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“Open it.”
She walks over to the case slowly, as if approaching a wild animal.
“I didn’t put a snake in there, Taylor. You have my word.”
She turns to look at me. “But I’m sure the thought crossed your mind. You considered it.”
At the time, the only thing I thought of was seeing you smile when you opened it.
“Yes, it was tempting, but I held back.”
She finally reaches the violin. She carefully opens the case, but when she sees it, she doesn’t immediately pick up the instrument. She stands there, just staring, and even from a distance, I see her body sway.
“It’s not new,” she says eventually.
“No. It’s the one your father gave you. You had to sell it and...” I begin to explain, but then I get mad at myself.
She’s pretending. She remembers everything, and she only said she recalled the first time we had sex to mess with my head.
I get up and walk toward the door. “Take your time.”
“Don’t leave. I don’t remember this instrument or telling you I sold it, but it must’ve been important to me, or you wouldn’t have bought it back. You gave me a gift—let me give you one, too. The only thing I have to offer is my music.”
I wait in silence and watch her go through a sort of ritual: gently lifting the violin, examining it, though there’s no recognition on her face. I’ve never heard her play a real violin—I only recall the day she pretended in the rain.
It doesn’t surprise me when she starts on the Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major by Bach.
I stare at her with a mix of anger and longing. I know it’s not her father’s favorite piece—that would’ve been the natural choice. This one is mine.
Does she remember that we talked about it?
Yes, she remembers, but only what suits her.
I grit my teeth throughout her performance, and once she’s finished, I know I can’t stay here any longer.
“That was very skilled, Taylor.” I stand and walk out of the room. Classical music is one of the few things that evoke any emotion in me, and I won’t let her rope me into her web again. Whatever is between us is just raw physical attraction—and maybe a baby.
A few minutes later, I hear her footsteps approaching. I’m facing away from the stairs, gazing into the night beyond, but I’d sense her presence even in a crowd.
“Thank you. I’d say I’d pay you back for it, but right now, I can’t.”
“I didn’t buy it expecting to be reimbursed. That amount is nothing to me.”
She’s quiet for a moment before saying, “I accept the job.”
When I turn to face her, she’s hugging the violin case to her chest. “I haven’t even told you the salary yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. If we end up having a child, I’ll need to help support it.”
“You know you’d never need to work a day in your life if you’re carrying my heir.”
“And be accused by you of taking advantage of the perks of getting pregnant by one of the Marshalls? No, thanks. I’m not stupid. I’ll accept help with the child if there is one, but you’ll never pay for anything for me.”
Our drive to her place is silent. I could have sent the driver alone to ensure she got home safely, but I justify going along by the possibility she’s carrying my baby. Once my employee pulls up in front of her building’s entrance, she moves to open the door.
“When can you start at the hospital?”
“Whenever you want.”