Unconventional

The Fifth Month

To my delight, she returned the following month. At first I feared the worst, for I had not expected to see her again so soon, but the look of pure joy on her face instantly alleviated my fears.

Against my better judgement, I leaned in to kiss her. Our lips touched for only one moment before she pulled back, avoiding my intense gaze.

"Erik, no."

She was right, of course, she was legally married to another man, what right did I have to kiss her? But we'd been so close these past months, it felt unnatural not to take her in my arms. Even though I knew I was in the wrong, my temper still flared to life as I briskly walked across the room to put necessary distance between us.

"Why did you come here?"

"I missed you. I wondered if perhaps we might share singing lessons again?"

Singing lessons? How could she think we could resume those roles of teacher and student again after everything we'd been through? Her voice was my instrument, both my strength and my weakness. Her voice I had fallen in love with even before setting eyes on her beauty. The thought of being her vocal teacher, returning to the point where our story had started? I could not do that.

"No, too strenuous in your present condition," I lied.

"Oh, well then, I suppose there's no valid reason I should be here then..." she made to stand, her own anger and disappointment evident.

"But perhaps...piano lessons? They are gentler, and you will be sitting." Sitting next to me, with my hands upon hers...

We both knew she had no desire to learn the piano, so when she replied with an exuberant acceptance to my offer, I knew, with bittersweet longing, that it came from a desire to be near to me.

I threw myself into those lessons. I'd never much considered piano before, beyond learning the theory which aided my singing. I'd always loved watching Erik's hands move caressingly over the keys, wishing it was me he was playing instead. To both our delight I actually improved and began to enjoy the lessons for the art of it, not just as a reason to legitimately spend time with Erik. We had a piano in the drawing room at home and I found myself wanting to play in between lessons. Erik had given me homework — of course he had — and I now studied the piece he'd given me to practise. Gentle, melodic and so very Erik. I stroked the small swell of my abdomen.

"Your father composed this," I whispered. "Do you like it?" And there it was, the tiniest of flutters deep within me. Not so much that I could even feel it with my hand, just a gentle acknowledgement that I was heard, that Erik's music was heard.