Overture (Rain Dance, Book 1) (Rain Dance Series) (53 page)

     
My entire body
was sore when I woke up, serving as an immediate reminder of what had happened
only just hours ago. I blushed and pulled the covers over my mouth, unable to
stop smiling. Turning over, I watched the man who slept at my side. While in his
slumber, his face was free of any lines, his skin perfectly smooth. He looked
so peaceful.

     
I checked the
clock behind him, which read eleven twenty-eight. Ethan and I had been
at it
on-and-off for almost the entire night. He had taken me four separate times,
and each time it had been a completely different experience. Clearly, the man
had been holding back up until now. It was like a whole three weeks worth of
pent up frustration came raining down on me.

     
Thinking it
would be best to let him be for now, I quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed
to the shelf that held my clothes. I pulled out a simple, flowy white
nightgown, putting it on as I exited the room. When I reached the bottom of the
stairs, I stopped and looked around, not really sure what to do next.
I
guess I could make breakfast.

     
Once inside the
kitchen, I studied the contents of his fridge. I didn't feel like pancakes or
waffles, and I didn't want to make food for just myself. But I had no way of
knowing when he would wake up. Yawning, I found myself starting to feel
rather…lethargic? No, that wasn't quite the right word. I didn't particularly
feel like doing anything, except maybe going back upstairs to wait in bed.
I'll
do a ham and cheese quiche.
Uneasy, maybe? No…I felt perfectly comfortable
here. With a small sigh, I took out all the ingredients I would need. It would
be about a forty minute wait before it finished heating in the oven, so I would
have to find something else to occupy my time with.

     
A little over
an hour later, I was stuffing my face on Ethan's sofa while watching one of my
favorite documentaries about lions when I heard him come down. He came up
behind me, leaned down and kissed my temple.

     
"How are
you feeling?" he asked softly.

     
"…Terrible. Just awful. I don't think I've ever been in this much
pain."

     
He took hold of
my chin, tilting my head to look up at him, and stared at me with a frown.

     
"Kidding.
Honestly, I'm feeling a little restless," I smiled, pausing to scoop up a
piece of food from my plate. "I feel like I was forcefully thrown into
heaven last night. Now that I'm back, I don't really know what to do…about
anything
,"
I admitted.

     
After a
lingering moment, he smirked and stole the mouthful from my fork.

     
We spent most
of the day doing nothing of any importance. It was quiet. Peaceful. In some
ways, it was almost as though I was still coming down from the height of where
I had been last night. My mind just wasn't completely there. I wasn't able to
comprehend things as I normally would have been able to. Although I could be
wrong, but I think that maybe Ethan felt the same way. He didn't speak much. He
just always made sure to stay near me.

     
The sun had
come out for a few hours, but just before evening could come around it left
again, leaving the sky a bright gray. Somehow, I found myself standing in the
music room, opening the large window. A heavy gust of air whooshed past me,
causing the white curtains to dance. Long, white, and flowy…my favorite combination.

     
I turned to
look at the piano. The lid was closed, which meant that he had been in here
since the last time I'd been messing around on it. Right - this
was
his
home. I don't know why, but the thought of him playing for fun excited me. I
reached out to run my fingers against its smooth surface, but quickly drew my
hand back when I heard someone enter the room.
Ethan. Of course it's just
Ethan.

     
He leaned
against the wall and observed me carefully, as though he were thinking hard
about something. "…Why are you afraid to touch it?"

     
I flushed,
embarrassed that he had noticed. "A reflex," I shrugged. He gazed
pointedly, waiting for more. "You want specifics?"

     
Although
hesitant, he nodded. "Please."

     
I looked back
down at the piano, then turned to face out the window. "They had a piano.
Whenever they would leave, I would mess around on it. I never understood why,
but pretending I knew how to play somehow managed to bring me peace. At that
age, it was the best feeling in the world. Anyway, one time I didn't hear them
come back. But they said it was okay to play as long as they were out of the
house. They weren't
so
bad, you see."

     
He scoffed,
though it was small. "What changed, then?"

     
"Aubrey
wanted to learn, so they had her take lessons. She had many talents. Music
wasn't one of them," I chuckled, remembering her terrible playing.
"But it shouldn't have mattered, so long as she was having fun." I
glanced back at Ethan. "It was Christmas Eve and my stepfather's family
had come over. You know how older folks can be. They want to see what their
grandchildren can do. Aubrey performed. Noel was messing around afterwards and
told them that I could play a little bit, too. They became insistent. They
didn't know I wasn't allowed to say no. My playing wasn't that much better than
Aubrey's, but apparently I had embarrassed her. I was twelve. That was the very
first time they had ever hit me. I continued to play, though - every time it
was just me in the house. It was too easy to lose track of the time. They would
come back and then I'd
really
get my ass beat." As more wind came
riding into the room, I inhaled, comforted by the cold chill. "I love painting.
Really, I do. But it's nothing compared to what I used to feel when I would
play the piano."

     
"…
Used
to?"

     
I faced the
large instrument. If I allowed myself to get lost...
really
lost in it,
would I feel that way again? "Play something for me," I smiled at
Ethan. "Please."

     
Slowly, he made
his way towards the bench to sit down. Then he looked up at me and held out his
hand. "Here, Kitty-Kitty."

     
I giggled.
"Why exactly am I even a cat?"

     
"You'd
have to see what I've seen to know why. Come," he demanded gently, patting
the bench. I walked around and took a seat between his legs. "Now tell
me," he spoke into my ear. "In your dreams, what are you
playing?"

     
This man
really did remember everything.
I bit my lip.

     
"We've got
all day, you know."

     
"Well, one
time I was watching this show. This girl, and this guy who played the part of
the orchestra, were doing Rachmaninoff's 'Piano Concerto No. 2.' Only…when she
began playing, it came out loud. And the tempo was really fast. Also, they each
had their own piano. In my dreams I'm playing like the girl. Wildly.
Impulsively. Violently beautiful."

     
"Hm."
He rested his head on my shoulder. "Which section?"

     
"The first
half of the first movement."

     
"…Show me
how fast."

     
I hesitated for
a moment before bringing both hands over the keys. I could play the first eight
bars with ease, but afterwards was when things became difficult. Just as he
asked, I played those first few seconds, somewhat angrily, stopping just before
the ninth bar.

     
Ethan reached
his arms around me. As soon as I saw his long fingers gracefully position
themselves over the keys, I was entranced. He pressed down, playing exactly as
I had. Only this time he kept going. I would've thought that someone might have
needed just a bit of practice before playing it perfectly, even if they did
know it by heart. He didn't fumble. He didn't even miss a beat. His fingers
moved with such lithe that it was almost as though they were hovering, not even
completely landing on the keys. At some points, there were so many notes being
played that it was hard to catch them all. After two minutes, when the piece
started to slow down, he stopped and took my hands, placing them on top of his.
I laughed. My fingers could never even hope to reach as far as his.

     
"Hold
on," he said, kissing my cheek before continuing from where he'd left off.

     
I watched
intently, trying to memorize every key. Watching him play made it seem all the
more impossible for me to be able to do it on my own. But for the first time I
was alright with that.
The man is actually playing it for me.
I didn't
think it was possible to love him any more than I already did, but I was proven
wrong again. My heart was overflowing, and soon I began to fear that it might
burst. How did a person contain this kind of emotion within themselves? I
wanted to do more than cry with happiness. I wanted to sing and dance and
praise the Earth and sky, but even that didn't feel as though it would be
enough.

     
On the verge of
going into a laughing fit, I continued to enjoy all the sounds that drifted
around me, embracing every single one as a gift, until eventually…the music
settled down, slowing and working into a soft crescendo.

     
Then it was
over.

     
"Thank
you," I said, trying not to tear up. It was no use. Now that it was over,
I realized that I'd already been crying. Ethan wrapped his arms around my waist
and pressed his cheek against my head, rocking our bodies sideways. I laughed.

     
No - painting
would never compare to what I had felt just now.

     
"So you're
a musical genius, then?"

     
"Hardly.
That just happens to be one of my favorites," he answered quietly.

     
"…Really?" He hadn't mentioned that during our big music
discussion.

     
He grabbed my
hands and placed them over the piano. "Try."

     
"My hands
aren't like yours."

     
"Start
here, then." He set my fingers down onto a specific group of keys and had
me start at the part where the song had begun to slow down, towards the middle.
I hadn't been able to memorize all the right notes, of course, so I had to play
on impulse and guess my way through.

     
"Good," he murmured. "See? Perfect."

     
"Sloppy," I grumbled.

     
"But affectively
emotional. Keep going."

     
I had to stop
when I reached a section where I wasn't able to make out which chords would
follow. He pointed them out for me.

     
"Here…and
here."

     
Eventually I
caught on and managed to near the end. But before I could completely reach it,
he interrupted me.

     
"Alright.
Time to start over again."

     
"Hm?"
I was confused.

     
"Hands
over mine," he ordered as he placed his fingers back on the keys. As soon
as my hands were on his, he began. "This first bit will be difficult for
you."

     
"You mean
impossible."

     
"Your
hands are small, but there are shortcuts. Don't worry about hitting all the
right notes. Just as long as you get the gist of it."

     
I studied
carefully, trying to see what shortcuts I could possibly take that wouldn't
lessen the quality of the song.

     
He stopped when
he reached the middle point and stated simply, "Continue." A cold
gust of wind blew in, causing the curtains to go flying again. He ran his hands
down my arms, down my waist to rest on my thighs. I did as he asked, starting
from where he'd left off. "Don't stop," he breathed against my ear. I
felt his right hand lower to my knee before slowly sliding back up…inwards.
When it made contact with my center, I inhaled sharply and hit a wrong note.