Chapter 12 — Lisabet

I’m the first to wake the next morning. The second the sunshine peeks in through the crack in the curtain, I’m up and slipping out of bed, pulling on my clothes that have been abandoned to the floor.

I didn’t get to take in the splendor of Miles’ room last night. The sheer size of the place no longer takes me by surprise. If anything, I expect it to be large and grand, befitting a prince like Miles.

His one room is effectively one giant studio apartment. There’s a living room section, a study, an en-suite bathroom off to the right, and a huge walk-in closet to the left. The four-post bed he’s asleep in is made of sturdy hardwood, and the delicate curtains that cover the arching windows overlooking the palace grounds are made of embroidered silk.

Miles’ hair is an adorable mess, flat on one side and sticking out on the other. It somehow makes him look even more handsome. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like he has to hide from me or keep up appearances. He’s asleep, vulnerable and exposed, and he trusts me enough to let me see him like this.

Once I’m dressed, I dip down and kiss him on the forehead. He stirs, but only slightly.

“I have to get to rehearsal,” I tell him.

“Mm-kay,” he mumbles into his pillow, reaching for me with a free hand.

I can’t help but stifle a laugh, threading my fingers with his. How is it possible to look so sexy and so cute at the same time?

“You’re more than welcome to come visit me later,” I say. “I’ll practice those new scores for you.”

He smiles sleepily. “Mm-kay,” he says again.

“Will you give me my hand back?”

“No. Don’t wanna.”

“How am I supposed to play my new cello?”

“Magic.”

“You’re silly when you’re sleepy.” I dip down and kiss his temple. “I’ll see you later, all right?”

Miles hums and gives me a half-nod before drifting off again. I linger a while longer, happy to bask in his presence for a few more seconds before turning to leave.

I sneak out into the hall as quietly as possible, treading lightly over the polished marble tile. I’m starting to feel very familiar with the place, so it doesn’t take me long to get to the main hall that the attendants all use, a sort of hub to get from wing to wing of the palace.

Just as I turn the corner, I bump into someone.

When I see who it is, I freeze.

“Lost?” King Albert asks, voice loud and firm.

I bow my head and refuse to lift my gaze from the floor. “N-no, Your Majesty. Just on my way to practice.”

“Dressed like that?”

My head fills with so much heat I’m worried it’ll spontaneously combust. “I, uh…I was really warm.”

“Where’s your instrument?” the King asks.

“I left it in my room, Your Majesty.”

“You went to rehearsals without your instrument?”

I feel myself unraveling. I want nothing more than to shrink away, but that’d only look more suspicious.

“It slipped my mind,” I say as calmly as I can. “I was thinking about a specific section of the music that I haven’t been able to get right and lost track of things.”

The King says nothing. I don’t dare look up. I’m genuinely worried that if I do, his glare will turn me into stone.

“Well?” he says. “Don’t just stand there. You’re going to be late.”

I bow my head lower. “Yes, Your Majesty. Have a good day, Your Majesty.”

My pulse doesn’t return to normal levels until I’ve returned to my room. That was a close call. Closer than I would have liked.

I don’t know why, but I get the feeling that the King doesn’t like me very much. Or rather, he doesn’t like people very much. I wonder what he’d say or do if he found out that Miles and I were involved. Would he approve?

Somehow, I doubt it.

*

Rehearsal goes off without a hitch. I’m in a private chamber in the southern wing, working on my technique, with specific attention on scales and arpeggios. The Stradivarius that Miles gifted me feels totally different, like I’ve just upgraded from a bicycle to a motorbike. The strings feel stiffer, the bow feels heavier, and the entire fingerboard feels unforgiving. I chalk it up to my inexperience playing it. I’m sure that with time this cello will feel like an extension of myself. I’ll get used to riding the motorcycle, and then there will be nothing left to stand in my way. I just need to take what I’ve learned and apply it, become one with the music like I have time and time again.

There will come a time when pressing down on the strings will be as easy as melting butter. The bow will become part of my arm, one fluid motion stroking back and forth. I’ll get used to the vibrations of the cello’s body as it passes through me, familiarizing myself with every little nook and cranny that makes its sound unique. I’ve only been at practice for a couple of hours, but I’m already growing more comfortable with the new sound.

To the untrained ear, it’s like every other cello. To my ear, it’s the difference between champagne and sparkling apple cider. This is honestly the nicest gift anyone’s ever given me.

Robert got me a pair of fake diamond earrings once. Those were…nice?

It’s a little after one in the afternoon when three knocks sound at the practice room’s door. Miles enters, practically glowing in the afternoon sun.

“How do you like it?” he asks, gesturing toward the Stradivari.

“It’s amazing. Wonderful. Fantastic.”

“That good, huh?”

“I’m adjusting very well, I think. I’ve been making good progress.”

“Will you play something for me?”

“Of course. Why don’t you pull up a chair?”

He does so, settling in right in front of me. I breathe in the scent of his cologne and admire his outfit for the day, a relaxed white button-down tucked into black dress pants. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and the top two buttons of his collar are undone. Miles has swept his hair back, still charmingly messy, but out of the way. He honestly looks like he just came off of a runway in Paris, stunning and chic.

I play him the first song in Wench’s repertoire. It’s a warm-up exercise full of fine scale runs and vibrato. It has a very folksy tune, which makes sense considering many of Wench’s more famous works went on to become some of Oxland’s most well-known nursey rhymes.

Miles is a very respectful audience member. He doesn’t say a word, only watches and enjoys. He smiles when notes trill beautifully, and his head sways back and forth with the beat. I can feel his eyes on my fingers, studying them as they travel along the neck of the cello, a deep fascination clear in his gaze. When the song comes to an end, he claps his hands, appearing genuinely impressed.

“Gorgeous,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“Have you learned any of the others?”

I laugh. “I’ve only had the scores for less than a day. Give me a bit of time.”

“Just eager to hear you play; that’s all.”

An idea occurs to me, making a smile tug at the corners of my lips.

“What?” he asks, amused.

“Would you like to try?” I ask.

Miles immediately shakes his head. “Oh, that’s all right. I’d rather leave it to the professional.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”

“If auditory torture sounds fun to you, sure.”

“Have you ever tried playing an instrument?”

“Piano. But when I was very young. I was probably five or six when Mother tried to give me lessons.”

“They didn’t take?”

“I didn’t have the attention span for it. Tobias used to say it sounded like I was taking a hammer to the keys.”

I stand and carry the cello over to Miles, laughing the entire time as he struggles to hold it properly. It’s like watching a new father hold his child for the first time, awkward and with an excess of care.

“This thing’s bigger than it looks,” he points out.

I nod. “You’ll get used to that. Here’s the bow.”

“I apologize if you go deaf after this, but you did bring this on yourself.”

“It’s not going to be that bad,” I assure him confidently. “Now, hold the bow like this.”

I readjust his grip, my fingers grazing over his, helping him get into proper position. Standing behind him, I lift his left hand up and place his fingers over the strings, pressing down to show him where to produce a note.

“You need to have a balanced touch,” I murmur in his ear. “Not too hard, or you’ll be stiff. But not too light that you don’t play a sound.”

“That’s kind of vague, don’t you think?”

“All right. Then think of it like you’re touching a lover. Gentle, but with purpose.”

I can’t see his face, but I know he’s smiling. Miles presses down on the string. As he does so, I admire how much bigger his hands are compared to mine. He’s got strong hands, not at all dainty and thin like mine. I can easily remember how they felt over my body, roaming and exploring my skin like new land to conquer.

“Now draw the bow slowly, but firmly,” I instruct.

Miles does so. The note is squeaky and uncertain, clearly not the result of an expert cellist. The note itself is flat, but I’ll admit that it’s not a bad first attempt.

I press down another one of his fingers, and then another, and another. Before we know it, he’s played the first bar of Three Blind Mice.

Miles laughs. “This is surprisingly exhausting. I have no idea how you do it.”

“Years of practice, that’s how.”

“Do I get some sort of reward for my efforts? I’d appreciate a gold star sticker, if you have one.”

“I’m afraid I’ve come unprepared. Maybe next time.”

“How about a kiss instead?”

I find myself grinning uncontrollably. “A kiss I can do.”

“Good. Come here.”

I dip down for a kiss. It’s quick and chaste, but it still somehow gets adrenaline pumping through my veins. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this excited to be with someone. Just to spend time with them, be in close proximity with them, looking forward to the next time we get to be alone even though we’re alone right now.

Back in New York, I was bogged down by my past. Now, I’m actually excited about the future.

Take it easy, Lisabet. One day at a time. Enjoy the now.

You rushed into things with Robert. Take your time with Miles.

“What are you doing later today?” I ask. “Feel like grabbing dinner.”

Miles gives me a small, apologetic smile. “I have some tasks to attend to. Royal ones. I’ll be otherwise indisposed.”

“Oh,” I mumble, momentarily forgetting all about Miles’ princely status. “That’s all right. I understand.”

“What about tomorrow?” he asks. “Are you free?”

“I can be. The Queen hasn’t requested any private performances, so I’d be down. Did you have something in mind?”

Miles kisses me again. “I do.”

“Are you going to keep it a secret again?”

“You know it. That’s part of the fun.”

“Can I at least have a hint?”

“Cheese, wine, and the most gorgeous of views.”

I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t help me at all.”

Miles winks at me. “Pack an overnight bag. You’ll be needing it. We leave first thing tomorrow morning.”