Page 193 of Marrying the Savage

I hold her for a while. Longer than I should.

Not as long as I want.

By the time we dress, the house is already awake. Sofia wears one of the new dresses from the shopping trip, pale blue and simple, with a high enough neck to cover the marks. I notice that she chooses it deliberately. She notices me noticing.

“Don’t,” she says.

“I said nothing.”

“You were about to.”

“I was not.”

“You look like a man preparing a speech.”

“I am always prepared.”

“That must be exhausting.”

“It’s useful.”

She rolls her eyes, and I feel something in my chest ease because she sounds like herself.

I take her hand. She looks down at our fingers but doesn’t pull away.

“There is something I want to show you,” I say.

“If it’s a dungeon, I’m going back to bed.”

“It’s not a dungeon.”

“That’s exactly what someone with a dungeon would say.”

I lead her down the east corridor, past two guards who look relieved to see her alive and have enough sense not to show too much of it. We reach the music room, a room she hasn’t entered yet because it was locked after Elena died and no one had reason to open it.

Now the doors stand open.

Inside, near the windows, is the piano. Black, polished, tuned yesterday. I had it brought in after Sofia made that stupid comment about knowing piano and knitting and other perfect wife duties. She was joking. I knew that.

I ordered it anyway.

She stops at the doorway. For once, she says nothing.

I let her look.

The morning light cuts across the piano, the bench, the fresh sheet music Marina placed there because she enjoys making small things look complete. Sofia walks in slowly, as if the instrument might accuse her of something.

She turns to me. “I was joking before.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you buy me a piano?”

“So you can learn.”

Her eyebrows lift. “You bought an entire piano because I made one sarcastic comment?”

“Yes.”