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Until the Moon Burns
twenty.
“Piano?” I asked, intrigued by the image in my head.
He nodded, keeping eye contact with Esme all the time, and I wondered if he was silently begging her to say the piano wasn’t tuned or some other excuse.
“Show me,” I insisted, deciding the picture I had imagined of Edward playing the piano while I lounged over a sofa elegantly was too seductive. The idea, too, of being alone with Edward was incredibly enticing, even if it was only to kill me. I’d take it.
My heart nearly beat itself into an early grave when Edward put his arm around me, steering me gently to a darkened, empty room where an ebony, classic piano sat. His touch was refreshingly cold and I realised then how warm the costume I was wearing was. I sat at the piano, stroking the keys gently.
“Do you play?” He asked, sitting beside me. We were close, and my heart beat faster. I liked being near him.
“No, not well. I can hit random keys and make awful sounds, though.”
He smiled softly, and began to play a song I really loved. I didn’t recognise it at all, but it felt like I knew the notes that were going to be played before they were. It made me smile and when we were done, I clapped.
He gave a little controlled nod of his head and it bothered me. He had let himself relax so much in his music, and now he was back to the chivalrous Edward who didn’t let anybody near him.
“Always so polite,” I sighed. “You have forever. Live a little!”
“I was raised to be polite, Audrey.” He put on a really awful accent that was meant to be posh.
“I think you mean Miss Black, Mr Cullen. I’m afraid we are not yet on first name terms.”
“Live a little,” he smirked, and nudged me. I loved the way his skin felt against mine, cooling me.
“Shh,” I told him. I took a huge risk, one that took a lot of self-motivation, and rested my head on his shoulder. Butterflies erupted in my stomach and my palms were sweaty, and I couldn’t stop the smile on my face.
I lifted my head, touched the keys, and began to play the only song I knew.
“The only thing I ever learned to play was my father’s funeral song. Depressing, huh?”
“Your father is deceased? I’m very sorry to hear that,” he sounded sincere, polite.
“It was a while ago, don’t apologize. Unless you killed him. Then I’m afraid I’d have to hurt you,” I told him, trying to look deadly serious. He laughed.
He nodded, keeping eye contact with Esme all the time, and I wondered if he was silently begging her to say the piano wasn’t tuned or some other excuse.
“Show me,” I insisted, deciding the picture I had imagined of Edward playing the piano while I lounged over a sofa elegantly was too seductive. The idea, too, of being alone with Edward was incredibly enticing, even if it was only to kill me. I’d take it.
My heart nearly beat itself into an early grave when Edward put his arm around me, steering me gently to a darkened, empty room where an ebony, classic piano sat. His touch was refreshingly cold and I realised then how warm the costume I was wearing was. I sat at the piano, stroking the keys gently.
“Do you play?” He asked, sitting beside me. We were close, and my heart beat faster. I liked being near him.
“No, not well. I can hit random keys and make awful sounds, though.”
He smiled softly, and began to play a song I really loved. I didn’t recognise it at all, but it felt like I knew the notes that were going to be played before they were. It made me smile and when we were done, I clapped.
He gave a little controlled nod of his head and it bothered me. He had let himself relax so much in his music, and now he was back to the chivalrous Edward who didn’t let anybody near him.
“Always so polite,” I sighed. “You have forever. Live a little!”
“I was raised to be polite, Audrey.” He put on a really awful accent that was meant to be posh.
“I think you mean Miss Black, Mr Cullen. I’m afraid we are not yet on first name terms.”
“Live a little,” he smirked, and nudged me. I loved the way his skin felt against mine, cooling me.
“Shh,” I told him. I took a huge risk, one that took a lot of self-motivation, and rested my head on his shoulder. Butterflies erupted in my stomach and my palms were sweaty, and I couldn’t stop the smile on my face.
I lifted my head, touched the keys, and began to play the only song I knew.
“The only thing I ever learned to play was my father’s funeral song. Depressing, huh?”
“Your father is deceased? I’m very sorry to hear that,” he sounded sincere, polite.
“It was a while ago, don’t apologize. Unless you killed him. Then I’m afraid I’d have to hurt you,” I told him, trying to look deadly serious. He laughed.
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im actually a little seduced by that whole 'laid over the piano' image.