Fifteen
1138 Words
Chapter Fifteen
I let the words sink in as his breath fans my face. The notes fade into quiet. For a moment, the room feels suspended—just us, the piano, and the weight of things unsaid.
My chest tightens with questions I’ve been holding back, and before I can stop myself, one slips out.
“Why did you bring me to Belmond Manor?”
He seems to weigh the question before answering, his fingers still resting lightly on the keys. “I chose to, because I want you here.”
I frown, remembering our earlier conversation. “When I suggested we could do tomorrow instead, I didn’t mean literally the next day. I meant a different day.”
“Well, it is a different day,” he replies smoothly.
“You know what I mean,” I mutter, part of me wondering if he’s deliberately twisting my words, enjoying the way I stumble over them.
He taps the keys, playing two quick notes, then looks at me expectantly. “Same thing to me. I get what I want.” He shrugs casually, as if that explains everything, as if wanting is reason enough.
I keep quiet, processing my thoughts. He makes everything sound so simple, while my mind insists on complicating it. Maybe that’s the difference between us—he moves forward, I hesitate.
“Pretend the piano owes you money,” he says suddenly, breaking into my silence.
I glance up at him. “That’s ridiculous.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. “Ridiculous works. Hit it like you mean it.”
I press harder this time, and the notes ring louder. He claps once, exaggerated and grinning. “There you go! Fierce.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. The sound feels good, lighter than the weight of my thoughts.
“You make the piano nervous.”
“The piano doesn’t get nervous,” I counter.
“But you do,” he responds, eyes gleaming, voice softer now.
“The piano doesn’t get nervous,” I repeat, firmer this time, though I know he’s right. My nerves betray me more than I’d like.
He watches me with that amused expression he wears so easily. “Maybe not. But you should see your face when you play. It’s priceless.”
I bite back a smile, trying to stay serious, but the corners of my mouth betray me.
“Look at it,” he says, pointing at the keys. “It’s trembling.”
I glance at him, amused. “So what’s next, maestro?”
He smirks, leaning back slightly. “Next, you play three notes. A whole chord. Big step.”
“Three? You’re pushing it,” I reply, narrowing my eyes.
Without hesitation, he places his hand over mine again, guiding my fingers with steady patience. Together we press, and the sound that follows is fuller, richer, carrying more weight than the single notes before. I grin despite myself, surprised at how satisfying it feels, how much more alive the piano sounds.
“See? You’re a promising beginner. You’re listening better,” he says, grinning.
“I’ll take that,” I respond, though my eyes wander to the marble figures stretched across the wall. Their shadows seem to watch us, silent witnesses to this strange lesson, as though they’ve seen countless moments like this before.
“Do you paint often?” I ask suddenly, curious.
“Paint? Occasionally,” he answers, sounding a little surprised by the question, as though I’ve caught him off guard.
I tilt my head. “About the portrait—I’ve been meaning to ask about that.”
He stops, staring at me with expectant eyes. The silence between us sharpens, and I know he understands exactly what I mean.
“You know what I’m talking about,” I press.
“Yes, I do,” he says quietly, his voice carrying weight, but before he can explain, the sound of footsteps interrupts.
“Master Chase,” Richard appears at the door, bowing slightly. “Seth is here to see you. He waits in the study.”
The interruption feels abrupt, pulling me out of the moment. Chase’s expression shifts, guarded now, though his hand still rests lightly on the piano. I study him, wondering what he would have said if Richard hadn’t walked in. The portrait, the manor, his words about legacy—they all swirl together, unanswered.
He rises smoothly, and I catch the flicker of something I can’t place in his eyes. Hesitation? Reluctance? Or maybe just the weight of duty.
“We’ll continue later.” His voice is calm, but I can tell his mind is already elsewhere.
His eyes linger on me for a moment before he turns to Richard. “Have someone show her the garden so she’s entertained while I’m away.”
Richard nods, stepping aside. Before Chase can leave, another figure appears at the doorway.
“There you are,” Seth says, his tone carrying a mix of relief and impatience. “I’ve been texting you for the past hour. Had to follow Richard to confirm you’re alright.”
“Ever dutiful, are you?” Chase’s tone drips with sarcasm, his brow lifting slightly.
Seth smiles sheepishly, flashing pearly whites. His posture remains steady, professional. He looks to be around the same age as Chase, tall and broad‑shouldered, with striking features. His round face carries an expression that suggests familiarity, as though he has walked these halls many times before. His gaze flicks to me briefly, curious but not lingering, before settling firmly back on Chase.
“We need to talk,” Seth says, his voice clipped. It’s the tone of someone used to delivering messages, someone who knows his place but also understands his importance.
“I can tell,” Chase replies, his expression shifting from playful to serious in an instant. The air between them thickens, charged with something unspoken. I can sense the weight in their exchange that I’m not privy to, and it unsettles me.
Chase turns back to me, his tone softening again. “You can take a swim in the pool if you like. There’s a large pool behind.” His voice drops lower, almost reassuring, as though he wants me to feel at ease despite the sudden change in atmosphere. “I’ll see you soon.”
He holds my gaze for approval, winks at me, then leaves with Richard and Seth, the door closing firmly behind them.
The sound echoes faintly, leaving me alone in the vast room. The silence feels heavier now, pressing against me, wrapping around me like a cloak.
I sit still, fingers resting on the piano keys. I press one note, the sound echoing in the empty hall.
It lingers, fading slowly, leaving me with the weight of unanswered questions.
- Writer
