Page 5 of What He Never Knew

I would have given anything.

Yes, my aunt and uncle were always dressed to impress, never knowing who they might run into, and I’d yet to see my aunt without her pearls around her neck — even in her pajamas.

So, the question everyone wanted the answer to, then, waswhywere they walking with a young, freakishly tall, black female with baggy clothes and a bald head?

Maybe before, it wouldn’t have been so jarring — when I wore clothes that were bright and cheery, pinks and yellows and oranges being the majority of my closet. Maybe, when my hair was curly and bouncy, framing my face in a wild, but feminine, bob that ended below my chin — maybe that would have been easier to swallow.

But the me who existed now? She didn’t want attention. She didn’t want to be seen as beautiful or tempting or in any way touchable. So, I’d painted the exterior to match the interior.

I was dark now.

Dark skin, dark clothes, dark eyes. No hair. No jewelry.

The only way I wanted to communicate with the world was through my music, and I didn’t need to be sexy or cute to do that.

Still, the looks I got when I walked with my uncle were just like the ones I used to get when Ididdress to impress — except they were harder, more curious, and harder to stomach. Maybe it was because even though my uncle had the same eyes my father had, I’d never felt like an outsider when I’d walked withhim. When it was my dad, my mother and I, we were nothing more or less than a family unit. And we were the happiest when we were together.

I missed those times.

“Mr. Henderson!” the sweet, smiley young brunette greeted when we made it to the reservations desk. Her smile was half the size of her face, her cheeks rosy and round. “It’s so nice to see you this evening. Shall I take you to your usual table, or would you like to try a new seat tonight?”

“Oh, the usual is perfect,” my uncle replied, his smile just as big. “I have a special guest with me tonight, so please have a bottle of my favorite wine brought over as soon as possible.”

“Will do, sir,” she said. “Shall I take you back, then?”

“Oh, we can make it on our own. I want to stop by and say hi to a few people along the way.” He winked at the hostess, and by the way she grinned in return, I imagined he probably never went straight to his table.

I followed my uncle as he made his way inside the restaurant, and my breath caught at the sight of the large, elegant chandelier that hung as the centerpiece of the room. Thousands of crystals sparkled as the chandelier slowly rotated, taking a new shape with every second. The rest of the restaurant was hidden in deep, romantic shadows, the walls a plush maroon and the floors a beautifully stained chestnut wood. The light from the chandelier danced along that wood, the beams changing shape before they’d disappear into the darkness. It was absolutely mesmerizing, and I found myself staring up at the diamonds that seemed to drip down from the top of the chandelier.

I followed every bead of it until I found the other object centered in the heart of the restaurant.

The piano.

My uncle paused when I stopped walking, looking over his shoulder at me with a smile. “Ah, I see it didn’t take you long to find the main attraction, did it?”

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, taking in the dark crown jewel mahogany, rich gold accents, and ivory keys. I didn’t even have to get close to know that piano cost at least fifty-thousand dollars.

Uncle Randall nodded. “It is, indeed. Just wait until you hear it played.”

My fingers itched to be the one playing it, though I couldn’t imagine sitting in the center of this packed restaurant of people paying more for their meal than I would spend on a car payment. The Kinky Starfish wasn’t just somewhere you went to eat — it was an all-night experience. There were four courses, spread out over the evening with the intent that you would eat slowly, enjoy great conversation with those at your table, and not just eat to get full — but to experience an unforgettable evening.

Your dinner was exquisite, your service the same, and the entertainment?

Well, it didn’t get much better than the infamous Reese Walker.

“When does he start?” I asked, eyes still wandering over the design of the piano. I noted the way the chandelier lights played off the keys, creating the most dreamy and romantic atmosphere.

“He’ll be here in about an hour, I’d imagine,” my uncle said, checking his watch. “Come on, let me introduce you to a few people before we sit down.”

My stomach flipped, excitement buzzing through me as we started walking again. I smiled and greeted the other patrons we passed as my uncle introduced me to everyone, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the piano. I couldn’t believe I would see Reese Walker play it in just one hour — and not online, but in real life.

And he’d agreed to work with me.

Me. The college dropout with a pipe dream about as possible as winning the lottery. I knew my uncle had connections, but when I asked him if it was possible, if I could take lessons with one of the most influential young pianists of my time, I figured there was absolutely no way. Reese Walker was a recluse, shut off from the music world once he left New York. Other than working with young students at Westchester and playing occasionally at The Kinky Starfish, he was out of commission.

How my uncle managed to rope a Juilliard graduate and piano legend into working with an absolute nobody was beyond me.

Then again, Reese Walker hadn’t exactly made the most of his talent. He was more known for getting into trouble than he was for anything else in the music world. Maybe that was why I’d thought of him when I realized I needed help overcoming my injury — because I saw something in him that I felt in myself. His relationship with the piano was tumultuous, and his career had been anything but traditional.