Page 132 of The Pucking Arrangement

She lowers herself onto the piano bench with the kind of ease that makes me feel like a lumbering intruder. “Play for me. I want to hear music in this house again.”

My fingers tighten around my bow. In the doorway, Dmitri lingers, his eyes glued on me.

“I really should let you settle in,” I try again. “Family time and all that.”

“Nonsense.” Galina’s eyes glint with something dangerously close to amusement. “Music is family time. Isn’t that right, Dmitri?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches me, his gaze a quiet force, pressing in, pinning me to the spot.

“Please play, Erin!” Ris bounces on her toes, practically vibrating. “ShowBabushkahow you make sound out of silence!”

I blink.

What?

“What did you say?” My voice comes out thinner than I mean it to.

“That’s what Papa always says about the way you play,” she chirps, completely unaware that she’s just pulled the floor out from under me. “That you make sound out of silence.”

The room contracts. The breath leaves my lungs in a sharp, stunned exhale.

I can’t look at Dmitri. I can feel him watching me, can feel the weight of those words settling into my bones, unraveling something in my chest.

Because that’s not just a compliment. That’s not just admiration.

That’s…

I don’t know what that is.

Across the room, Galina tilts her head slightly, watching me with an intensity that makes my spine straighten. There’s no amusement in her expression now—only sharp, quiet assessment. Like she’s seeing something I haven’t figured out yet.

I swallow hard, forcing my hands to stay steady as I lower myself back into my chair, adjusting the endpin with fingers that definitely aren’t trembling.

“Just...just a bit of the aria?”

Galina’s smile deepens. “Whatever moves you,devochka.”

I exhale, trying to center myself, but there’s no blocking them out—the eager anticipation in Ris, the simmering heat in the air, the careful assessment in Galina’s demeanor.

The first notes emerge tentative, then gather strength, the melody unfurling in familiar, aching swells. The room fades, and for a moment, it’s just me and the music, just the weight of the bow, the resonance of the strings, the raw, unguarded joy of creating something fleeting and infinite all at once.

Then silence.

“She would have loved this arrangement.” Galina’s voice is soft, but it lands like a blow. “To hear her favorite aria played with such...understanding.”

I open my eyes, and she’s watching me with an impossibly gentle expression etched on her face.

“I should go,” I whisper, already packing up, desperate for an exit. “Let you all catch up.”

But as I slip past them, Galina’s voice follows me, quiet and certain.

“We’ll talk later,devochka.”

I don’t look back. Can’t. Because if I do, they’ll see how close I am to coming apart.

Instead, I flee upstairs, where my half-packed suitcase sits like a silent accusation. Another aria about sacrifice. Another choice between love and destiny.

Except Galina chose both, didn’t she? Just not at the same time.

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