Chapter 40
Two Weeks Later
The deep stare coming from Andrew was laced with concern. The air was suddenly heavy and charged. My favorite drawing room was cloaked in the quiet intimacy of the late hour. The one lamp I’d lit earlier had shadows dancing along the edges of the furniture. Andrew sat beside me.
His damned blue eyes searched mine with a depth that had every ability to unravel me. “Is there something you’re not telling me, angel?” His voice was gentle, but there was an insistence that demanded honesty.
I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The room suddenly felt too small, and the walls were closing in on me. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my dress, a desperate attempt to divert my attention, except all it did was draw his. The weary sigh that followed tore at my heart.
“I know what you’re going to say, Sir.”
It had been two weeks since that night at Cameron’s. So much had changed, but I still had far to go. Declan had been tucked in hours ago, and I’d spent the time waiting for Andrew to get home from a late-night hospital visit. I’d tried to read, but my nerves had gotten the best of me.
Somehow, I’d bruised my thighs and, not only that, but Andrew had caught me. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t heard him come in, and now, twenty minutes later, his tired and worried face had me gulping.
I still hadn’t gotten used to the strange sensations that churned inside me whenever I let him down. Not that he would tell me he was. I could just pick up on it, as I was right then—letting him down.
“There are other ways of coping with your emotions.”
“I know that too, Sir. My therapist told me that often people who do what I do—”
“Use the word, Tori. Say it.”
“Some people who self-harm, do it to ward off feeling anxious. It typically stems from feeling out of control. It can be from a variety of things, like a situation or a person. A memory. Sometimes even numbness can be a catalyst.”
“And what else?”
“That it’s all about dealing with the emotions and thoughts before your hands hurt yourself and strategies to combat it.”
“And which ones did you and your therapist come up with?” His words were carefully chosen, ever building a bridge that always led me toward a safer shore.
So much of what I was experiencing was new. The scrutiny he gave was never critical, and it was a hard one for me to grasp. Cameron never cared if I marked my skin. One of Andrew’s strong and comforting hands lay draped over the back of the couch. My eyes fixated on it.
His nails were neatly trimmed, and his fingers were strong and capable.
Isabella could paint them alone and title it Strength and Safety.
I could confidently say in my heart they would never cause me harm, and the internal conflict surged inside me.
His question echoed in my mind, and my hands trembled.
Once more, I fidgeted with the fabric of my dress.
I drew in a shaky breath. The vulnerability of the moment and my struggles threatened to overwhelm me.
“We…we worked on grounding techniques,” I said, my voice a fragile whisper.
“Breathing exercises, counting, and sometimes, she suggested focusing on something beautiful or comforting. Maybe musi…can we be done now?”
“Tori,” he breathed, flashing me a patient smile.
“This is really uncomfortable for me,” I said, avoiding his eyes.
A frown formed on his face, and his brow furrowed. He studied me with a depth that seemed to unravel the layers of my soul. A beat of silence hung in the air, and then a sharp intake of breath followed.
“Why is it uncomfortable? I’ve been inside you. I’ve kissed and licked your beautiful pussy. I’ve seen you come apart in my arms in the most beautiful ways. I’ve killed for you. I’m not sure why a simple discussion on your strategies has you shutting down.”
“That’s different.”
“Not really, we’re simply having a conversation. How is this different?”
I shrugged, unsure how to explain it. He was trying so hard, but his patience was thinning with each second that ticked on the grandfather clock. Part of me wondered if subconsciously I was doing this on purpose. Did I want to push him to see how he would react?
“Words, please.”
I sighed. “Sitting here with you like this. It’s like you’re in counselor mode and last night…when we…when you…” My words weren’t wording, which only caused my cheeks to burn with humiliation.
“Got it. So you can be physically intimate with me but emotionally you don’t want me to comment on what I see?
That doesn’t work for me, so we aren’t going to do that.
I won’t minimize your feelings of uncomfortableness in this situation as it’s clearly real, but I will also remind you I specifically told you I wasn’t going to let it go.
I don’t think my request was unreasonable, considering these. ”
He pushed my dress up my thigh and reached out. His fingers lightly traced the largest bruise. I stiffened as a wave of incredible shame washed over me.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I stammered, my voice choked with emotion. The admission sounded lame, even to my own ears. If this were Declan, I’d feel exactly how he did.
His touch remained tender. “Angel, it’s a big deal. Talk to me. I only want to help. What triggered this?” Shining in his eyes was an undeniable love, and I wrestled with the urge to retreat.
“I pinch,” I said, giving words to my actions.
The admission tasted bitter on my tongue.
“When it gets too much, like tonight. I worry about not being enough for you, sometimes for Declan. I pinch to feel something, anything, other than the panic. As stupid as it is, it grounds me. Which is what my therapist wanted me to do: ground myself. Please, I don’t want you to counsel me. ”
“Clearly. I’ll take a different approach then.”
My head snapped up. The change in his voice was startling and immediate. He’d mastered every part of me, so as he slipped out of counselor mode and moved smoothly into Dom mode, every part of my body tingled in anticipation. He rose from the couch and took my hand.
“Come.”
As we walked, I couldn’t shake the fear of rejection, the nagging doubt that whispered in the recesses of my mind. Was he going to take me into the playroom and discipline me? My steps were hesitant, and he led me toward the formal living room, a place I’d only ever been in once before.
As we approached, he paused, his hand on the doorknob. The air cracked with anticipation. With a gentle push, he opened the door, revealing the room. It was bathed in the soft glow of the chandelier. I gasped, my heart seizing inside my chest. I shook my head.
“We talked…why are you doing this?”
“It belongs to you, to our son. It belongs here in our home. The history it holds is yours and yours alone. Not a living soul on this earth knows the significance it held for your grandmother, your mother, but you. It’s your job to ensure our son knows its importance.”
“I can’t, Andrew.” I took a tentative step back.
The familiar scent of polished wood, the ivory and black keys called to me, taunting me almost. A swell of emotions tightened my chest. No matter how much I didn’t want to, my eyes were firmly fixed on the piano before me.
“Isabella told me you made a declaration to Winter that you’d never play again,” he said, his words delicate and light.
“But I also know the healing power music holds. Just like dance does for Kinsley and painting is for Isabella. You continue to deny the small girl inside you the control and power she needs by distancing yourself from her. It’s time, Victoria. ”
“Andrew, this is unnecessary. Please.”
My heart beat erratically as he took my hand and pulled me closer.
“Sit,” he commanded, blocking my path. His long finger pointed to the piano bench. I stubbornly refused.
“Young lady, don’t make me repeat myself.”
That was all it took. His tone was firm and commanding—controlled. It rippled through me like fire. I sighed and flounced down on the piano bench, crossing my arms like Declan did when he didn’t get his way. His lip quirked in a half smile. My heart lodged in my throat.
I won’t play no matter what. I won’t do it; he can’t make me. Oh, who am I kidding? After everything this man had done for me, he could make me do anything.
I was on the verge of something, something so intense I thought I might pass out. My thoughts were everywhere and nowhere. And he let just enough time go by before speaking.
“Talk to me.” His voice was soft and sweet.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I knew what he was doing. He was so good at it. His nature was to help, and he wouldn’t let it go. The black and white keys called my name. It had always fascinated me—the difference in the starkness of the two colors, the cold and smooth texture of the ivory.
It didn’t matter what was going on. The minute my fingers began playing a song, it was as if a million colors burst forth in my mind. The tears finally cascaded down my cheeks. Andrew’s hands kneaded the tight muscles of my shoulders.
I loved the piano, and I longed to play. My fingers ached, and I sucked in large breaths, trying to control the erratic beat of my heart. Sitting there on the edge of the seat, trying to conceal the passion burning inside me was impossible.
“Touch it. Winter will understand. Play for me.”
Even though he whispered it, it was a command my brain filtered, and a peacefulness engulfed me. My eyes closed, and I put my fingers on the keys, and a sob escaped from deep within. Every emotion I’d stuffed inside all these years came pouring out.
“What would you like to hear?” I whispered, committing myself in the moment.
“Play something that tells me how you are feeling right now.”
I nodded, watching as the light from the fire cut across his handsome face. I only realized this was planned. He knew he’d bring me here tonight. His eyes pierced mine, and his demeanor switched.
I flexed my fingers and closed my eyes, trying to ignore his gaze. All it did was make me self-conscious. My foot reached out and hovered slightly over the rightmost pedal.
Could I do it? Did I still know how?
Chopin’s Prelude in B Minor, Op. 28, number 6, flowed from my fingers.
The brooding pensiveness started with the opening chord.
The sound from this magnificent piano overwhelmed me to the point where tears flowed not even ten seconds in.
At that moment, there was only me and the music.
A haunting sound emerged. The notes rose in arpeggio.
They climbed from the deepest, darkest part of the piano’s register to match my heart. The whole prelude was barely two minutes long. Even so, it created that feeling of reaching up toward the light, only to come crashing back to where it came from.
My right hand played the unfaltering, repeated musical rhythm reminiscent of a tolling bell that stopped as the soft notes closed the piece.
The emotions cut off abruptly, almost a complete reflection of my childhood.
I chose this one not only for how it matched my mood but also because of the shortness.
My body flowed along with the notes as somehow my fingers seemed to fall into the melody of a story.
A story of pain and sorrow. I poured out my despair in a fervor, telling the piano the deepest fears of my heart, and it played a tune back that resonated so deep inside me I was transported somewhere magical.
Each press of a key, perfectly timed, dove into the pit of my stomach, and a beautiful harmony was created as my heart was released from deep emotional bondage.
I could calmly and objectively see and acknowledge what was happening, and as I finished the song, I felt cleansed somehow, completely released from the struggle.
In the silence of the room, the only thing that could be heard was my breathing.
Andrew’s hands gathered my hair and pulled it back from my face.
I let out a sob, removing my hands and placing them in my lap.
And then he was there. Even though my eyes were shut tight, his presence wrapped around me like a warm blanket.
With the knowledge he had about me, the things he knew I’d endured, my fear of not being enough hit. I only had broken pieces to offer, and in the depths of my heart, I needed his love to be real and lasting.
Andrew caressed my shoulder before turning my face to look up. His eyes were filled with a mixture of wonder, pain, and desire. Every feature of his face, from the curve of his lips to his soft eyes, called to me.
“Stunningly beautiful, as you are. This is what you do from now on. Do you understand me?” Another command and I could only nod my head.
His powerful arms surrounded me. Andrew was right, as always. The piano, once my source of pain and torment, would be my vessel of healing. I made a silent vow to reclaim it, along with the parts of myself that I threw away so long ago. With him by my side, I could do this.
Winter would understand.