Eleanor watched him as he flipped through stacks of CDs.
“What’s wrong?”
“The music selection is shameful. What is this?” Søren held up a CD with a familiar-looking cover.
“Dr. Dre.”
“Is he a licensed medical professional?”
“He’s a rapper.”
“And this?” he asked.
“4 Non Blondes. Obviously you would not be allowed in that band.”
“I didn’t want to join their band anyway,” he said in a tone so dry her face hurt from swallowing her laughter.
Søren dug through a few more CDs.
“How does anyone dance to any of this music?” He sounded horrified.
“It’s drunken reception dancing, not waltzing.” She knew it was a weak defense, but she didn’t have it in her to defend modern music tonight. Not when she’d been listening to the classical station every night in bed trying to learn something about the music Søren played so lovingly on piano. The last CD she bought had been a collection of baroque pieces.
He held up a CD.
“Finally,” he said. “Decent music.”
“What did you find? Bach? Beethoven? Vivaldi?”
“Sting.”
Eleanor burst out laughing.
“You like Sting?”
“Who doesn’t? He’s a musician’s musician.”
“I can’t believe you’ve even heard of him.”
“I spent ten years of my life in seminary, Eleanor, not in a cave.”
The music started and filled the room with cool blue sounds and Sting’s arching voice that always managed to speed up her pulse and lower her blood pressure simultaneously.
“Music,” Søren said as he walked to her, “has melodies and themes. It’s not simply a collection of profanities and noise set to a bass line.”
“God, you’re a snob.”
“Guilty. Now stop cleaning.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so, and I never once said you were freed from your vow to obey me. So obey me.”
“Can you please order me to punch your face? I’ll obey that order.”
“Later, perhaps. I have nothing but respect for your sadistic side.”
With a growl Eleanor dropped the bag on the ground and put her hands on her hips. She hated how much she loved his orders, how much she’d missed them.
He took her wrist gently in his hand and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“What are you doing to me?”
“Dancing with you. Not drunken reception dancing, real dancing.”
He took her other hand and led her in the first steps of something like a waltz. He took her on one turn around the dance floor before stopping midstep. He studied her face, his gaze penetrating and intimate.
“She’s gone,” Søren said, his voice soft with wonder.
“Who?” Eleanor asked.
“The girl. All of her is gone. Where did she go?”
Eleanor gave a tired half laugh.
“I killed her,” she said without apology. “You said grow up. I grew up. She’s gone. I’m here.”
She held out her hand for Søren to shake. Instead he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it before turning it over and pressing a kiss into the center of her palm. She felt the impact of that kiss all the way to her toes.
“A pleasure,” he said, seemingly amazed by the change he saw in her.
Eleanor pulled her hand away. Not because she wanted to but because she didn’t want him to know how much it affected her.
“So … you know how to dance?” Eleanor asked as Søren led her on another slow turn.
“I do.”
“Is this something they teach in seminary?”
“No.”
He gave her a subtle smile as he let go of her hand and spun her gracefully.
“You know this song is about adultery, right? You shouldn’t be dancing to it,” she teased, trying to hide how much she relished the touch of his hands on her.
“Eleanor, I’ve committed adultery. Safe to say I can handle a song about it.”
Eleanor stopped dancing.
“Wait. You committed adultery? When?”
Søren said nothing for a moment. He lowered his hands to his sides as Eleanor pulled away from him.
“When I was eighteen, Eleanor. When I was married.”
Eleanor lost all powers of speech. She took a step back from him, and Søren turned the music off.
“You were married?”
“Yes. Briefly and unhappily.”
Eleanor’s knees went weak on her. She pulled a chair out and sat down.
“Tell me everything,” she ordered.
Søren pulled another chair out and sat a foot across from her.
“The first thing I’ll tell you is that my marriage, such as it was, should never concern or trouble you. It’s simply a fact of my past. I have no reason to hide it and several good reasons to reveal it. This is what I wanted to tell you.”