Page 58 of Bribed by the Billionaire Bad Boy

But this is just a short reverie. Time won’t stop, and one way or another, we’ll end up at opening night. Our business deal will end. I’ll have a choice to make. And I know not even Lex’s strange power over me will make me enough of a “Harriet” to face the crowds and a real stage buzzing with the silence of thousands in the audience.

I look at Lex’s back while he strides down these endless halls of his.

My hand lifts before I know it, and my lips part as he steps away unknowingly just before I can reach him. But what if…what if for just a moment I dare to believe he might offer enough courage for such a thing?

Lex, with all the theatrics possible, promptly turns on his heel and sets his palms against massive double doors. He thrusts them open, revealing a glittering actual ballroom.

My mouth drops open.

Darkness and shadows paint the space, but the slim fingers of moonlight pouring in through the tall windows make the whole place ethereal. That silver light skates across ebony, and the reason behind Lex offering to show me this room in particular becomes all too clear.

It has nothing to do with the grandeur of the tall ceilings andsparkling tile.

It has to do with the grand piano off-center in front of one of those massive windows on the other side of the room. Sighing, I trail into the evening glow, and Lex doesn’t turn on any lights before he follows me to the instrument.

“He’s beautiful,” I say, sitting at the bench and lifting the cover to display the pristine ivory keys. Though I hope they aren’trealivory, in a place like this I wouldn’t be surprised if they are.

“He?” Lex asks. He leans against the body of the piano, and I look up at him. Shadowed by moonlight, he looks like something ancient and magical. The lord of a fantasy realm. Everything about his stance reflects confidence, but the gentleness in his green eyes is so soft.

I swallow, lifting my fingers to the keys. “Of course. He’s yours, isn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me you played?”

Lex laughs. “What makes you so sure ‘he’s’ mine?”

“I don’t know.” I just have a strange feeling. I play an arpeggio, drifting from chord to chord, melting into the soft warmth of the key of A. “Why didn’t you tell me you played?” I ask again.

He rounds to the bench and sits beside me. My breath catches as I slide slightly away to give him some more room. His fingers lift to the keys, and my heart stutters. Darkness blankets us. But there’s light in the moment between us. Whether it’s brightness or weightlessness, I can’t be sure.

“I can’t compare to what you can do,” he says, playing a matching chord in time with the pattern of my fingers.

I’ve never played with anyone before.

His long fingers effortlessly echo my movements, his eyes stick on my hands while mine cling to his, keeping exact time. Like we’ve practiced for centuries. He murmurs beneath the simple, repetitive tune. “I started several years ago on a whim.The whim lasted a hardcore week. Since that, I’ve bounced back now and again. I know the way of it, and I can manage simple things with both hands, but I’m not being humble when I say I’m not great.”

“Of course not,” I whisper. “Humble doesn’t suit you.”

He flashes me a grin, and in pulling his gaze off my hands, he stumbles across his keys and pulls back. “Oops.”

My cheeks warm, and I nudge my glasses up with my shoulder before getting in position to start “Broken Wings.”

Lex recognizes the song in the first bar, even though we haven’t even begun practicing it in class. It’s one of the final songs, after all. “Bold move, sugar,” he murmurs. “You’re really playing our song right now?”

Harriet and Kenneth’s song.

Ours is the lonely melody I wrote at the start of the school year. Ours is the one that brought him to me. Ours doesn’t even have a name.

I’ve heard him sing before. We’ve passed his opening song “Grief” in rehearsals. But seeing him on the stage practicing those lines is nothing like watching the way he turns his attention toward the nearest window and lets the melody of “Broken Wings” take over. “Grief” is a deceptive requiem. Kenneth hardly cared about his father’s passing. The man wasn’t much of a father to him anyway. His grief is wound up in bitterness more than sorrow; he despises the role his father left behind for him. Lex pulls off those emotions too perfectly. There’s nothing warm or soft to be found, to sweep me away. Not like now.

Lex’s deep voice swells, and it fills my chest in a way I can’t describe.

My own words. My own song.

Resonating from another’s soul.

I wet my lips, and my harmony part escapes before I know it,melding fully with his voice.

We, Kenneth and Harriet, aren’t together for this song.

No.