NDBRs will notice some changes. The rest of you will kill me for leaving you on a cliff!

Paladin78

While Erik cleared his desk, Sophia skittered down the steps and stopped in front of an oval mirror hung on the wall. Taking a deep breath, she fanned her cheeks, which had burned since she had stood on the tips of her toes and boldly kissed his cheek.

"Goodness," she whispered to her reflection. She straightened her hair, checked her teeth, and smiled at herself. Her heart beat a little faster and her hands trembled at the thought of his expression when she kissed him. What she wouldn't have given to see her own face in that moment.

She couldn't help but release a squeal of excitement. While he was busy in his room, she'd spent an hour in the solarium, which had become the temporary home to many boxes and trunks from the previous owner. With a handkerchief over her mouth and nose, she'd lifted the first lid and found a tiny jewelry box with a broken lock. The velvet interior was musty and stained, but inside was a beautiful brooch, which Sophia couldn't bear to return to its solitude.

Erik's bedroom door opened and Sophia flew into the parlor where she immediately took her seat in one of the overstuffed chairs. She heard him either humming or muttering under his breath as he walked downstairs. His shoes slid across the floor as he stopped, most likely before the mirror as she had done only moments ago.

"Good evening," he said under his breath as he rolled his sleeves up.

She felt herself blush again. "Good evening."

He watched her from the corner of his eye as he shoveled the sheet music atop the piano into a folder. The mere sight of him made her breath catch in her throat, which she didn't understand. He wasn't a stranger to her. He was Erik, and she had kissed him. Her original rationale presumed it should have made the evening easier. It hadn't. She couldn't look him in the eye without feeling butterflies in her stomach. It seemed like a lifetime since she had felt tiny wings beat against her insides. Perhaps a lifetime had passed, she thought wryly. She hadn't a choice but to start over.

"Would you like to learn this composition?" he asked without looking directly at her.

"Oh." She rose to her feet. "Yes."

"Are you certain?" he asked with a crooked smile.

"Would you play it for me first?"

He grunted. "Of course."

Her hands linked behind her back. "I do believe those are my famous last words, aren't they? I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I sat closer."

"You will be taking piano lessons for the remainder of your life," he commented as he watched her take her seat on the bench.

She nervously laughed and fixed her hair again, uncertain of what to do with her hands but suspecting it was best to keep herself busy. That way, she reasoned, he wouldn't notice how she trembled.

Inhaling, he sat beside her and cracked his knuckles. "Shall we begin?"

From the very first note she closed her eyes and smiled, envisioning the manor in late spring when the orchards were in bloom. The higher notes reminded her of the rain, of tiny, cool drops on the tulips which lined their house. The tempo increased and she thought of laughter—a woman's laughter. A giggle escaped her, the butterflies beat faster.

She nearly jumped from her seat as the mood changed, the music low, almost dark. The tempo slowed, each key hit hard, every note like a tremor through the room.

He paused. Sophia swallowed, held her breath, hoped for rain on the garden, the sound of laughter. Her heart ached as the sound reverberated through the room, lingered between them.

And then he continued, slowly building, each note climbing from despair. Not quite laughter, not quite rain, but it brought about memories of days that couldn't decide if they were winter or spring. Cold, cloudy…but beautiful days, with buds waiting to break open, spill out their colors.

Her hands gripped the piano bench and she melted once the song ended. She felt heat along her neck and cheeks but made no attempt to hide her reaction. There was no need. Through each note it felt as though he'd already explored her from the inside, knew each feeling, each fear, each doubt.

"Sophia?"

Her eyes opened, the world before her blurry. She blinked swiftly, felt the tracks of tears down her cheeks.

Erik had turned away, set his hands on his thighs. "I've upset you."

"No, not at all." With a blissful sigh she rested her head on his shoulder. "I've heard music, but I've never felt it."

His arm snaked around her, held her close. She felt him breathe a sigh of relief against the side of her head.

"You enjoyed it?"

Immediately she lifted her head and nodded. "I did. I'm certain the piano cringes when it knows my fingers are about to touch the keys." With a nervous smile she pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. "I shouldn't be allowed—"

"You would do fine."

He searched her face, his lips parted as though he wished to tell her something but decided against it. His gaze settled on her lips, his hand gently squeezing her, drawing her closer.

She reached for his cheek, placed the palm of her hand against his mask. "I…" she whispered.

It surprised her when he didn't pull away, even when she slipped her fingernail beneath his mask.

"Sophia," he murmured. His eyelids appeared heavier as he touched her chin with his finger. He pulled back just slightly and turned his head to the side. "Wait. Please."

Her hand remained suspended, her fingers inches away from his face. She watched his shoulders bunch and then relax. He took a deep breath and faced her again. Eyes lowered, he pressed her palm against the mask.

"If you don't…"

She kissed him gently before he finished speaking, and when she pulled back he leaned forward, his hand firm against the small of her back.

"My father and mother made my decisions, and when they were gone it was Philippe who decided when I retired for the night and what I ate for breakfast. Turro," she continued. She no longer thought of him as a given name and a surname. He no longer deserved a title in her eyes. "He forced his decision upon me, but no more. This is my decision."

"Decision?"

"I want to kiss you," she said. She couldn't imagine how red her face had turned, but she committed herself to speaking what was on her mind. They had been close before Karl Turro had shown his face at Belmont Manor, they had known each other long enough to be honest. Drunk on the feel of his lips, on the persistence of his hand on her back, she smiled and looked him in the eye. "I don't want to kiss a mask. I only want you. This is my decision…as long as it's yours as well."