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Chapter 22

Come Here

ADONIS

“Come here, menace.”

Her cheeks round at the nickname before she juts her chin up and walks into the room.

She looks tousled. Comfortable.Safe.

The unspoken intimacy of having her seek me out after she woke up hits me so I sit up straighter, trying to dislodge the hope before it can take root.

She had no other option. If things were different, I wouldn’t be on her short list. Oranylist of hers.

Delilah joins me on the bench and slides down my way until the gap between us is closed.

“This whole time I thought the piano in here was for show. I didn’t know you played,” she murmurs, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

They’re bigger than her face and the visual makes me bite my bottom lip.

Everything she does makes me smile. It’s a disease.

“Why are you looking at me? Play something,” she demands, voice soft but firm.

“I forgot I exist to entertain you, menace. Forgive me.”

Her cheeks rise again, and she lets her lips curve in tandem with them as she turns to look at me.

That damn smile is worse than the sun. Too bright. Too warm.

Too much of what I’m not supposed to notice. Not supposed to crave.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Because that’s what you are.” She looks proud when I say it, and I shake my head and turn back to the keys in front of me.

Delilah’s eyes stay glued to my hands as I play a random melody, letting my fingers graze the keys in lazy strokes before I settle in to play the first movement of Moonlight Sonata.

Soon, I forget anything but the notes vibrating through my fingers and the woman sitting at my side, riveted in place because of me.

She only moves to breathe, but when I’m done, she clasps her hands to her chest and whispers a rapt, “Wow.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice the red staining her cheeks is gone and all that remains is a hint of a smile to match the excitement dancing behind her lenses.

Something I did caused that.

That pride takes on a life of its own when she asks, “How do you remember all that? You weren’t reading any music.”

“Muscle memory. I started lessons when I was six.” After that, I was never allowed to stop. Excellence was expected so perfection is what I strived for. The countlessnights I spent in practice rooms at boarding school were damn near worth it for this interaction.

Until this second, Delilah Rose’s fascination is something I didn’t know I needed to check off my bucket list.

Beside me, she adjusts her weight on the bench, crossing one leg over the other. The shift has her brushing against me, her skin touching my skin.

She’s committed to being the reason I end up in an early grave.

At least she’s consistent.