Vincenzo jiggled his dark brows. “An engagement ring?”
Automatically, she started to deny it. But what if it was? No. Surely not. Venice was a temporary arrangement.
“He’d stick that in his pocket. Wouldn’t he?”
She glanced at her hand, bare of jewelry since she’d ripped off Rory’s ring and flushed it. Matt wasn’t proposing. No way. He was looking for a way home, not a new wife. There were too many ghosts flitting through his heart for that.
“I am not an expert in matters of marriage.” Vincenzo lifted one shoulder and shuffled in the direction of the marble staircase to the second floor, calling out, “Lock the door when you leave.”
Alone, she contemplated what she’d say if Matt did get down on one knee and claimed he’d gotten over Amber....
He couldn’t. If he did, she’d have to say no, and their affair would be over. Marriage—she couldn’t imagine anything she’d be more ill-suited for.
She fretted about it until he texted her to come home.
When she burst in the door of Palazzo D’Inverno, the surprise nearly knocked her off her feet.
“Oh, my God.”
A shiny, ebony grand piano stood in the corner of the living room, overlooking the Grand Canal. Matt sat on the bench, quietly watching her, and the two together put a glitch in her lungs she couldn’t breathe through.
“Presumptuous of me, I realize,” he said. “But I thought you might enjoy having it to play since going out isn’t so fun.”
Her fingers curled spontaneously. She hadn’t touched piano keys since the surgery. Hadn’t wanted to. Didn’t want to now.
“Thanks. It’s...nice.”
His eyebrows rose. “You’re welcome, and you seem a little underwhelmed. Did I screw up?”
Vehemently, she shook her head. “It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given me.”
“Okay. I’ll take that.” He slid off the bench and engulfed her in his warm, safe arms. “But there’s more. Do you want to tell me, or is the piano now the armadillo in the room?”
The laugh slipped out. “How did you know I was going to call armadillo?”
“You get this closed-in face whenever you’re about to say it.”
“I don’t want to play.” It fell out of her mouth. Maybe on accident, or maybe because she couldn’t bear for him to be so understanding and not get anything for it.
“You don’t have to. I can send it back.” He hugged her tighter and then released her. “I’ll call the delivery company right now.”
“No.” That had definitely been said on purpose. She was safe with Matt. She knew that. “Want is the wrong word. I can’t play.”
“Like you’ve forgotten how?”
“Like the music is a razor blade.” Cut, Madam Wong had said. The music had been cut from her throat and it cut when she heard it and it cut when she played.
“Screw up would be too kind a phrase, then,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was hard for you to play. I envisioned you gaining something...I don’t know, peaceful from it.”
Her eyelids shut in sudden memory. The piano had been her refuge in a lonely house growing up, the one thing her mother had given her. Because it was the path to fame and fortune, foremost, but Evangeline turned it into something else. A means of expression she’d channeled in conjunction with her voice. Always together.
The piano still had the music inside. She didn’t. But in Palazzo D’Inverno, there were no rules, and the two didn’t have to coexist. They could have value individually.
“I’d like to find some peace,” she admitted. “I don’t know why it’s so hard.”
“Peace is elusive.”
She’d meant playing the piano was hard. He’d cut through the outer layer and exposed the raw truth. But not the whole truth. “Not when I’m with you.”
With a smile, he captured her hand and pulled her toward the piano. “Then let’s do it together.”
“What? You don’t play.”
But he situated himself on the bench and drew her between his spread legs, placing her fingers on the keys under his own. “Teach me. I’ve been listening to music my whole life. How hard can it be?”
She snorted out a giggle and leaned back against the solid chest supporting her, his breath teasing her ear and his heart thumping her spine.
Safe. Matt was her anchor in a sea of anxiety.
“Move your hands. That’s not how you learn. Here, listen.”
Slowly, she picked out the notes to “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” The keys sank under her fingers with measured float, producing rich tones from under the raised lid. This was easily a hundred-thousand-dollar piano. And Matt had given it to her because he wanted her to experience peace by gently prodding her toward something she could still do.