid-step. My hand trembled slightly on the railing.

She looked up at me, uncertain, then smiled. “Good evening, Mr De Rosa.”

Her voice was steady, but I could sense her nervousness.

For a few seconds, I could only stare. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words that once lived in me no longer existed.

She called my name softly. “Mr De Rosa?”

I blinked, realizing I had been silent for too long. I nodded once, then gestured for her to wait. I turned and went back upstairs.

From my drawer, I took out a small box. Inside was a string of white pearls that had belonged to my mother. I had never given it to anyone. Not even once.

When I came back down, she was still standing there, her eyes wide with curiosity. I opened the box and gently lifted the pearls. Without a word, I stepped closer and placed them around her neck.

She looked startled but did not move away. The pearls gleamed softly against her skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

I nodded. That was all the reply I could manage.

We drove to my grandmother’s estate in silence. The Bentley glided along the narrow country road, the lights of the city flickering in the distance.

The faint scent of her perfume filled the car, delicate and floral. She sat beside me, hands clasped tightly in her lap. I could feel her tension.

Halfway there, I typed on my phone and showed it to her.

“You look beautiful. Do not be afraid. It is only dinner.”

She smiled shyly and nodded.

Her smile stayed with me long after she looked away.

The De Rosa manor came into view, its golden lights spilling across the long driveway. Inside, my grandmother waited in the grand hall, regal and sharp in her navy gown. Beside her sat another woman, blonde and elegant, sipping wine.

Caroline Dazelle. I remembered the name. She was meant to be my match for the evening.

When we entered, my grandmother’s eyes widened slightly. She stood and smiled, though surprise lingered on her face.

“Louis,” she said warmly, “you brought company.”

I nodded and typed a quick introduction on my phone, showing it to her.

“Grandmother, this is Miss Margaret Josemaria. She is a scholar visiting the estate.”

Margaret curtsied politely. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Baroness De Rosa.”

My grandmother’s eyes softened. “The pleasure is mine, dear. Please, come in.”

Caroline’s expression soured the moment she saw us. She lowered her glass with a sharp clink and leaned back, pretending not to watch. But I saw the anger in her eyes.

Dinner was served. Five courses of elegance and expectation.

I sat beside Margaret, answering my grandmother’s questions through my tablet. Margaret spoke when addressed, her words graceful and intelligent.

They discussed art, history, and culture. I watched the conversation unfold like a melody I had long forgotten. My grandmother laughed, genuinely amused by Margaret’s insight. She was impressed. I could tell.

By the time dessert was served, Caroline had gone silent. Her charm had dissolved into jealousy. I ignored her completely.

When the evening ended, my grandmother kissed my cheek. “You should bring Miss Josemaria again,” she said quietly. “It has been a long time since I have seen you smile.”

I looked at Margaret, who was speaking softly with the butler. Smile. The word echoed in my mind.

On the drive back, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was no longer heavy. It was comfortable. Shared.

As the car rolled up the long drive to my estate, I felt something shift inside me. Something I could not name.

When we arrived, I typed a short message on my phone and handed it to her before she stepped out.

“Thank you for tonight.”

She read it, smiled, and replied quietly, “It was my pleasure.”

I watched her walk toward her quarters, her dress catching the faint glow of the lights. The pearls around her neck glimmered softly, like small moons against her skin.

That night, as I sat in my study, I replayed every moment of the evening. Her laughter. My grandmother’s approval. Caroline’s fury. The feeling of peace I had not known in years.

Then, faintly, just as the clock struck three, I heard it again.

Music.

Handel’s “Hallelujah.”

Soft. Distant. Calling me.

I closed my eyes.

And for the first time in ten years, I did not want it to stop