Page 26 of The Beast's Heart

“There were theories at the time that The Beast drove him to it. They were always… passionate, and never cared who overheard. But I know Beast and he was never like that, believe me. Whatever Lloyd’s reasons were, it wasn’t his husband.”

11

JONATHAN

Geoff was not exaggerating about the weather. It rains for days on end. So little natural light filters into the house that it’s hard at times to tell noon from night. I’m loath to admit it, but I’m grateful for the children’s rigid routine that gives some shape to our days.

It’s half past 12 on Wednesday when I come upstairs to find Mal sitting on the bench of the old piano. He rushed up here after gobbling down his lunch and I assumed he wanted to get a few minutes of video gaming in before class resumed.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

He startles, but doesn’t move. He has the lid up and he’s staring down at the keys.

I draw level with him. “Do you play?”

He laughs. “Seriously?”

“Would you like to?”

He looks up at me, wide-eyed.

“May I?” I gesture next to him and he slides over, allowing me to sit.

I brush my fingers across the keys.How long has it been since anyone showed this instrument love?My hands move into position almost of their own accord.

Memories flood through me. Mum teaching me to play when I was barely older than Enrique. My first concert—the whole family attended. I play the first few bars of Für Elise. Even out of tune with at least one snapped wire, this piano’s resonance is incredible.

“Legend has it that Beethoven wrote this song for a girl he had a crush on,” I tell Mal as I fumble my way through the second section. “He made it easy to play so she could impress everyone.” I play a little bit more. “But when she got engaged to someone else, he made the rest of the piece as difficult as possible as revenge…” I take my best stab at the complex fourth section, exaggerating the drama. Mal gawks as my fingers run over the keys, oblivious to how many notes I miss or how off key the piano is. I make dramatic faces and he hoots with laughter.

Mal. Laughing. He has the sweetest smile. It brightens up his whole face.

I stand and show him where to put his fingers for the iconic opening bars. His face is alight with genuine joy as he gets the rhythm and manages a few bars without any errors.

“Get away from there!”

I jerk back as Mal scrambles off the seat as if the piano turned burning hot.

Adam is stalking towards us, the west wing door hanging open behind him. “That’s a priceless heirloom!”

“I– I’m sorry,” I stammer.

But his ire is directed at Mal. “Do you haveanyidea how— you havenoidea how— it’s irreplaceable!” His voice is so loud and he is so large that I feel all of the blood drain from my body.

Adam gestures wildly at Mal, “Who said you could play on this?”

He’s sheet white. Every ounce of joy completely gone. And somewhere inside me, from some primal depth, my own anger surges. “I did!”

I step between them. I have to tilt my head back to meet The Beast’s gaze.

My heart is pounding, adrenaline flushing through me. “I said he could play on it. Pianos are meant to be played.”

“Not this one.”

“Oh of course. Not this one in its very prominent place, with its snapped wires and swollen keys. We should have known!”

“You should have asked!”

“When? When exactly could we have asked?” We haven’t even seen him. My pulse is roaring, driving me onwards, before I can stop myself, I fling out an arm towards the piano. “Then again, I suppose neglect is how you show you care!”

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