Page 74 of Cain
“Hey.” I hear her delicate voice.
Ah,nowI’m happy.
I don’t lift my eyes from the piano keys as my fingers glide over them, unconsciously composing a melody, yet a soft smirk tugs at my lips. I don’t intend it; it justhappens.
She walks closer, tiptoeing like a cat.
“How are you, little rose?”
“I’m okay,” she breathes, tucking her loose, golden hair behind her ear. “I heard you playing.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“There’s something about the music you play. It sounds unique. I don’t know how to explain it.”
I chuckle, my gaze still fixed on the keys. “You figured all that out just from hearing me play once?”
“Maybe I’ve been listening longer than you realize.”
My eyes lift to meet hers for the first time. Fuck, she’s beautiful. Mesmerizing. Like a dream I was never meant to touch.
She’s wearing some of the cosmetics I bought her, and I still don’t understand why. She’s perfect without them.
I don’t say a word. I don’t want to ruin this hypnotic silence. What the hell is this rush I feel burning through me?
“Play something for me,” she says, her feline eyes shining brighter than ever before.
“Excuse me, Miss Ružicková. Do you think I’m some old-fashioned creep who plays music to win over the girl?” I joke.
“I won’t lie; it crossed my mind.” She raises her arched brow.
“I can live with it.”
Her full lips press together as she tries to hide a smile.
“Come on,” she urges, sitting on the bench next to me. “Play something again.”
I hum, contemplating. Should I? I mean, why shouldn’t I?
I stop pressing the keys and gaze at her. “There’s this song that instantly played in my head when I first saw you, and ever since, it’s been yours.”
“And what is that?”
My eyes linger on her face for a few more seconds before I turn back to the piano, letting my fingers meet the keys once more.
They move on their own, playing without thought or guidance.
Slowly. Gracefully. Delicately. Just the way this old and classic song plays in my head.
Her eyes widen in recognition.
Smart girl.
I don’t comment. I just let the music speak for me. My fingers move over the keys as if they have a mind of their own, but my thoughts are somewhere else—on her. On the way she watches me. Like she’s searching for something beneath the melody.
The last note fades, and silence falls between us.
“So?” I ask.
