12. London #3
I didn’t. I’d always been fine playing for friends and family.
Put me on stage in front of a bunch of strangers, however, and I practically hyperventilated.
Now, my fingers itched to touch the keys.
They had ever since I’d spied the baby grand.
“I haven’t played in about three years. Nick—my ex—the first time I went to his penthouse he had a baby grand in the center of his living room.
” I curled my lip in memory. “It was there for show. A beautiful instrument, sitting there like an unused accessory. So I sat down and I started to play Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune.’ Nick acted like he thought it was great, but the next time I went to his apartment, the piano was gone.
He said it was taking up too much room.” I blanched at the memory, wondering how I hadn’t known right in that moment Nick was an asshole. “I should have known then.”
“Like I should have known about Jill?” Murray’s voice was soft. “Why do we always blame ourselves for other people’s bad actions?”
As our eyes held, an understanding threaded between us.
Just as quickly, it turned to tension. The kind of tension that made me want to kiss him. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure that tension was all one-sided. Flustered and trying to hide it, I strode over to the piano stool and lowered myself onto it.
“You don’t have to if—”
“I’m fine playing for friends and family. And Nick doesn’t get to take it from me like my parents tried to … right?”
Murray studied me intensely. “Right.”
Breaking our gaze, I lifted my hands over the keys.
I closed my eyes, visualizing the notes that immediately came to mind.
It was a popular piece, but it was popular for a reason.
As my fingers danced over the keys, Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major sang from the piano.
To my delight, muscle memory kicked in and I played it like I played it almost fifteen years ago.
Well, not quite. I didn’t play it with the same ease.
But I felt a rush of longing to practice it, to get better, to play it perfectly, and I hadn’t felt that in such a long time.
As the last note rang out, I lowered my hands to my thighs and stared at the keys in wonder.
I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed playing.
“My parents don’t know I’m married,” I blurted suddenly.
“Do you want to tell them?”
I looked up at Murray, who leaned against the back of the sofa now. “No. Every time I tell them something about my life, they find a way to make me feel shitty about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“This”—I gestured to the piano—“is the only good thing they ever gave me. I mean, that matters. I know I grew up privileged and I’m grateful that I never had to worry about money or being safe.
But that’s about all I can say they ever gave me.
A nice home, a nice education, and piano.
They cut me off as soon as I made choices they didn’t agree with.
And we’re not talking about me doing drugs or breaking the law …
I chose to go to culinary school.” I huffed bitterly.
“I guess they gave me more than some kids get, though, right?”
Murray frowned. “Do your parents know why you came to Scotland?”
“Yes. They didn’t believe me about Nick. Not until he was arrested for insider trading.”
“Then they don’t deserve to know anything about your life unless you want them to.”
I sighed heavily but nodded.
“You play beautifully, London. I could listen to you all night.”
My eyes flew to his, pleasure rippling through me. “I’m a little rusty.”
“Your little rusty is better than I could ever hope to play.”
“Thank you.” Our eyes held again and that tension that twanged between us like a taut guitar string made my breath hitch.
When it seemed to be stretching to its breaking point, Murray abruptly pushed off the couch. “Well, I’m up early tomorrow, so I think I’ll head to bed. ’Night, London.”
“Uh … good night!” I called because he was already out of the room.
I glanced at my watch.
It was only eight o’clock.
With a heavy sigh, I stood and unlocked the French doors that led out onto the deck.
The wind blew harshly through my hair, but it felt good on my heated skin as I leaned against the glass balustrade to stare out at the waves.
The sun had overwhelmed the rain later in the afternoon and now it cast the water in rays of orange and pink and yellow, like paint splatter across an ever-moving dark gray canvas.
The dichotomy of it felt like my relationship with Murray.
He made me feel lighter, safer, kinder to myself. I found myself opening to him without even trying, telling him things I hadn’t told anyone but Nee.
And then he went and ran away from me, throwing a wall up between us in doing so. I didn’t even get a chance to talk to him about us doing a better job of pretending to be married in public.
I’d spent my whole life turning how people treated me back on myself. Feeling a certain way about myself based on their actions.
I didn’t want to do that anymore.
I wanted to find a way to love me not because Nee loved me or Murray thought I was brave … and I didn’t want to hate myself because Nick zeroed in on all my insecurities or because Murray made it clear he didn’t want anything romantic happening between us.
I wanted to learn to love myself.
Murray had asked something so simple and yet so profound. “Why do we always blame ourselves for other people’s bad actions?”
No more, I decided, staring out at the light that so desperately tried to hold back the dark. I could only control my own actions, no one else’s. And I wasn’t going to use other people’s actions to dictate how I felt about myself anymore.
If Murray wanted to keep a distance between us, that was probably for the best, considering my own complicated emotions.
I could accept that without feeling bad about it.
I could.
Or at least I vowed I would.