Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
P aige had been right—it rained Saturday, throwing a wrench in Mrs. Holland’s party. The sky had cracked open and begun pouring while staff were setting up, which led to “Dies Irae” ringing on my phone an hour before I was supposed to clock in. For the second Saturday in a row. This time, they needed help with a hasty tear-down filled with sopping linen and crushed paper flowers—and they needed the Staff Princess for the job.
I was the Staff Princess when they needed me, but expendable when they didn’t. Right.
“This is my first true event of the year, and it’s ruined!” Mrs. Holland’s crying filled the Alderton-Du Ponte event hall, to the point that, even though I was across the room, I heard it in my head. “Just absolutely ruined !”
“It’s not ruined, Mom,” Caroline cooed, her placating tone high and sweet as she patted her mother’s hand. Mrs. Holland slumped against one of the finished tables, planting her head down and almost landing it on the centerpiece. “We just had to move it inside. That’s okay.”
Paige and I were put in charge of hanging the new linens across the room, squeezing out the water of the lesser soaked ones and retrieving new ones from the laundry room. We worked near the entrance’s doorframe now, where Paige struggled to pin the linen pleats even. “Didn’t she host last week’s event?” Paige muttered down to me.
“Yep.”
Annalise held a box of tissues beside Caroline, passing them down when Mrs. Holland’s tears and snot soaked through the others. Michael stood behind her with his hands in his pockets, and though the event hadn’t even started, he looked wholly out of place.
Maybe because he was the only guy in the room without Aaron at his side.
“Why am I so bad at this?” Paige groaned from where she stood on the ladder’s sixth rung, waving her hand down. “Can you pass me a pin?”
“It doesn’t look that bad.” But it did look pretty rough. The pleats weren’t the same thickness across the most recent stretch of fabric she’d put up, making the entryway seem frumpy. I wasn’t going to say that, though. We were almost finished. “If Mrs. Pine wants it done better, she can do it.”
And then I glanced over my shoulder, paranoid. No scary event coordinator in sight.
As I scanned the space, though, my eyes fell on the full grand piano that was tucked in the corner of the ballroom. It was like I was noticing it for the first time, the way it glittered underneath the chandelier light, almost making it look golden and glowing. It was more of a display piece than one for actual use, only tuned when a musician played it for events and galas. It hadn’t been too long since the last time, but I never allowed myself to really look at it before.
Now, though, as I eyed its glossy surface and bench seat, I couldn’t help but wonder what Aaron would look like perched there.
It was almost shameful, thinking about him in that context.
Since he came back to Alderton-Du Ponte, I nearly convinced myself that he’d lied about playing the piano. You have to be honest to play the piano , I’d said back in June. Bad guys are rarely ever honest with themselves. Which, like, hello—Aaron Astor was anything but honest.
I needed to hear him play. I needed to know whether that was a lie… or if something else was.
Paige glanced over at my friends. “Are you wondering where the hottie is?”
I straightened, looking down at the pins in my palm. “Of course not. Why would I?”
“Oh. Well, I was going to say you don’t have to wonder.” She stretched up to fold the next inch of fabric. “Because I know.”
Don’t be curious, don’t be curious . “How do you know?”
“Well, when I was collecting laundry yesterday, I volunteered to check the country club’s workout areas for towels. Which includes the tennis and pickleball courts.” She smirked. “But if you’re not curious?—”
I tapped the ladder’s legs, rattling the metal. “Spill.”
“Fiona asked Aaron if he’d like to go out on her family’s yacht last night for a moonlit dinner on the water. Mentioned how cushy it was, with a private suite, and a chef who makes a killer full breakfast.” Her voice lowered to sound suggestive. “ Breakfast . Which means…”
“They most likely had a sleepover.” The thought was nothing short of skin-crawling.
The clock was ticking on Aaron’s inheritance, so a moonlit dinner on a private yacht would’ve been the perfect time to propose. A romantic setting, and Fiona would’ve melted like a puddle in his palm. In fact, inviting him out on the yacht was probably her way of scheming it together, giving Aaron the picture-perfect opportunity to make his move.
A strange feeling washed over me, like something both hot and cold at the same time. I needed Aaron to get married to get Mom’s dream house, but the idea of Fiona waltzing into the ballroom with a rock on her finger, broadcasting her new status, caused my stomach to cramp.
And then the idea of the house on its own, and everything that’d accompany it like dominoes falling, only made my belly ache further.
“A shame.” Paige reached down for another pin. “And here I was hoping that our meeting yesterday was kismet, and Aaron fell in love at first sight.”
I laughed at her playful tone. “You could always be the mistress on the side.”
“Ooh, that’d be fun, wouldn’t it?”
Paige came off the ladder so we could shift it down in front of the doorway. I braced my hands on it, holding it steady while she climbed. I glanced at the clock. While we worked on hanging the tapestries, the catering staff worked on setting up the dessert stand, arranging the punch bowls, and making sure the centerpieces on each table were captivating and perfect. I glanced around, trying to spot anything out of place.
My gaze settled again on where Caroline and Annalise still stood, beautiful in their floral spring dresses. Both were pictures of beauty and grace where they stood on the polished marble. On the sidelines in my teal Alderton-Du Ponte polo, our differences couldn’t be any clearer.
Annalise had tried to come up to me when she arrived, but stopped a few feet away, as if remembering, ah, right, not while she’s working .
“You’re still on linens?” Mrs. Pine demanded as she entered the event space, her already wrinkled face scrunched up with a few new livid ones around her mouth. “Guests are set to arrive any minute, and you’re clogging up the doorway!”
Paige nearly dropped the pin I’d passed up to her at Mrs. Pine’s sudden appearance. “These are the last ones; I just need to pin them into place. It’s—it’s hard for me to reach?—”
“Lovisa, you do it, then,” Mrs. Pine ordered, not even hiding her eye roll. “It doesn’t take two people to hang fabric. Paige, go to the kitchen and see if they need a hand.”
“But I’m shorter than Paige?—”
“You’re not being paid to goof off, Lovisa,” Mrs. Pine snapped at me, icy tone unforgiving as she regarded the checklist in her hand. Apparently, there wasn’t too much left to do, if she had time to berate me. “Sometimes I think you let yourself get too comfortable around here.”
I pressed my lips together to seal in a retort, because it would be career suicide if I spoke up. So, instead, I nodded as Mrs. Pine went off to begin scolding the next staff member.
Paige hopped off the ladder. “You’ll be okay? It was hard for me, and I’ve got a couple inches on you.”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
She gave me a sympathetic look. “Look on the bright side—if you fall and break your neck, you’d probably be able to sue.”
A small smile touched my lips. “Helpful.”
The reason I was here with Paige was to hold the ladder steady in case anyone rounded the corner to enter the room and bumped into it. It wasn’t the sturdiest thing to begin with—it looked like it should’ve been, since it was brand new and bulky, but it became wobbly once you got past the fourth rung. I wasn’t afraid of heights, but I was afraid of falling.
It would be fine, though. I just had to pleat one more yard of fabric to meet the other edge of the door frame, and then I’d be done. But where Paige stood on the sixth rung, I had to step up onto the seventh, and even then, it was a struggle to gather the fabric enough to create a pleat. As I stretched, the base wobbled a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to give my heart a stuttering jolt.
“Well, that doesn’t look safe at all.”
I jumped at the voice below me, pulse skipping again. Aaron stood before the ladder, staring up at me with his hands in his pockets. He wore a light gray button-down tucked into dark pants, his hair loose. Well-rested. Maybe because he slept on a yacht .
“Where did you even come from?” I demanded, more accusatory than I should’ve been. “I’ve been in the doorway?—”
“There is a side door,” he said, tipping his thumb over his shoulder. “And you do realize those pleats aren’t even, right?”
I gritted my teeth. “Gee, thanks for pointing it out.”
Aaron’s eyes trailed down to where my feet were on the ladder’s rung. “The spreader lock is missing.”
“The what?”
Aaron reached up and tapped a spot where it looked like a bolt should’ve gone. “The thing that locks the legs in a stable position. A place that rakes in as much money as this does per year can’t afford to buy a new step ladder?” He reached out and laid his hands on each side of the metal legs, gripping it tight. “I’ll hold it steady while you finish your abysmal hanging job.”
I choked out a disbelieving scoff. “I’d like to see you do better.”
“I know reverse psychology when I see it, Lovisa. But it was a nice try.”
With Aaron’s grip securing the ladder place, I climbed another rung, bringing me at the perfect level to pin the linen in place above the door. Instead of getting down and moving the entire ladder over, I stretched, snagging the pin into the caulk near the trim. Now that I was up close, Paige’s uneven pleats were more noticeable.
I bit my lip. “I should fix it while I’m up here, shouldn’t I?” I murmured, more to myself.
“Might as well,” Aaron said. “It’s a difficult job, keeping the ladder from toppling, but I’ll take one for the Alderton-Du Ponte team.”
I glanced down and found his dark eyes. He wasn’t looking at me, but rather at my hand where it hung above the door trim. I half expected a snarky quip—“you shouldn’t be leaning that far”—but he only watched in silence.
And then his gaze slid the few inches over to mine, locking. His brows were low with the lack of expression, the neutrality unsettling. I should’ve asked about the music hall then, or even Fiona, but a different question blurted from me. “Why were you in the bushes?”
“What?”
“Last Saturday.” I turned around to focus on the fabric, cheeks heating. “I found you hiding in the bushes. I never asked why. Or, well, I did , but you didn’t tell me.”
He gave a resigned sigh. “Mrs. Massey walked by. I… panicked.”
Mrs. Massey had walked by last weekend—I’d nearly run into her with my tray. “So you hid in the bushes ?”
“Very amusing, I know. I don’t think quickly under pressure.”
I paused yet again, a corner of my mouth tugging up. “So you didn’t drop something.”
Aaron was less amused. “Just my dignity.”
This time, I laughed. I stretched up onto my tiptoes to arrange the final fold of the linen, slipping the pin into the drywall. “Well, you?—”
“Is he in here?” Fiona’s voice carried from the hallway outside of the event hall, loud and screeching like a bird. “Aaron? Oh, Aaron!”
Fiona swung into the hall without hesitation or looking twice, which caused her to walk straight into the ladder. Her hands shot out, and without the bar to lock the legs into place, the ladder swiveled with the sharp impact, pitching me to the side.
Leaving one hand to clench the ladder, Aaron’s other hand shot up and braced my waist, catching me before I could even register that I’d been about to fall. All five of his fingers splayed wide along my hip bone, his thumb pressing hard into the edge of my back.
I’d been stretching when his hand landed on me, which lifted my polo. His bottom two fingers were on the band of my pants, and his index finger was on top of my shirt, but his middle finger—his middle finger was like a hot iron branding into the sliver of my exposed skin between the two.
“Oh my gosh!” Fiona cried, other high-pitched words falling from her lips, but I barely registered them. Not with Aaron’s hand still on me. My heart thudded hard in my chest—from the near fall, surely, and not from the fact that he easily caught my weight one-handed. And not because he was touching a strip of skin at my hip. That definitely wasn’t it. “What are you doing with the ladder in the middle of the doorway?”
Fiona came up beside Aaron and pulled his arm down, severing the connection that’d balanced me. I gripped the edge of the ladder, the pins stabbing into my palm. “I just finished,” I said, but the words came off breathy.
“Besides, you should watch where you’re going, Fiona,” Caroline quipped, arriving over to us with her hands clasped in front of her. She stopped at Aaron’s side, not even bothering to soften her gaze. “You could’ve hurt someone.”
“I was just so excited to see Aaron, that’s all.” Fiona hadn’t let go of Aaron’s arm, but looped hers around it now. As she did so, I locked onto the ring finger of her left hand. Empty . “Have the drinks been served yet? Shall we go get one together?”
Aaron’s expression swept up as he gave her a smile, his hand rising and covering her own. The same one that’d been on my body moments ago. “I think they just served them. Let’s fetch you something.”
“I don’t get what he sees in her,” Caroline muttered as they walked away, glancing at me from the corner of her eye as she did so.
I saw the words for what she’d meant them as: a white flag. A part of me resisted it at first, but I knew that was my childish side peeking out. Ridiculous. I didn’t want to ignore her, but this also wasn’t the time and place to get into a conversation about her brother, either. “Like calls to like, I guess.” I looked down at my palm, where the pins bit down.
“I can’t imagine it’d be that hard to steal his attention away, do you? I mean, he doesn’t seem that attached to her as it is, right?”
Aaron and Fiona came to a rest at the punch table, where he reached for a cup to pour her a drink. I watched how easily he moved around her, and just how easily his lips lifted into a charming smile. “It’s weird,” I said.
“What is?”
“How different he is at times. Not hot and cold, not really. More like… likeable and unlikeable.”
Caroline frowned down at me. “When did you find him likeable?”
“He buttered my bread the other day.”
“ That sounds like a euphemism if I ever heard one.”
I shot her a flat stare.
“So, he buttered your bread.” She shrugged. “Big deal. Small things like that really touch you, Lovey? If I buttered your roll for you, would your heart flutter too?”
My nose scrunched. “Who said anything about hearts fluttering?”
Because that definitely hadn’t been what happened. And even now, when Aaron caught me, my heart didn’t do anything because of him . I had almost fallen and broken my neck. Or at the very least, my wrist. That would’ve made anyone’s heart skip a beat.
“Did he do any other things that made him likeable ? I’ll be very disappointed if you developed a crush and didn’t tell me, Lovey.”
“It’s not a crush.” My insistence started to turn into vehement denial—and I knew if I disagreed any firmer, she’d take it wrong. I was relieved I’d never told her about running into Aaron at the fire last year before Annalise’s wedding. She’d never have let it go. “I have to take the ladder back to storage before someone else runs into it.”
“Wait.” Caroline caught at my arm, blinking her dark lashes at me. “Maybe we can talk… later? After your shift? About… you know .”
Again, the urge to resist rose within me, but I shoved it down. “Sure,” I said, giving her a tight smile. “My shift gets over at nine.”
“I’ll meet you after.”
After I took the ladder back to the storage closet, I set off to find Mrs. Pine for my next assignment. I hoped, foolishly so, that she’d just send me to another department. I would’ve taken any of them, honestly. Even laundry.
Of course, I wasn’t that lucky.
Guests began arriving in a steady stream, and the chatter of women replaced Mrs. Holland’s cries. Mrs. Pine shoved a tray of pickled cucumbers and radish twists into my arms, sending me out to the masses.
I milled about the room, approaching groups, waiting for them to lock gazes with me. When they didn’t, I continued on. Days like this, wandering around like a ghost in a room full of people, always made the time pass so slow. I had nothing to distract me but my thoughts.
Annalise stood with The Monarchs near the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding her mother’s hand, with Michael sipping at a glass of punch at her side. Caroline was mingling with The Chatterboxes, Aaron and Fiona beside her, nodding along.
I stood on the outskirts watching them, wondering what they were saying. Was Aaron listening, engaging? Did he find the conversation fulfilling, or did he find it chittering nonsense? Aaron looked like he belonged in this world—and he’d act like it, if people were watching—but he’d bashed Alderton-Du Ponte enough times to make it obvious that a part of him didn’t want to fit in. Now, as he smiled and murmured to whatever Ms. Jennings was saying, I wondered how he truly felt.
Don’t you ever wish you could be a part of it? Paige had asked the other day. Partying on the dancefloor instead of serving it?
With Grant, I’d always wished to be the one hanging off his arm at events, the one he went around introducing. I wanted to be wearing a glistening dress beside him, inside the bubble rather than outside of it. Now, though, I didn’t want to be in that bubble at all—I just wanted someone on the outside with me.
My skin prickled, and the epicenter was the slice of my waist above my waistband, the exact spot Aaron’s middle finger had landed.
It was then that Aaron’s gaze drifted. Not to me, but to the piano in the corner. He lingered on it, even as the others were speaking around him, almost like the world had fallen away for a moment. His expression was locked down, save for a glimpse I barely caught. Longing .
I would’ve given anything to know what he was thinking.
And then Aaron looked over at me in that exact moment, catching me staring. The sunlight from the window behind him caught in his hair, almost making it seem golden brown. I blinked back into focus at the same time Mrs. Holland waved her hand into the air and beckoned me over. I tripped over my feet, inwardly cursing as I schooled my features.
“These pickled twists are divine,” Mrs. Holland told Aaron as I approached. She swiped up one cucumber twist and one radish twist. “Few else have such refined taste, but they’re just splendid.”
Aaron’s face twisted as the sharp taste overtook his tongue, the lemon spritzed on the vegetable making it even more sour. He tried to speak, but coughed, hiding it behind the back of his hand. “It’s certainly… unique.”
“Only the best for an Astor!”
He ducked his head. Fiona tucked herself closer to Aaron’s side, tracing his bare arm with her fingertips. “We’re very welcoming, aren’t we?”
“How is your mother doing?” Mrs. Conan asked, and though her face still held a twinge of distaste—she hadn’t quite mastered the art of shielding her facial expressions, or maybe she just didn’t care—her voice was polite. “It was a joy to meet her last June.”
“She’s doing well,” Aaron replied. “She and my father are vacationing in Hawaii.”
“Who’s taking care of the business, then?” Mrs. Holland asked, as if a multi-million-dollar company were solely run by its CEOs. “Are all the Astors taking a vacation?”
Aaron chuckled. “Just us three slackers. My brothers seem to be managing just fine.”
I watched him closely, searching for a blip in his expression as he talked about his family, but there was none.
“How many brothers do you have again?” Ms. Jennings asked.
“Five. Two of them are on the board of directors, the other three are heads of other departments. We’re a family who loves travel, as it turns out.”
Ms. Wits leaned in. “Are you the head of your own department?”
This time, Aaron answered by merely nodding.
Both Annalise and Michael were watching Aaron, as if checking for his response. If it hadn’t been for them, I might’ve not realized something was out of place.
“Aaron,” I found myself saying, breaking decorum and gathering everyone’s attention. The conversation broke off awkwardly. She can speak? I imagined they thought. “Have you played the piano for Fiona yet?”
And the distraction worked. The ladies lit up with excitement.
“The piano!”
“You play?”
“Oh, play something!”
“Yes, you should play for us!” Ms. Jennings grabbed his arm and pulled him from Fiona’s grip, tugging his semi-unwilling feet with ease. “You’d be the first one of us who’s touched the thing. At least, the first of us who knows what they’re doing.”
Caroline frowned. “I used to play every party, Ms. Jennings.”
Ms. Jennings’s placating smile was dim. “Yes, yes, I know, sweetheart. I meant what I said.”
Caroline turned to Annalise, who just gave her a sympathetic smile. “You didn’t have enough lessons to be any good, Care.”
Aaron, through it all, only stared at me. Ever so slightly, he raised an eyebrow. “I’m more curious to hear you play,” he countered, glancing around the women. “You don’t happen to have a cello lying around, do you?”
I could’ve gasped. For a moment, no one spoke, all lingering in the same realm of confusion. Annalise turned to me, brows drawn together. “You play the cello?”
“Why, you should’ve told us earlier!” Ms. Jennings exclaimed. “We could’ve replaced the scratchy covers Fran finds online ages ago!”
I stared Aaron down, something warm lighting underneath my skin. His words, whether he intended for them to or not, said many things at once. It was a secret I’d shared with him that I used to play the cello. It also spoke of something more between us—that I would’ve confessed something like that to him. Open for misinterpretation.
“I don’t know where you heard that, Mr. Astor,” I said slowly, aware of everyone’s eyes on me. Caroline almost looked betrayed, features screwed up into a frown I’d never seen before. “I’m afraid I don’t play.”
“I heard you used to,” he countered. “But not anymore.”
I forced myself to hold still. “Not anymore,” I confirmed.
“I—I don’t think we have any cellos,” Mrs. Holland said, clasping her hands in front of her. “But, Aaron, we’d love it if you played, if you’re feeling up to it.”
“You should do it, Aaron,” Annalise encouraged.
That shameful thought arose again—I wanted to hear Aaron play. Ever since the first time we met. The night in June when we’d talked about music seemed like forever ago, but that part, I remembered with perfect clarity.
Emotional expression is everything to me when I play. I wanted to hear it. I wanted to see it. When Aaron met my eyes, I nodded, ever so slightly. You should .
“What shall I play?” Aaron asked. He still had yet to look away, the inquisition directed solely at me.
“The piece of your heart.”
He knew what the piece of mine was. Elgar’s Concerto. And in that same line of shameful thinking, I wanted to know his.
With a slight nod, Aaron stepped away from our group, rounding the ballroom tables toward the piano. The ladies all seemed to follow him like magnets, gravitating toward the promise of music. And even though I had work to do, I couldn’t help my feet from shuffling along with theirs.
He slid onto the bench with stiff shoulders, smoothing his hands down the thighs of his dress pants before giving the keys his full attention. He didn’t lift his fingers to them right away, but stared them down, as if waiting for them to begin playing music on their own.
I had to force myself to swallow, because the musician in me could recognize how hot he looked seated in front of the magnificence of the full grand piano.
My anticipation was almost like a choking grasp around my throat, and the hand braced underneath my tray of pickled cucumber twists trembled. I almost forgot I was holding it. Almost forgot I was standing in the ballroom entirely.
Aaron lightly rolled his fingers across the keys, not firmly enough to make a sound but with enough pressure that his fingertips kissed the ivory.
Alderton-Du Ponte hired musicians from time to time at events, but it was never for true performances. Those musicians were hired to fill the silence, to play pieces that were mindless and under-practiced, and they never satisfied the emptiness inside me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stood with bated breath, waiting for a live performance from someone who poured themselves into the piece.
Here I was, hardly blinking, stilling as Aaron began to play.
Aaron’s posture went from stiff to purposeful in an instant, holding steady while his hands flowed across the keys. He had no sheet music in front of him, but recited a piece with perfect recall.
And it was perfect, because I recognized the piece immediately—Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2. The second movement was the most lyrical part of the song, and my favorite part. It wasn’t difficult, but it had an almost romantic quality to it, as if begging an instrument to come in accompaniment. Like the cello.
As Aaron played, the tips of my fingers began to tingle, his notes coaxing out a side that I’d long since buried.
“Yeah, I never sounded like that,” Caroline whispered to me, awe in her voice.
My eyes were transfixed on Aaron’s frame, not even blinking. What would it be like to play with him? This wasn’t a piece that typically allowed for a cello accompaniment, but my heart imagined the gaps the deep instrument could’ve sung. The foundation of the flowing piano was all too perfect, beckoning me like a siren’s song. Too beautiful.
And then came the pause—where it was almost like the composer took a moment to draw in a breath before strong notes came in beautiful, magical succession. It was like a physical touch. Aaron’s left hand moved across the keys while his right stayed in a more standardized position, eliciting a magnificent melody that raced across my skin like a chill.
I let my eyes flutter shut, basking in the air Aaron charged. As the notes grew firmer and richer, I thought of my mother. She never understood music the way I did. I’d told her there were no lyrics to focus on, nothing but how the notes made someone feel , eliciting an emotion without thoughts to accompany it. A conversation between the music and the soul.
She would’ve loved how Aaron poured himself into the composition, as if he were performing for a music hall of thousands rather than a troupe of women who preferred Today’s Pop Hits piano covers to Bach or Schubert.
She would’ve loved it.
I traced the outlines of my fingers as the second movement slowed, until finally Aaron rolled his fingers along the final keys. He let the composition finish with a lingering chord, one that reverberated in the ballroom.
And then, far too soon, that echo was replaced with the arrogant roar of the clubgoers’ applause, a discordant sound that shattered the buildup of emotion inside me.
Fiona rushed to his side first, the ladies trailing after her, and they gushed praises and compliments that I couldn’t grasp. My mind hadn’t switched out of the language of music yet, filled with arpeggios and an intense longing for something . It bit into my fingertips, leaving me wanting.
And then it was as if the word was spoken in my ear, as if instead of a C major, this one word was the piano concerto’s true final note.
Jump .
Aaron turned around on the bench then, and even amongst the sea of women, my misty eyes were the first he locked onto. For a moment, it was just him and me.
Jump .
“Lovisa!” The voice in my ear suddenly became very real, and it took on Mrs. Pine’s hiss. She came around to my side, her disapproval visible in her frown lines. “Get back to work!”