Chapter 31

Vivianna

The piano situated at the back of house meant I could practice to my heart’s content. As someone who preferred privacy when playing, this suited me well. It was this reluctance for an audience that had stood in the way of my becoming a performer. That was apart from my disruptive upbringing. My mother hated me playing because I drew attention to myself.

Looking out over the forest, the room offered a relaxing ambience when practicing repetitious scales. Nothing but trees and sky to look at. I’d landed in heaven.

That’s how my life suddenly felt. Helped by the sexy, handsome man who couldn’t take his hands off me.

As I lifted the lid, the smell of wax polish flooded me with memories of practicing at my grandmother’s. I loved visiting her cottage in the Cotswolds, which gave me a break from the tension at home. I could almost be myself there. I didn’t lie in bed stressing every time I heard footsteps or look over my shoulders while in the bathroom. The day she died was the day I fell apart.

Running up the black and white keys, I couldn’t believe how perfectly tuned the piano sounded. Damon had mentioned that small detail. His eyes shining bright as though knowing I’d be excited. I hugged him. He’d done so much for me, and now this—a perfectly tuned piano away in a secluded part of the hall.

I kept questioning where we were heading. My head was filled with him.

On one hand, he didn’t want to call me his girlfriend, while on the other, he asked whether there were men in my class.

I reassured him that they were younger than me.

And why would I want a boy when I had a man? I kept that question to myself.

Damon wouldn’t be easy to replace. The things he did to my body. He had a sixth sense when it came to pleasure points, which seemed to be all over my body. He was insatiable. But then, so was I.

It felt odd, our secret little affair. Since that London stay at the hotel, we hadn’t stayed apart one night.

I’d cycle over to Damon’s. He even hated me doing that. He’d offered to buy me a car, but I rejected his offer, making him promise not to.

After he’d driven me to school, students spotted him dropping me off, and that got them curious. I shrugged it off, and now I had girls wanting to be my friend so they could learn all about the happenings at Merivale.

I just told them he was heading in that direction. It was getting a little tricky keeping us a secret.

Damon kept asking me to take his offer of an apartment close to school, and for me to leave Merivale. After everything that had happened in my life, I’d made myself a promise to remain independent.

What if something happened to this arrangement with Damon? The thought of which made my heart shrivel into a pea.

After warming up, I practiced Debussy’s “Claire de Lune,” which I was to be marked on.

Most students had chosen songs from musicals and even pop, but I loved playing classical. Tradition had always been important to me.

Maybe my mother’s rich tastes had rubbed off on me subconsciously, seeing how she held the upper-class establishment in high regards to the point of elitism.

She would have loved the fact I worked for the Manson. I could imagine her asking questions about décor and clothes and all those things that mattered little to me.

Lost in the moment, I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I was startled to find Mrs. Lovechilde standing at the doorway.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I being disruptive?” I asked.

Dressed in a jacket and fitted skirt with her hair in a chignon, she reminded me of every other wealthy woman I’d ever seen. It was like a uniform spelling wealth.

“Continue. I’m rather fond of Debussy,” she said, coolly. “I didn’t realise you were actually deft.”

“I’m having to be marked on this piece as part of my college degree. I really appreciate your letting me use this fine instrument.”

She lifted her chin and studied me.

“Damon… I mean Mr. Manson, mentioned you used to play,” I said, making small talk since she lingered.

Her eyes ploughed into mine.

Did she read a connection between me and her son?

“I played that piece. Not as good as you.” She turned and was met by a tall man. “Oh, Reynard, nice to see you. I was just talking to the maid. She knows her way around Debussy, it seems.”

The tall, red-haired man, who’d propositioned me at the dinner party, approached the piano and signalled for me to continue.

I wasn’t used to an audience, and with those cool, undressing eyes all over me, my fingers trembled.

I stopped. “Sorry, you’re making me nervous.”

“You’re not just a pretty face, I see,” he said, staring down at my thighs. Being a warm day and not expecting people, I’d dressed in shorts and a tank top.

The tank top unfortunately gaped at the neckline, and I could feel his eyes all over my breasts.

“Let’s have some afternoon tea,” Mrs. Manson said.

He turned away and walked out of the room. I took a deep a breath, got up and closed the door and then continued to work on my piece.

Justin, a student about my age, came up to me just as I stepped onto the college grounds.

He’d been running and sounded puffed. “Hey, Vivi, we’re having a little get-together tomorrow night at the Thirsty Mariner. You know, the pub in the village?”

I nodded slowly. Tomorrow night seemed like a lifetime away. What was I doing? Or more specifically, what did Damon have in mind?

Seven days together. We’d seen each other every night. He always initiated of course. I was still stunned, I think. This whole romantic episode felt like a dream.

I’d promised myself to get a life. And mingling with fellow students seemed like a good start.

“Sure, that sounds like fun,” I said.

“Great. It will be nice to have a drink and a chat. You’re killing the practical. You’re a great musician.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I’ve only just started playing again. There’s a piano where I work.”

“You work at the Manson’ estate, I hear.” His dark eyes shone with interest.

“I do. I live in the servants’ quarters. It works out really well for me. And I love Bridesmere. The coast is amazing.”

“Isn’t it? I’d like to move to London though. Once I get my certificate, that’s where I’m heading.”

A familiar SUV drove by. Dark windows, but I knew the car well enough. Although I’d ridden to school, sometimes Damon came by to offer me a lift.

My phone pinged. “Excuse me.”

The message read: “Lift?”

I looked over at the car. He’d parked down the street behind a tree. Nice and discreet.

“Um… I best be going. Tomorrow then, at the pub.”

“Yep. Seven o’clock at the Mariner.” His eyes held mine for a moment, and I sensed attraction.

I smiled and left him, then collected my bike.

Having parked in front of a large peppercorn tree, Damon jumped out and opened the back for my bike. He lifted it like it was a toy, those muscles rippling through his fitted T-shirt, and the swelling between my legs started again.

It was as though I was in a constant state of arousal, even when he wasn’t around. He hadn’t taken his hands off me all week. Every night. He’d send me a text, and I’d ride over like a woman possessed.

I’m not sure whether he’d take a “No.” There was a determination in his eyes.

Maybe to do with being filthy rich and how they were used to getting what they desired. Damon didn’t strike me as that quintessential arrogant rich man. Not like Reynard Crisp. I wouldn’t have been attracted otherwise.

He opened the door for me and even lifted me up. I giggled. “I can do it myself.”

“You don’t like me fondling you?”

Those sparkling blue eyes always left me brainless.

He pinched my bottom and I laughed. “I do. I’m just not used to this special treatment. I could have just as easily ridden my bike over.”

“I hadn’t heard from you. I wasn’t sure if you were popping in,” he said.

Was that a glint of insecurity in his eyes?

“I like to know where you are,” he added.

He ran his tongue over his mouth, and like a magnet our lips crushed.

I drew away from his steamy kiss. Mainly because any minute we’d have sex in the car. Especially with those wandering hands of his.

“Mm… you feel fucking hot,” he said. “I’m walking around with a permanent hard-on.”

I rubbed his thick length through his denim. “I’ve noticed.”

“Who was the guy?” he asked.