Page 123 of Owned Bratva Bride

Eduard stood there with his hands in the pockets of his black joggers. I shot him a smile, and he responded with one of his.

I played on, and he remained there, like the sound calmed him, too.

It wasn’t his first time coming into the room while I played. He often showed up briefly, leaving me to it. But, a few times, like this morning, he came in and stayed back, hearing me play.

It was like an unspoken language between us; no words were required.

Just like the one between me and the grand piano. I had gone from playing with detachment and even uncertainty togetting pulled into the alluring waves of the musical instrument. The skill I thought I had lost was slowly finding me.

I had fallen into a new daily routine that included the piano. I played every morning, while my evenings were for composing.

The melody I enjoyed while playing the piano was just one of the reasons I did it. I loved how the tunes and notes flowed through me. I enjoyed the thrill of hearing something I’d composed. It was a kind of high.

But the biggest reason was the sense of purpose it gave me. It felt like I was finding the core of my being. It was a purpose that had always been mine and would always be.

***

“Are you kidding me?! I should have suspected when Sofia wouldn’t stop grinning like a Cheshire cat,” I uttered, walking into the garden.

Eduard’s response was a smile as he walked toward me, hands extended to take mine.

As we settled onto the blanket, I told him, “You know, I’ve dreamt of something like this before. Not exactly, but very similar.”

“Then I’m glad to be the man of your dreams,” he remarked, making my smile widen.

“I can’t believe you were here when I thought you were at the warehouse.”

“It’s a Sunday. I’m spending every minute of it with you.”

“That’s sweet,” I crooned.

“I aim to please,” he answered, bringing out the cookies in the tray beside us.

I took the pack he gave me, examining it. “Store-bought milk cookies?”

“Yes, baby.”

I turned around in his arms, hugging him tight. “Thank you.”

“Baby, pleasing you gives me a great deal of pleasure. It’s as selfish as much as it’s selfless. I love seeing that smile on your face.”

“What makes you happy?” I blurted in response.

“You.”

I chuckled before pressing, “Before me…or, aside from me.”

He seemed to take a few moments to think before answering.

“Solving problems at work makes me happy. Playing the piano soothes me; I guess you could call that happiness. I can’t think of anything else,” he divulged.

“It does that to me, too. The piano, I mean,” I admitted, my voice soft.

“You have a rare talent,” he mentioned. “Would you tell me about it? It doesn’t have to be now.”

A soft sigh left my lips.

“I started playing the piano when I was a kid. My dad had a grand piano at the house. I had, more or less, unrestricted access to it. He was always out and about. I guess it started with trying to hear the difference in each key I pressed. I just played gibberish, but I liked the fact that I was producing the sounds. Later, I started watching my dad play. I would ask him about musical notes and the music he composed. Soon I was able to play his compositions in different variations.”