Shadowed Heart: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (A Death So Sweet Book 1) by Candace Wondrak

Author:Candace Wondrak [Wondrak, Candace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-01-31T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Nine – Lola

Grand pianos were a staple in wealthy homes. Good to see sometimes things never changed. The Lucianos had one, and I sat on its wooden bench, my fingers moving across the ivory keys effortlessly. It’d been years since I’d played—I hadn’t touched a piano since leaving my parents’ house—but the skill came back to me instantly.

Some things, you’ll find out as you get older, never really leave you. They’re ingrained in your memory, your muscles knowing how to move. You might be a little rusty at first, but soon enough you could fall back into the groove as if you never stopped doing it in the first place.

I was my parents’ angel. I could play many instruments, but the piano was one of my better ones. That, and my voice, but I would argue that singing wasn’t the same. It wasn’t an instrument anyone could learn if they sat down and practiced until their fingers bled.

A voice? You were either born with it, or you weren’t. Sure, some people could take vocal classes and learn how to properly sing, but some people, even with classes like that under their belts, still sounded like dying cats being thrown into a meat grinder. Who wanted to sound like that? And, more than that, who wanted to hear those people sing?

No, not everyone was born with the innate talent to sing. My parents liked to showcase me, especially around the holidays. I knew all the Christmas jingles, all of the popular songs, even now, after having not practiced for years. I used to enjoy singing, too, but even that had been tainted a long time ago.

Nothing my parents touched was pure, you see, not even me.

I looked up, grinning as I met Mike’s gaze. Today the gruff, no-nonsense, stoic man wore a dark blue shirt with paint splatters on it, matching his jeans. With his thick brown hair pulled back into a low bun, he looked like he was ready to go for a motorcycle ride or something.

I finished what I was playing—No. 9 by the great man himself, Beethoven—breaking my silence to ask, “Can you play anything?”

Mike didn’t like to talk to me. That much I knew by now. He only shook his head, his answer to my question, but I wasn’t going to let it be. I scooted to the side of the bench, trying to get him to come over and sit beside me. Anyone could play the piano if they had a good teacher; so unlike singing in every way.

He wouldn’t come over, preferring to stand creepily near the archway to the hall.

Heaving a sigh, I got up, moving around the piano. “Come on, big guy,” I said, smiling as I walked up to him, “you know I won’t let this go until you come on over.” I slipped an arm through his, his body immediately tensing at my nearness, and I held in a chuckle as I started to drag him to the piano. Of course, I couldn’t drag a man who was more like a tree if he didn’t want to come, but still.

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