Page 87 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
Chapter Thirty-One
Iris
“I want to know what magic you pulled,” I say as Tony and I walk into our foyer.
“Magic?”
“Ryder Reed just showing up? And joining us?” I poke Tony in the side. “You know that’s crazy, right?”
“He just happened to be there. And we worked out some issues between us.”
“I’m glad. He seems like a nice person.” I was dazzled by his fame and the Hollywood glamour, but once that wore off, it was obvious he’s just a guy who happens to be extraordinarily handsome and makes a lot of money off his work. There’s such a carefree and easygoing nature to him that I think it’ll be good for Tony to hang out with him to have some of that rub off. Tony’s too serious at times.
I want to play the “Torrent” étude a few times before going to bed. I know how much ground I lose when I don’t keep up. I reach for the digital piano, since it’s late and I figure Tony wants some peace and quiet after the loud club, but he shakes his head. “Play on the Steinway.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods, sprawling on a couch that faces the piano.
“I’m going to practice ‘Torrent,’ so it’s going to be sort of loud.”
“I don’t mind. I love listening to you.”
“If you say so.” I warm up briefly, then let my fingers fly along the rapid notes of the Chopin étude. Something about the way I’m playing the piece is bugging me. At around the later part, I seem to lose steam. Ugh. Ridiculous. The music is barely two minutes long, even though it has more notes to hit than most other compositions that short.
I practice the part over and over until I’m satisfied that it has sufficient power and drive to push the piece to the climactic finale.
“Stunning. Maybe you’ll be another Pollini.”
A thrill runs through me, and I laugh. “No, I won’t. He’s totally sublime, and I used to listen to his Chopin recordings all the time, hoping I could play like him. But Pollini is Pollini, and I’m me. I want people to listen to me because I’m awesome in my own way, not because I’m an imitation of Pollini.”
The smile I receive for that is full of warmth and pride. I’m bursting with happiness and love.
I stop, blinking. The other person was a man. I’m certain of that, but it wasn’t Sam or Marty. They probably think Pollini is some kind of Italian food. His voice is familiar, but sort of muddled…and his face is hazy too. Like most of it is hidden in a blinding light.
Who was it? Maybe another instructor from Curtis?
Impossible. Unless I’m mistaken, I had my head in his lap. I’m sure I didn’t do anything like that with one of my teachers. Did I?
Or maybe I did. I was in love with whoever it was. I’m sure about that. Maybe if I’d remembered it earlier, I might not have recognized the feeling. But it’s the same thing I feel for Tony. Did the man in my past love me back? Was he told I died, just like Yuna? Did he cry? Did he despair?
What about him that made me fall in love back then? Can I find him? Let him know I didn’t die and Sam lied?
I shake my head. What’s the point of trying to find him? It’s been so long. He most likely moved on. Maybe even got married and now has kids, a minivan, dogs and a white picket fence. Living the dream.
People don’t dwell on the dead forever. The living go on living, no matter how much it hurts. I did too, after learning my parents died.
Me showing up on his doorstep would only be awkward. Weird. And…
My gaze drifts to Tony. Slowly I stand and kneel in front of the couch where he’s sprawled with his eyes closed. He’s breathing deeply and quietly. He must’ve been exhausted to sleep through the “Torrent” étude.
I study his face. The bold slash of the straight, dark eyebrows. The set of his eyes. The straight blade of a nose. The beautiful mouth. I bring to mind the way his brilliant green eyes light up at the sight of me. The way his voice deepens, gains a raspy edge when he’s feeling a particularly strong emotion or is going crazy wanting me.
And my heart is aching, full of love for this magnificent man who never puts up a shield between us. I’ve seen how cool and controlled he is around other people. Being so vulnerable to me can’t be easy for him, but he does it anyway to show me how much I mean to him.
I run my fingertips gently across his brows. He stirs, blinks, then smiles at me. “Finished?”
“Yes.” I kiss him. “Let’s go to bed.”
He picks me up and carries me up to our bedroom.
The man in my memory is one chapter of my life I don’t need to recall. I have Tony. He’s my present…and future. And I don’t need anyone else.
