Page 58 of Dark Soul

Some seem to be both.

She walked over to Nikolai, who stood with his father at the front of the room, welcoming guests. To anyone who didn’t know them well, the man’s hand on the boy’s shoulder might have been taken to be a touch of support and encouragement.

Alexia knew better.

Arseny was making it clear that Nikolai belonged to him.

Even though every cell in her body told her to run in the other direction, Alexia walked towards them. When he finally recognized her, Arseny paused, blinking a couple of times.

Like a reptile.

“You look lovely tonight, my dear,” he said.

Alexia felt her hands go clammy. If there was one man’s interest she was hoping to avoid, it was this one.

“Thank you,” she said politely, pushing her hair back from her face. “Nikolai, you should probably go to the piano. We don’t want to start late.” Kvyat had been very clear on the fact that he wanted Nikolai to start playing at exactly eight p.m.

The boy looked up at his father, who removed his large hand from the boy’s slim shoulder. “Yes. Go get ready, my boy.”

The boy nodded, looking almost relieved.

Alexia turned to follow him, but Kvyat stopped her. “Miss Alexia,” he began.

“Yes?”

“You really do look lovely tonight. When Nikolai is done, the housekeeper will escort him up to his room. I would like you to stay and … enjoy a glass of champagne.”

Rage simmered inside her.

So your friends can laugh at me?

But she lowered her eyes and nodded quickly. “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Kvyat.”

“Maybe you should call me Arseny.”

Alexia pretended not to hear that as she stepped off after Nikolai. Her heart was beating a mile a minute.

Not going well.

This is not going well.

“Are you ready, Nikolai?” she asked softly, making a show of preparing the sheet music that the boy didn’t really need.

The boy nodded. “One way or another, it’ll be over in fifteen minutes.”

Alexia nodded, struck once again by the boy’s maturity, and saddened by it. The boy’s instructor had shortened the piece from thirty to fifteen minutes, not out of concern for Nikolai, but rather because Kvyat had requested fifteen minutes of entertainment.

A few days earlier, Alexia wouldn’t have been able to tell you who Sergei Profokiev was. But it didn’t take an expert musician to see how technically challenging his Second Sonata was.

How inappropriate for a child with small hands.

Nikolai started playing. The haunting, drawn-out notes from the beginning of the piece drew people to their side of the living area. Soon, fifty or sixty people stood there, staring silently at the boy.

The music moved towards the rapid-fire octaves that would exhaust a grown pianist. Alexia clenched her hands as Nikolai worked through them. The music changed again, then, to something fanciful and dramatic, and it seemed to Alexia that the entire room held their collective breaths.

Her eyes were suddenly pulled to the far side of the room, where two tall men walked through the door, elegant in their classic, black tuxedos. The taller one smiled at something his colleague said, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She knew that, even from this distance, because she knew exactly what those blue eyes looked like when he smiled.

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