Page 26 of Give Me a Reason

How could Anne be okay with this? Her family used her—a smart, kind, and talented woman—as background music.

Frederick pushed off his chair and went to stand by the piano, next to Anne.

It didn’t matter that they weren’t together.

He didn’t give a fuck that she wasn’t his to take care of.

For tonight, he would make her his business.

“Hi.” She glanced up with round eyes but didn’t stop playing the poignant music that stirred his soul. He didn’t linger on the thought that it was perhaps Anne who moved him.

“Hi.” He peered down at the music score in front of her, afraid his face would reveal too much. “This is beautiful. What is it called?”

“‘Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence.’ It’s by the Japanese composer Ryuichi Sakamoto.

” She closed her eyes as she played the next few notes.

He hungrily memorized the lines of her face before he caught himself and forced his gaze back to the sheet music.

“I really admire him. He once said, ‘The best art is often simple and honest. It speaks directly to the heart.’ He may have been talking about music, but I think it’s also true for acting. ”

“I like that,” Frederick murmured, leaning closer to her without conscious decision. “And his music is… exquisite.”

At the dip in his voice, Anne’s eyes shot to his face. He didn’t look away this time. She was exquisite, and he wanted her to know it. He wanted her to know he would never take her for granted, no matter where their relationship stood. He couldn’t.

The tremulous smile she offered him broke his heart, and the sense of wrongness tugged at him again. She’s meant to be mine. Anne might not have the support she deserved from her family, but he could…

“Captain Nam, would you like a cup of Paul’s famous hot apple pie?” Mrs. Hong asked, appearing at his side. “It’s a family recipe. Mulled apple cider with brandy, topped off with whipped cream. It really is delicious, which makes it a little dangerous. The brandy sneaks up on you.”

“Thank you, but I shouldn’t. I have a bit of a drive back home.

” He straightened to his full height even though he wanted to stay as close to Anne as possible.

But something about Joe’s future mother-in-law put him on edge.

She seemed perfectly nice, but he felt as though she was silently measuring his worth. “And please call me Frederick.”

“Of course.” She smiled politely at him, not calling him anything. “Please let me know if you need anything.”

Oh yeah. If Frederick ever wronged Joe, Mrs. Hong wouldn’t hesitate to hand him his ass. He resisted the urge to fidget. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

As he turned back to Anne, he belatedly noticed she had stopped playing the piano. And she sat very still, her face ghostly pale. What the hell?

“And how are you doing, my dear?” Mrs. Hong’s voice warmed by ten degrees when she addressed Anne.

“Doing? Me?” Anne opened and closed her mouth several times. Frederick’s brows drew together as she stammered, “F-fine. I’m fine, Imo.”

A memory—one that he seldom allowed to surface—crystallized in his mind, and every hair on his body stood to attention.

Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? Coraline and Bethany were Anne’s cousins, for God’s sake.

Why had it taken him so long to realize that Mrs. Hong was Anne’s imo , her mother’s sister?

How could he not have known that she was the aunt?

“That’s good.” The woman gave Anne a fond pat on the cheek, then walked away.

Mrs. Hong was the aunt who’d persuaded Anne to accept the role in the K-drama ten years ago. The one who’d convinced her that their relationship wouldn’t last. The aunt who’d thought Frederick wasn’t good enough for her niece. The one who’d persuaded Anne to leave him.

Did Mrs. Hong know who he was? Would she still believe he wasn’t good enough for Anne, if she knew? He gritted his teeth. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care whether she knew or what she thought of him.

What he did care about was the fact that Anne had known all along. She had let him make nice with the woman who’d taken the most precious thing in the world away from him. Frederick’s fists clenched at his sides, and he turned his disbelieving gaze to Anne’s stricken face.

“Frederick.” He didn’t so much hear her say his name but saw her lips forming the word, her voice so soft as to be absent altogether.

Anne used to say his name like it was hers to savor, her voice dipping on the first syllable and her lips parting on the last. He used to love it—the possessiveness, the affection, and the desire she imbued into that single word.

But in this moment, when her voice shook with alarm and misery, it was the last thing he wanted to hear.

Because he didn’t want to be understanding or magnanimous. He did not want to tell her it was okay. It was not okay. But he would have told her anything if it meant he could erase the pain in her eyes.

Frederick did the only thing he could. He turned his back on Anne and walked out of the house without another word.