Chapter 10 #2
I nodded. “This is the version Berlin shows everyone. Clean. Open. Easy to understand.”
Kieran glanced at me. “And the other version?”
I met his gaze. “That requires a little more curiosity.”
He smirked. “I’m beginning to think you’re enjoying this.”
“Oh, I am.”
“At my expense?”
I shook my head. “No—with you.”
He flushed.
My mouth appeared to have no filters this morning. Thankfully, Kieran didn’t seem fazed by it.
He scanned the landscape around us. “What’s that building over there, the one with the glass dome?” He squinted at it. “I can see people up there.”
“That’s the Reichstag Building, our parliament. There’s a sloping walkway that takes you all the way up. The view is spectacular from the top.”
He turned and stared along the Unter den Linden. “And what about that spire all the way over there, that looks like a needle. I could see that from the airport when I landed. What is it?”
“The Berlin TV tower in Alexanderplatz,” I told him. “It has a viewing gallery and a revolving restaurant. We could walk that way if you like.”
His face glowed in a way that had nothing to do with the sunlight. “Yes, please.”
We strolled along the Unter den Linden, its two carriageways framed by trees. All around us was the steady flow of people moving in both directions, the rhythm of Berlin in daylight.
Kieran’s hand found mine again. He hadn’t let go throughout the trip on the U-Bahn. What floored me was that he hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t treated it as something temporary.
That mattered to me more than I’d expected. In fact, it mattered more than a kiss would have, at this stage. I adjusted my grip, my thumb brushing once, light yet deliberate.
Kieran showed no outward sign of reaction, but that was fine. He hadn’t let go. Then it hit me, how quiet he’d become.
I glanced at him. “Are you okay?”
He blinked, as if surfacing from whichever deep place he’d retreated into. “I’m fine. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” I told him. “Just tell me where you went.”
Kieran hesitated. “I was thinking.”
I squeezed his hand. “I assumed that.”
He huffed, but there was no humour in it this time. “I was thinking about what happens next.”
I waited.
“My job. The investigation. Whether I’ll even be able to go back.”
There it was, the unseen weight that had settled on those broad shoulders.
“You care about it,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
Kieran glanced at me. “Yes.” Then he smiled. “I love it.”
“Tell me. How did you get into it?”
He looked ahead as he spoke, his voice steadier now.
“I didn’t start out wanting to teach,” he said. “Not really. I wanted to perform. That was the plan.”
“That’s usually the plan.”
He smiled. “Yes. And I did, for a while. Concerts, competitions… all of it.” A pause. “I was good.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
That got me another small smile. “But somewhere along the way,” he continued, “it stopped feeling like… enough.”
That caught my attention. “How?”
Kieran frowned, as if searching for the answer. “I don’t know. It became about getting it right. Playing what was expected. Interpreting things the ‘correct’ way.” He glanced at me. “You’d think that would be satisfying.”
“And it wasn’t.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It felt like I was… repeating something. Not discovering anything.”
A pause.
“So you started teaching.”
“Yes.”
“And that changed it?”
Kieran’s expression softened. “Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“How?”
He let out a quiet breath. “Because students don’t know what they’re supposed to sound like yet. They’re still figuring it out. And when they do—when something clicks—it’s…” He trailed off, then smiled. “It’s real. It’s theirs.”
I watched how his posture changed, listened to his voice settle. “You like that.”
“I do.” He paused. “More than performing, most days.”
“Most days?”
Kieran smiled. “There are still moments when everything lines up. When you’re playing and it feels as though you’re not thinking anymore, you’re just… inside it.” He glanced at me. “That part never goes away.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t.”
He studied me for a second. “You understand that.”
“Yes.”
A look of quiet recognition passed between us.
Kieran gazed at the road ahead of us. “I think that’s why I stayed. Why I built my life around it.” He sighed. “It made sense.”
The way he used the past tense hit me hard.
“And it doesn’t now?”
Kieran didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
It was an honest, uncertain answer, and so very far from the man who had started this conversation.
Another sigh fell from his lips. “Not that any of this will matter if I lose it.”
I came to a halt, abruptly enough that Kieran had to stop with me.
“You haven’t lost anything,” I told him.
Kieran met my gaze, and I winced to see the pain in those expressive eyes, the tightness in his face.
“I’ve been accused of something that could end my career.”
“But you didn’t do it.”
He didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“Then it doesn’t end here,” I declared in a firm voice. “I’m a staunch believer in the truth. It will make itself known. You just have to trust that.”
Kieran held my gaze for a moment longer, then nodded.
We continued walking until we crossed the bridge onto Museum Island, the cathedral ahead of us on the left.
He exhaled slowly. “I spent years thinking I was straight, because that’s what I was supposed to be. It fit. Or at least…” He shrugged. “It didn’t not fit, if that makes sense.”
I said nothing.
“I should’ve told Diana how I was feeling. But by the time I understood what it meant, it felt too late.” He swallowed. “As though I’d built something on the wrong foundation.”
I gave his hand another gentle squeeze. “Or on the only one you had at the time,” I suggested.
Kieran glanced at me. “That’s a kinder way of putting it.”
“I’m not interested in unkind ones.”
He let out a breath. “I thought maybe I was bi.” He shrugged. “Maybe I still am. I don’t know.” He frowned. “But lately…”
We stood in the middle of the pavement, my hands on his shoulders, my eyes focused on his earnest face. “What matters is what you feel now.”
Kieran stared at me. “And what I feel now is… complicated.”
I chuckled. “It doesn’t have to be. Stop thinking you’re going to get it wrong. You won’t.” Then I took his hand once more. “Not if you’re honest about what you’re feeling.”
Kieran’s gaze felt steadier, and the fact that his hand was still in mine told me everything I needed to know.
He glanced at the traffic, the tourists milling around us, then back at me. “I used to feel like I knew exactly where I was going. What I was meant to be doing.” He let out a gentle sigh. “Now it feels like I’ve been following something without really questioning it.”
I tilted my head. “And now you are.”
He glanced at me. “Yes. I think that’s why I came here.”
I smiled. “You came to see what else might be possible.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Something like that.”
The cathedral rose above us, its dome catching the light, green against the pale sky.
Kieran tipped his head back, taking it in. “That’s impressive.”
I got the message. Let’s change the subject.
“You can climb it,” I told him.
That got his attention. “Really?”
I pointed. “See the base of the dome? There’s a walkway that runs around it.”
He narrowed his eyes, following the line I traced. “Hey, I see people.”
“Well?” I asked.
He smiled. “Let’s do it.”
“Hey, this was easier at the start,” Kieran called back to me as we climbed the narrow staircase.
I laughed. The first staircase had been wide with smooth wooden balustrades. That had given way to progressively narrower spaces and steeper metal steps. The sound of footsteps echoed, voices drifting from above and below.
“How many steps did that sign say there were?”
“Two hundred and sixty-seven,” I replied.
The space tightened as we climbed higher, and at one point, he misjudged a step. My hand was at his back in a heartbeat, steadying him. He stilled for a fraction of a second before continuing.
I didn’t move my hand immediately, and he didn’t step away.
“So what number do you think we’re at now?”
I laughed again. “Sixteen.”
Kieran jerked his head to stare at me in horror, and then his gaze narrowed. “You’re evil.”
I pointed upwards. “Keep going, we’re almost there.”
By the time we reached the top, the air had changed. It was quieter, as if the city had dropped a layer of noise somewhere below us.
Kieran moved straight to the stone railing.
I understood that reaction: the view was amazing.
Berlin stretched out in every direction as far as the eye could see: rooftops, trees, the river cutting through it all with quiet precision, meandering around the island.
Straight boulevards radiated out from the centre, and over in Alexanderplatz, there was the glitter of sunlight on glass.
He rested his hands on the stone, leaning forwards, and for a moment, it was as if he’d forgotten everything else.
I took in the way he stood, how the tension had eased out of him. Then he became aware of me again. I saw it happen in the shift of his shoulders, the way he turned to include me in the space.
I rested my hand on his lower back as I gazed at the view.
“This has been a wonderful day,” he said in a hushed tone.
I turned my head towards him. “It’s not over yet.” I pointed across the river. “There’s a bar over there. Good cocktails, and an even better view.” I paused. “We could sit and watch the world go by.”
He smiled. “That sounds perfect.”
For a moment, neither of us moved, contained in a quiet bubble of time. His hand still rested on the stone, mine at his back, the contact easy now, unquestioned.
Kieran looked out over the city again, and I found myself watching him instead.
I loved the way he adjusted—quickly, honestly—when something shifted. There was no pretence with him, no performance.
I was no longer curious where this might go.
I wanted to see how far he’d follow.