Page 4 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Chapter Two
Ivy
It’s a good thing I can play Schubert in my sleep because otherwise I would’ve made an idiot of myself.
Why did I tell Tony I had to practice it? Or say I had to do it ten times? The plan was to work on Liszt’s Liebestraum No. 3, so I can record it and send it to Yuna. It’s a pact my best friend and I made before the summer break started to make sure we continue to challenge each other and improve. We were supposed to practice a few select pieces Tatiana asked us to work on, record them and issue a challenge with “Beat this!” I only spared a few minutes to play Schubert to humor Harry, who insisted he could pull off the secondo well enough to accompany me.
The entire Fantasie is a little over eighteen minutes long. At least I recovered enough to say I only needed to practice the first movement, but that’s still almost an hour of playing next to Tony, sitting entirely too close to him, our arms and hands brushing each other.
I’ve played Schubert with other pianists before, but no one quite like Tony. He has excellent control of those strong fingers, effortlessly going from exquisite and soft to passionate and powerful. The heat radiating from his body is too warm—almost searing—but I don’t mind. He’s like a quietly brewing storm, and I’m aware of his presence like a little bird in a forest, my skin prickling and the fine hair on the back of my neck standing up. Despite my best effort at staying calm, my heart is racing, and it’s all I can do to keep my fingers from matching my rushing pulse. I let my hand graze his from time to time just to see if he’s as affected as I am, but he’s totally focused on his part of the music.
To him, you’re probably just a kid.
He just graduated from Princeton, and in only three years. Uncle Lane announced that at dinner a few weeks ago, one of his quarterly, businesslike mentions of how his second son is doing. As usual, Aunt Margot showed no reaction, not even a smile, while Edgar and Harry let out a few excited interjections to express their admiration for Tony’s accomplishment. Despite Aunt Margot’s lackluster response and Uncle Lane’s flat and prideless voice every time he speaks of Tony, I’ve long been impressed with and wondered about my mysterious cousin.
Well, he’s much more impressive in person. And more intriguing.
Maybe Uncle Lane and Aunt Margot didn’t look that pleased over all that he’s done because they expected more. I’ve heard whispers from the townspeople about Anthony Blackwood, my aunt and uncle’s favored second son. They sent him to Europe to study at the best boarding schools on the continent. Their oldest, Edgar, who graduated from Harvard, didn’t merit such special treatment.
Instead of taking off, Harry takes a seat and listens. Tony leaves without a word when we hit the final note for the tenth time. The moment the door closes behind him, the pressure in the room drops. I draw in air as the prickling sensation eases.
“Damn,” Harry says. “Sorry he’s being rude.”
“What?”
“Well, you know. He just…left.” Harry frowns.
“It’s fine.” I didn’t even notice because I was wound so tight from the playing. If he hadn’t left, I might’ve, just to breathe a bit and recover. Did he feel the same way I did? Hot goosebumps break out over my skin at the possibility.
“On the other hand,” Harry says, stretching his arms over the back of his seat, “I didn’t think he’d actually play it all ten times. Isn’t really like him.”
My heart thumps. “How do you know?” I say, keeping my voice as nonchalant as possible.
Harry shrugs. “He doesn’t usually have the patience for all the repetition. He’s naturally gifted, so…”
“You mean you can’t do what he can even with practice, so you’re going to attribute it to talent.” Gifted or not, nobody gets that good without practice.
Harry’s eyes are worried. “Probably be best if you don’t get too close.”
“What do you mean?” It isn’t like him to tell me who I can or can’t hang out with, and I don’t like the way he’s warning me away like…somehow Tony and I are totally incompatible.
He sighs. “Getting too close would mean getting on Mom’s shi—uh, persona non grata list.”
My face heats. He probably noticed my attraction to Tony. “Who said anything about getting close? It was nothing but some piano practice. I just met the guy. Besides, he’s your brother, which makes him my cousin. Sort of ick, if you ask me.”
“But like you said, not by blood.”
“Still ick.” I scowl to hide my embarrassment, then gather my music and leave. I can never tell if Harry is being perceptive or just saying whatever pops into his head.
But one thing’s for sure—insightful or not, I don’t have to listen to what he says.
My eyes on the ground, I trot down the hall and almost run into Aunt Margot at the bottom of the main staircase.
She’s so delicately elegant, it seems like she exists on nothing but air and water. Her eyes are unusual—one green and one blue. She always has her golden hair pulled up into a French twist, and the makeup on her stunning face is subtle and flawless, highlighting her eyes and high cheekbones. Despite her age, she hardly has any wrinkles. Her skin is actually better than some of my friends’ at Curtis.
A lavender silk dress hugs Aunt Margot’s slender figure, her small, narrow feet in purple Jimmy Choos with skyscraper heels. I’ve never seen her less than perfectly dressed and coiffed, and it sometimes makes me wonder if she’s truly an angel who can do no wrong. I know my life would’ve fallen apart without her, because my innocent child’s world ended the moment my parents died.
When the police told me my parents weren’t coming back from the car crash, I was so stunned I couldn’t cry for a few moments while my child’s mind processed it. They asked me about relatives, and I told them Dad had a sister in Louisiana. We never visited her for some reason. I don’t recall any Christmas cards or birthday calls, either. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if I really had an aunt in Louisiana, except for hearing my dad talk about her a few times. But Aunt Margot came for me.
