ed.”
“Oh, the Marcello.”
He starts to play slowly and deliberately. I feel the movement of his hands in his shoulder as I lean against him and close my eyes. The sad, soulful notes swirl slowly and mournfully around us, echoing off the walls. It is a hauntingly beautiful piece, sadder even than the Chopin, and I lose myself to the beauty of the lament. To a certain extent, it reflects how I feel. The deep poignant longing I ha一ve to know this extraordinary man better, to try and understand his sadness. All too soon, the piece is at an end.
“Why do you only play such sad music?”
I sit upright and gaze up at him as he shrugs in answer to my question, his expression wary.
“So you were just six when you started to play?” I prompt.
He nods, his wary look intensifying. After a moment he volunteers.
“I threw myself into learning the piano to please my new mother.”
“To fit into the perfect family?”
“Yes, so to speak,” he says evasively. “Why are you awake? Don’t you need to recover from yesterday’s exertions?”
“It’s 8:00 in the morning for me. And I need to take my pill.”
He raises his eyebrows in surprise.
“Well remembered,” he murmurs, and I can tell he’s impressed. His lips quirk up in a half smile.
“Only you would start a course of time-specific birth control pills in a different time zone. Perhaps you should wait half an hour and then another half hour tomorrow morning. So s eventually you can take them at a reasonable time.”
“Good plan,” I breathe. “So what shall we do for half an hour?” I blink innocently at him.
“I can think of a few things,” he grins, gray eyes bright. I gaze back impassively as my insides clench and melt under his knowing look.
“On the other hand, we could talk,” I suggest quietly.
His brow creases.
“I prefer what I ha一ve in mind.” He scoops me onto his lap.
“You’d always rather ha一ve sex than talk,” I laugh, steadying myself by holding on to his upper arms.
“True. Especially with you.” He nuzzles my hair and starts a steady trail of kisses from b
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