He nodded. “Hurry, beautiful, they’re on their way.”
Standing in the large closet, I debated my few pieces of clothing. With my hair mostly dried and hanging over my shoulders and a minimal amount of makeup, I ran my fingers over the few pieces of clothes I had at my disposal. I could wear the outfit I’d worn to the interview or dress less formally and more laid-back. As I took in the soft sweaters, I decided for casual. After all, this was Christmas day and I was home.
Isn’t that what Van wants me to think?
He’d said that he’d like me to refer to his home as mine. He’d said as his fiancée, nothing was off-limits.
Slipping on my heeled black boots, I took one more look in the mirror before leaving my suite. My soft black slacks and black tank top were covered with a long pink sweater. My hair was again piled on my head. Standing at the top of the staircase, I peered through the large window over the front door, wondering if my parents had arrived.
From the limited view of trees and sky it was impossible to know for sure. There were no voices below. A final destination called to me, a new curious thought. I peeked down the hallway toward Van’s suite. The double doors were closed.
As my heart rate picked up its pace, I walked up the steps to the third floor.
My heartbeat thumped against my chest as I twisted the doorknob to the one door at the top of the stairs. To my surprise, the door opened inward. With only the waning light from the windows, I saw what Van had described—nothing. The large third-floor room was empty with two closed doors. I went to one, and opened it. The door led to a small bathroom. That too was empty. The fixtures were present, but there were no towels or paper products. Back out into the large open space, I opened the second door and stepped into what was a small room, a closet without clothes racks or shelves.
Flipping the switch within, I stared. Against the wall was a leaning stack of framed artwork. Apprehensively, I went closer, taking in the piece facing the door. I didn’t recognize the artist’s name, but the picture seemed familiar. One by one, I moved the frames, taking in each piece. The artists’ names were different and some I’d heard before. All of the artwork was striking.
Why is it hidden away in an empty space?
Suddenly, my thoughts went back to my parents’ impending visit. Stepping back into the empty room, I turned off the light and closed the door to the artwork, deciding that while I could eliminate one unknown about Van from my list—the emptiness of the third-floor room—I’d also added more questions.
As I came to the top of the staircase going down to the main level, my pulse drummed in my ears as the reverberating sound of the piano floated to the level above.
I held my breath as the rich notes resonated through the entry.
Quietly, I made my way down the stairs, stopping on the bottom step and holding tightly to the banister. Closing my eyes, I listened to the melancholy melody as each note struck a string within my heart. If this were a movie, the chosen soundtrack would give me an ominous feel leading into our planned meeting.
Walking softly, I entered the living room.
The sun beyond the windows had begun to sink below the horizon. Despite the relatively early hour, darkness was about to fall. A fire roared within the large hearth and the aroma of Mrs. Mayhand’s holiday meal could be smelled from the kitchen.
Van’s eyes were closed as his fingers ran over the keys. It was as if he had a sixth sense, feeling the piano instead of seeing it. His hands worked independently from one another as his toes pressed the appropriate pedals and his wide shoulders and torso swayed with the beat.
The mountain-man clothes from before were replaced by casual wear, faded blue jeans, canvas loafers, and a long-sleeved button-up with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His damp dark hair and clean-shaven jaw told me that he’d showered after coming into my bathroom.
The melody slowed as his eyes opened.
His expression that only seconds before seemed sad morphed before my eyes as his green stare met mine.
“That was beautiful,” I said, walking up to the large piano. “Please don’t stop.”
“I like when you say that—not to stop.” He tilted his head to the side, indicating the bench beside him.
Standing at his side, I ran my palm over his smooth cheek. “You know, if you were going to shower, you could have joined me.”
“We’d still be up there.”
“There’s always later tonight.”
Sitting where he’d indicated, I peered up at his protruding brow. “Are you worried about this meeting?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You said you haven’t played the piano in a while and that song was ominous.”
“I haven’t played.” He spun, pulling one leg over the bench and tugging me between his legs. “I seem to mostly remember morose melodies. I should brush up on some happier songs.”
“When did you say you stopped playing?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think I said.” When I didn’t speak, he answered. “It was before Brooklyn was born.”
“Have you tried to speak to your brother?”
He shook his head. “Let’s concentrate on one family at a time. I’ll get a notification when your parents pass the gate.”
“Did you close it?”
“No, it’s electronically monitored. I didn’t have my phone turned on at the cabin and there’s no Wi-Fi or cell service out there. That’s why last night I didn’t realize the barrier had been breached.”
My chest pushed against my sweater as I inhaled. “I want them to come and go so we can be just us.”
Van’s large hands roamed up and down my arms, finding my skin beneath the large openings of the sweater cuffs. “I would tell your parents to leave and keep you hidden if I could.”
My forehead fell to his wide chest. “I would like that.”
His chest inflated as his expression became unreadable. “Hidden away for only me” —his grasp of my waist tightened— “my private obsession.” He shook his head. “That wouldn’t be right. You’d retaliate...”
“Van?” I looked up as his stare reached deep inside me.
“I’ve done some bad things,” Van said. “I want everything to be different with you, Julia. I won’t hide you from your family, but if you ever want me to intervene, I will. You say the word.” He left a kiss on my hair. “You think I’m old.”
“I didn’t say—”
His finger came to my lips. “I’m not, but I’ve screwed up enough to know what’s right and what isn’t. For this to work, for us to work,” he clarified, “you have to be an active partner.”
A smile curled my lips. “I tried at the cabin.”
“You did great. I don’t mean just with sex. I mean, for your parents to believe this—what’s happening between you and me—is real, they need to hear it from you. They have no reason to trust me and probably many reasons not to trust me. They trust you.”
I inhaled and straightened my neck, feeling the weight of the responsibility I’d failed to accept, that I’d avoided taking, and that Van was presenting to me.
He was right.
For too long I’d been willing to let others speak for me. Whether it was my mother, father, or Skylar, I allowed it. Van wasn’t saying he’d abandon me. He was saying that I needed to use my voice. It was the encouragement I’d never before had.