Chapter 13 #2
He’d said nothing about what had occurred at the hospital for a few hours, but I’d sensed on the drive how much the incident had weighed on his mind.
There’d been no acts of business handled in front of me, although the two well-dressed goons in the front of the SUV were a clear indication of how dangerous the situation was.
So far, I’d also counted three guards standing watch over the house but there were likely more. While the land was less than an acre, given the terrain with the trees, there would likely be at minimum six soldiers at all times. That’s what my father and uncle would do.
And my guess was that the Russians were far less trusting.
I’d also noticed the cameras on every corner, with more in other locations including the tiki bar near the pool.
There was no chance of escaping unless I could render the security system useless.
Not my area of expertise. The only possibility I had since he’d taken my phone after forcing me to call in sick was to wait until he fell into a deep sleep or left for a meeting.
There was also no way he’d stay here with me for an extended duration.
Whatever the reason he was in town, it was to perform a duty.
Or to begin a war. The thought had crossed my mind, especially with the hushed conversations held around the wedding.
I had dozens of questions of my own, but in attempting to discover more about his identity, I would be forced to reveal more about mine.
There was no win in the situation, no matter how I tossed the cards. Keeping Kirill occupied with other duties was the only way to buy myself some time.
For what, I just didn’t know.
The bedrooms upstairs were beautiful, the master bedroom another work of art in both the decorative style and the weight and darkness of the furniture.
All meant for a king.
At one point, I’d known at least twenty families in town.
They were friends with my father, acquaintances with my uncle.
They were all powerful, ruthless in whatever business they entered and highly influential.
Little did people know certain families who lived here were considered pillars of the community while running it behind the scenes.
When I was a child, their children had been my friends, girls and boys invited to birthday parties and other celebrations. They were safe. They had their own bodyguards as I’d had so we spoke the same language.
But they were never truly my friends, merely playing their parts as I’d done as well.
The boys had gone on to becoming likenesses of their fathers, taking over various positions within the family companies, learning their craft while waiting to take the helm.
Were any of them decent people? Hell, no. And it had been my family who’d been the masters of keeping them under control, using their contacts while running the entire country behind the scenes.
There were people in the country who believed the majesty of those considered members of a Camelot society lived in the Hamptons. A few did, players and politicians, but the real control, the true masters who worked the puppet strings lived in Scarsdale.
Sighing, after finishing uncovering the last bedroom, I noticed Kirill was folding sheets in the library. Perhaps he was keeping an eye on me.
I tiptoed past, determined to keep some space for now.
Once downstairs, I wandered through the halls until I realized there was an entire wing I hadn’t paid any attention to. As soon as I opened a set of double doors, I was immediately in awe.
The room was the one with the turret, the almost octagon shape housing a single true piece of furniture. A grand piano, so large it took up most of the footprint in the room, only two chairs and a couple of walls of bookshelves on the side.
The musical instrument was magnificent, ebony in color, the finish gleaming in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. I was shocked it hadn’t been covered, but maybe the owner hadn’t wanted to disturb the piano’s beauty.
With reverence, I walked closer, remembering the days as a child when I’d been forced to provide entertainment for my father’s friends. I moved to the bench, pulling it out before brushing the tips of my fingers across the top.
Someone had recently polished the surface, not a speck of dust even in the shimmer of sunlight. Even though my musical gift had been turned into an unexpected attribute used for business purposes, I’d never lost my love or enjoyment of making music.
The lid was heavy and as I lifted it into position, I took a deep breath. The scent of the polish they’d used was familiar and for a few moments, I was pulled back in time as I ran my fingers down the length of the keyboard.
The room was far enough removed from the rest of the house, maybe Kirill wouldn’t hear me. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed at my gift; music was simply another clue. I’d given up playing the moment I’d left for college, missing it terribly at first.
But as required by princesses and ogres, adaptions had to be made.
After settling on the smooth surface, I closed my eyes. The music had become a part of my life, as natural as breathing. So now, I could easily remember the keys and notes of my favorite songs, concertos and rhapsodies, sonnets that had always evoked deep emotions.
Nothing had changed, other than the years going by.
Trying to avoid being who I was had obviously failed.
I don’t know what possessed me to start playing other than the ache in my heart or the butterflies in my stomach.
But as soon as I did, I was able to drive the demons away.
There was no other sound, no thought of interruption.
Just me and the piano. And what had been the only respite I’d had until I’d reached eighteen.
My fingers were a little rusty, but my concentration was the same. And so, I played.
One song turned into another as a wash of different emotions shifted through me, leaving me tingling all over. The second song became a longer third, the music flowing through me, soothing the demons if only for a little while.
I was honestly surprised my memory was intact, allowing me to enjoy the moment without hating the way I was playing. As I came to the crescendo of a particularly dark piece, my entire body was in sync with the rhythm, my fingers flying on the keyboard.
Beads of perspiration were trickling down my face, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the music.
When I finally reached the end, my fingers remained on the keys as the last sound evaporated in the room.
Only then did I realize I wasn’t alone. I kept my eyes shut even as Kirill clapped, the applause somehow strange coming from him.
But a part of me wanted his approval, something else that would linger in my mind, bothering me as much as my physical response to him.
“That was… incredible,” he said and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was genuinely surprised that I could play.
Whatever possessed me to slam the lid I wasn’t certain, but I did, suddenly nervous and angry at the intrusion. When I finally opened my eyes, I realized why my reaction had been so strong.
A single missed note and my father had criticized me, reminding me of whatever concert I had in the near future. Even if it had been meant for his friends and nothing else.
Kirill was different, the hard, dangerous man allowing me to see a glimpse inside his soul.
Just like he’d done when I’d been so terrified of flying.
There was genuineness to his reaction, heartfelt and in this case, amazement that struck me harder than anything else. His smile and the shimmer of enjoyment in his eyes weren’t something he could fake. Yet as he took a step closer, I bristled in the way I had with my father.
He stopped a few feet away, cocking his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. I just don’t like it when…” I knew the answer wouldn’t be one he left alone.
“When what? When someone listens to you? Your music reminds of an angel singing.”
The comment coming from someone like Kirill couldn’t have shocked me any more than it did. “I’m no angel. But I guess you figured that out.” I hadn’t noticed that he now had two glasses of wine in his hands.
Why was it when I was at the point of being able to shut down my feelings about him that he did something so out of the norm?
“Angels come in many forms, Vivian. Have you played all your life?”
He wasn’t going to allow me to skirt around these answers. “Since I was four, although I’m certain you can tell by how terribly I played that I haven’t practiced in a very long time.”
“Because of your difficult schedule.”
How was I to tell him the truth? “Yes.”
“But.” He was too close, so much so that I knew I couldn’t dash away from him.
When I stiffened as he placed a glass in front of me, his smile and slight laugh put me at ease.
“I might be a barbarian, but my mother used to play piano a long time ago. She told me that if I ever damaged the surface while being a careless kid, she’d beat my ass. ”
“She did?” Allowing me to see inside his world? Shocking.
“More than once.” His eyebrows knitted together.
“And did you heed her advice?”
His laugh was deeper. Huskier. Creating the same series of sensations that could push me to an out-of-control moment. “No.”
Why did his frankness surprise me? Laughing, I placed my hand over my mouth but couldn’t stop. “What did she do?”
“She beat my ass.”
“Oh, no. I bet you didn’t do that again.”
“Well,” he said, scratching his head before leaning over the piano. “Let’s just say I learned a little about woodworking when I was older.”
“Oh, my God. Did she know?”
“She knew. I didn’t realize that until later, but she realized that in trying to do the right thing, I was learning. What I wasn’t certain. I was a bad child when I was growing up. Always getting into things. Which I am certain you would know nothing about.”