Velvet curtains in the richest shade of plum are drawn over a row of windows, a similarly coloured shaggy rug beneath the table which has been set for ten. Gold flourishes line the ceiling and surround the chandelier hanging in the centre. At the far end next to a lit fireplace, a dark piano reminds me of home. Huffing behind us draws my attention to an approaching Sharon, an emerald green bodycon hugging her surgically enhanced body with a young man on her arm.
“Never one to follow the rules, were you Axel?” She mumbles, her lip peeling back in disgust as she assesses Garrett’s outfit. “Ugh, do you ever take anything seriously?”
“Life’s all shits and giggles until someone giggles and shits,” he shrugs, and I snort loudly. Deciding to ignore him, Sharon pushes her way through us with her lapdog on her heels and turns back with her fake smile back in place.
“Well, no matter. I’d like to introduce you all to my husband, Richard Barrett.” The pasty man puffs out his chest arrogantly, not intimidated in the least by the four guys that are all easily a foot taller and glowering at him like he’s pissed in their milk. He’s slim, his blue suit probably from the children’s section, with blonde hair and a grotesquely large mole on his neck.
“Pleasure to meet you at last Axel,” Richard has the balls to outstretch his hand, which I give him props for. Not that Garrett feels the same, stepping in front of Axel and slapping the offensive limb away with a snarl. Unphased, Richard slips his hand around Sharon’s waist and pull her into his side possessively.
“I don’t even know why I imagined you’d marry some rich bastard on his death bed, again. Of course this piece of jailbait is enjoying the house Axel’s father worked so hard for.” Garrett puffs out his chest in a challenge while Axel is happy to let him take the lead, no doubt thankful his personal bodyguard is blocking his view from the woman glaring at him. I shift closer and force my fingers into Axel’s clenched fist, grief for his father clear in his tone.
“For your information-“ Sharon begins but Richard places a hand on her shoulder to cut in, an usually kind smile on his lips.
“There’s no need for the hostility boys. If you give me a fair chance to introduce myself, you’ll learn I have my own company, can provide more than enough for Axel’s mom and I’ve already started making some improvements on the house. This place will feel like a real home for all of us soon enough.” If Richard notices the way all four men surrounding me bristle and take a dangerous step towards him, his permanent smug grin doesn’t let it show.
Gently pulling on Sharon’s waist, he leads her over to a seat at the far end of the table. After she is seated and he’s placed a kiss on her head, he moves around the room towards the head of the table. I notice the chair in front of the piano is slightly different to the others, the back is higher with black armrests and a darker shade of purple cushioning. Axel spurts forward, clutching his side as he beats Richard to the chair, his stare alight with a challenge.
“Not fucking likely,” he growls, lowering himself into the seat carefully. Richard shrugs with his carefree smirk and takes the place by Sharon instead. Garrett settles himself on one side of Axel and Dax places his hand on my lower back to guide me to his other side. Tension clogs my throat, the tremors of an oncoming panic attack trickling down my spine. Family reunions aren’t my idea of fun anyway, but the friction in the air is unbearable. As Dax pulls my chair out for me, I have the strongest impulse to turn and run until my eyes flick back over to the piano.
Longing grips me. The glossy coat of black beaconing me over, a tune already sounding in my mind that has my fingers twitching. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the calming press of keys beneath my fingers, the soothing notes of my soul transforming into music. Twisting away from Dax, I cross the space and click my heels off without a care. I need this, and I’m pretty sure Axel could do with a distraction too. Draping my skirt behind me on the leather stool, I lift the lid and smile at the ivory keys. My old friends. Closing my eyes and tipping my head back, I let my fingers drift across the grooves until a melody sounds in my mind. One I’ve never played to an audience before but suits my mood perfectly.
My index finger presses down on the first note, a rigid cord in my spine snapping at the sound as the rest of my fingers join in. I wrote this piece myself, the soft flutter of notes reminding me of my mum on a summer’s day. Her billowing skirts and loose hair twirling around her as she dances across the garden, the sounds of nature her only music. Full of light and life. With each chord that reaches my ears, I picture her land on pointed toes, her arms high in perfect arches like she would prod me to do during my
