7. Natalya

Chapter 7

Natalya

T he piano sounds perfect .

I forgot how good it feels to play a real instrument. Not that falling-apart upright and it’s horribly out of tune strings. No, the baby grand in the formal sitting room is absolutely pristine, and I think someone had it worked on recently, because it sounds immaculate.

I’ve been engaged for two weeks, and all I’ve done is shove presents into my closet, ghost around the house like I’m haunting the place, and sit down here on the bench and work on the music I started writing back in Paris.

Which isn’t so bad, all things considered. It’s like I came back home only to resume doing exactly what I’ve been doing for the last year.

At least I have Lev. It’s been nice, having my brother around. I miss Stepan so much it hurts sometimes, but talking about him helps. Me and Lev sit out back most nights, share a couple drinks, and swap stories about our older brother. I think it’s helping him process as much as it’s helping me, and with each passing day, I feel a little bit lighter.

The grief isn’t fading, but I’m able to keep moving.

I’m still lonely, but at least I have my piano back. It sounds just like my childhood. Like hours and hours of practice. I can practically smell my tutor’s perfume, this awful floral stuff. Her name was Ms. Irina and she was probably in her forties, although she was ancient to my kid self. She put me through drills exhaustively, pushed me to improve, was hard on my mistakes, and she turned me into the pianist I am today. I wonder whatever happened to her.

Some days, when I’m at my worst, I think about calling my old friends. There’s Irina and Maria and Katya, all girls I went to school with. We were close for a while, but we were starting to drift apart a little bit around the time I was engaged to Valentin, and then they completely disappeared when I ran away to Paris.

Like everyone else, they obeyed my father’s strict injunction against contacting me, and now I have no urge to rebuild those friendships. Back in Paris, I would’ve given a finger to have a conversation with any of them, even boring old Maria; now, I couldn’t care less.

It’s sad, really. I thought coming home would fix everything. Instead, I’m just as lonely as I’ve ever been, and I keep waiting for someone to actually see me for who I am, instead of who I’m supposed to be.

Hasn’t happened yet.

I’m starting to think nobody’s ever going to care about me for who I am, and not for who I am on the outside.

I push away the misery, aware that I’m just making myself spiral, and keep playing. It’s Saturday morning, one week before I get married, and I don’t know how much time for piano I’ll have after I’m a wife.

There’s a noise behind me. I have a sudden full-on sense of deja-vu as I turn around and find a man standing in the doorway. Though this time I’m fully dressed in tights and an old sweatshirt, since it’s always freezing in this house.

Adriano Marino watches me from the doorway. He seems vaguely amused as he gestures in my direction.

“You’re good at that,” he says.

“Uh, thanks.” I stand up quickly, oddly embarrassed, even though I don’t need to be. “I didn’t know you would be here today.”

“I’m here on business to see your father, but I thought I’d come say hello to you first.” He glances at the piano one more time, but he doesn’t mention it again. “How are things?” he asks, sounding almost bored.

“Things are good. Thank you for the gifts.”

“Gifts?” he asks, eyebrows raised like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Then he laughs. “Oh, shit, I forgot. I told my assistant to send you some things. I hope she didn’t go overboard.”

I feel my stomach drop down into my feet.

All this time, I thought he was the one sending presents. I’ve been torturing myself over them, alternating between feeling like an ungrateful asshole and a selfish prick, and now I find out that he didn’t even know .

“No, they were perfect. Give your assistant a raise.” I try to play it off the best I can but I feel heat rise to my cheeks.

IF he notices my embarrassment and discomfort, he doesn’t mention it. “Will do. Glad you like them though.”

I force myself into meaningless small talk. He mentions some business about importing vintage Rolex watches, and I pretend to be interested. He doesn’t ask me any questions, and he seems bored and aloof the whole time, like he’s thinking about something else. It’s not rude exactly, and he’s not doing anything wrong, but there’s no spark between us.

It’s like we’re performing in a play neither of us particularly cares for.

But this man is going to be my husband in exactly one week. So what if he didn’t pick out those presents himself? At least he thought to delegate the task to an overly-aggressive assistant instead of forgetting about me entirely.

And it helps that Adriano’s a good looking man. He’s tall and muscular with dark hair and lightly tanned skin. His lips are full and his jaw is square, and there’s a small scar puckering the top of his mouth. I like the way he talks and laughs, and maybe after a while we might be able to build something together.

Maybe not a romance, but something.

“Alright, I shouldn’t keep your father waiting,” he says after a little while. He comes over and awkwardly kisses me on the cheek. I keep waiting for a flutter of excitement—Adriano really is gorgeous, if I’m being honest with myself—but there’s nothing at all.

“Thanks for stopping by. I guess I’ll see you next week.”

“I’ll be there,” he says and gives me the first flash of humor I’ve gotten so far.

He turns and leaves. I follow after him into the hall and watch him go, feeling myself slowly crumble once he disappears around the corner.

That’s my future husband. A man that didn’t even send his own gifts, and barely seemed like he cared about visiting me.

That interaction had the feel of a coworker stopping by a cubicle on their lunch break.

As I turn to head back to my piano, I catch sight of Alex standing nearby. He’s sitting on the stairs not far from the living room’s door, his elbows on his knees and his fingers interlocked in front of him. He tilts his head and barely reacts when I meet his gaze.

I feel more in that brief second of Alex’s attention than I felt during that entire conversation with Adriano.

“What are you doing out here, creep?” I snap at him, not even sure why I’m getting annoyed.

“Waiting for Lev,” he says. “We’re supposed to be in the meeting with your father and your husband.”

“He’s not my husband yet. And that doesn’t explain why you’re there .”

He keeps on staring at me with that totally neutral face. I haven’t seen him at all since that brief interaction in the kitchen, almost like he’s been avoiding me until right now.

“I heard you playing,” he says, which is not what I expected at all.

I feel like he just shoved me up against the wall.

Like he did back in Paris.

“You were listening?”

“I’ve been listening,” he says and gets to his feet. “You just haven’t noticed. Which is typical of you.”

Anger stabs into my chest. What the hell is that supposed to mean? He’s such an arrogant asshole that he thinks I should instinctively know when he’s lurking around? I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but Lev’s already coming down the steps.

“God, you two better not be arguing again,” my brother says, grinning broadly. “One of these days, you two are going to get over this whole feud you have going on.”

“Doubt that,” I mumble, glaring death at Alex.

He doesn’t even look at me. “We have business,” he says to Lev and walks off.

Lev rolls his eyes and winks at me. “Perfect robot,” he stage-whispers and strides off after Alex.

I wrap my arms around myself and shiver as I walk back to the piano. I’ve been listening .

What the hell did that asshole mean by that?