Chapter 40
Forty
- MARCELLA -
Cyrus leads me to the reflection room, and as he grabs the handle, it opens. Moe and Stella freeze with wide-eyed gazes before they mutter apologies and slip out.
For a moment, it’s a good distraction from my anger. Odd that they were in there. We watch them walk back to the dance floor for a split moment before I push past Cyrus into the room. As I swivel to face him, he shuts the door.
“How. Dare. You.” I enunciate each word through gritted teeth.
“What?” he asks, shaking his head. “What have I done this time, Marcella?”
Anger shakes my limbs, my blood. I’m doing everything I can to keep my temper from erupting under the pressure bubbling beneath me. I flick a single finger out to the room beyond him. “That song!”
His face relaxes into understanding. He takes a step forward, then another. “You remember?”
I throw up a hand between us. “Stay away from me!”
He pauses mid-step, lowering his boot back to the ground behind him. “Let me have it, then.”
A tremble sparks to life in my lips before I bite down on it. Hard enough I’m starting to taste blood. “That song? You’ve played it for me before—”
“I wrote it for you, yes,” he whispers pleadingly.
Clenching my teeth, I turn my back to him as I walk over to one of the paintings with blue roses. When I turn around to face him, more space between us now, I accuse, “You did that to manipulate me.”
“I did it to remind you.”
“Of what?” I nearly scream.
He turns his back to me. Raking his fingers through his hair, he plucks the bow out and flicks it to the ground. His long white hair is now loose and free. With his back still to me, he leans heavily into one arm perched on the back of a tufted chair. Head sagging low.
Anger powers my steps as I storm to him. Frustrated at the lack of answers, I seize his coat and yank him. “Do not be a coward and turn your back on me. Face me and answer!”
He slowly turns. My breath catches in my throat as I behold his expression, my hand slipping off his coat. His eyes are low, lashes dark against his skin. When he finally looks up at me, his eyes are glossy with unspent tears.
I take a small half step back. I hadn’t been expecting this in the slightest. I figured anger, frustration, annoyance, maybe—but this?
Not this.
It stops me in my tracks.
“I…” His voice is choked in emotion. A single tear slips out the corner of his eye. “I-I didn’t want you…to see me like this.”
I snatch him by the collar, ready to throw him away from me. But there’s a moment. A flicker. Something warm and familiar in his eyes. Instead of shoving him away, I pull him closer.
And kiss him.
My lips are pressed to his. Demanding and firm at first, until his hands find my cheeks as he holds me.
Parts of me soften into the kiss, unwillingly.
With my eyes closed, an odd sensation rushes over me.
Flashes of distant memories race through me.
Quickly, like a flicker of light through a canopy of leaves as the wind blows in a forest. Sporadic and shifting so that it’s difficult to completely grasp what I’m looking at before it’s gone.
Cyrus laughing. His lips on mine. Again and again as I meet him eagerly. His fingers gently pulling out a braid in my hair. A long glance from across a room. His fingers brushing against mine as I walk past him in a hallway. Him handing me letter after letter.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to sift through it all for answers. To make sense of it. Until everything stills, freezing in time. One memory is stronger than the rest. One that had been whispering to me earlier when he was playing at the piano.
It’s a still, quiet moment. I’m staring down at the piano keys as Cyrus’ arms wrap around either side of me. His exposed, skilled fingers rest on the keys as he whispers into the side of my neck, “Place your hands on the backs of mine. I want to show you something.”
In the memory, I do as I’m told. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of my neck and begins to move his hands over the keys, slowly.
Drawing out each key with intention and crafted precision, stitching all of them together into a melody that draws me into a moment I can only close my eyes and tilt my head back onto him for.
Lost to the sound. To the warmth of his lips and breath pressing to my neck. The shifting of his hands beneath mine.
When the song ends, I can’t help but turn completely around on the seat to face him. He’s standing behind the bench, eyes full of a warmth that I can never put a word to.
“That was beautiful,” I whisper, echoed in the memory.
He’s still bracing himself against the piano, head low to mine. A grin lifts his cheeks. “I’m glad you think so.” Then he leans forward, bumping his nose to mine before he presses the sweetest kiss to my lips. Drawing off the kiss, he whispers on my lips, “I wrote it for you.”
I’m snapped back into the present—of my lips still on Cyrus in the reflection room. Gone is the warmth of the memory, leaving behind a hole in my chest that’s cold and empty.
I pull my lips off his, meeting his pained gaze. His fingers still frame my face as he frantically searches my eyes.
I release his collar. Heart racing in my chest like I’ve trapped it there—an animal that doesn’t belong.
“Marcella.” My name cracks with his voice. Full of hope, longing. Remorse.
I pull his hands away from my face before quickly making my way out of the reflection room and back into the dining room.