by Amelia Wilde
I couldn’t move; my legs felt like tree trunks, completely rooted to the floor. He came to stand in front of me and set a hand casually on the top of the piano, uncaring of the smudges his fingers would leave.
“This isn’t some lame trick to make you think I’m someone I’m not,” he said. “I told you that when I gave you something, I wanted it to be for you. From me. And this is. It’s for you, Red.”
The sound of my nickname shattered the fragile shell protecting the emotions that had been ebbing and flowing for the last several hours—hell, for the last two weeks. I’d just, literally a few moments ago, gotten my head wrapped around him paying off my dad’s embarrassing debt. Barely. And now he’d bought me this.
“Why?” I asked in a low, barely controlled whisper. I was afraid of letting out all the confusing emotions I felt. I didn’t know what I’d say if I did.
Brandon caressed my chin and jaw. “Why? For the same reason that I do anything for you, Skylar. Because I love you.”
The words sailed over my head as if I hadn’t even heard them. I shook my head. “This isn’t love.”
“No? Then what is it?”
“Bribery.”
The hand on my chin dropped immediately. “Are you serious?” Brandon’s voice broke with the incredulity.
He stepped away, and I stared back at the piano. The instrument was a behemoth, made to fill the space of concert halls, not living rooms. Brandon gave and gave and gave, and although he had absolved my father’s debts, I was steadily feeling more and more debts piling on my shoulders. I could never hope to repay any of this level of generosity––how could I? How could I be with someone who would always be able to give more to me than I could to him? To whom I’d always feel indebted?
I felt trapped.
“I said I wouldn’t give you any more empty gestures, Skylar. I never said I wouldn’t give you anything at all.” Brandon paced nervously in small circles, pulling his hair with both hands. “Jesus. I can’t do right by you, can I?”
“That’s really not the question.” Could he really not see the power imbalance in this moment? Could he really not see the problem?
“Oh, really? Then what is?”
Brandon stopped and faced me, his hands clasped behind his neck. His face was flushed—he was clearly trying as hard as I was to keep his own emotions in check.
“The question is, when are you going to stop thinking you can buy my affections?”
All the anger that I’d been trying so hard to dissolve outside his door was back in a second, and now I was spitting mad again. Unfortunately, so was he.
“No, the question is, when are you going to start accepting mine? I love you, Skylar! Do you hear me? I fucking love you, but you can’t see it past price tags.”
“And I have told you a million fucking times, Brandon, I don’t need or want this kind of extravagance!” I looked at the piano and saw my twisted, livid features reflected in its surface. I smacked my hand down over them as a hot, angry tear slipped down my cheek. “You suffocate me with all of this—you pay for every single date, exorbitant theater and concert tickets. You pay for my dad’s idiotic mistakes and his home care. And now you’re buying me something that costs the same as someone’s house. It’s insane! I could never hope to compete with any of this!”
“It’s not a fucking competition!” Brandon shouted. “God, you’re impossible! I can’t help that I’m rich, Skylar. You want me to stop being successful? You want me to give everything away so all I can do is take you out for pizza and a walk in the park, just like every other poor student in Boston?”
“I’ve told you over and over again—I don’t want your money, Brandon, I just want you! But you never seem to fucking accept that!”
“My money is a part of me, Skylar! Why can’t you fucking accept that?”
We seethed at each other, our chests heaving under the pressure of deep breaths and a war’s effort to calm our tempers.
Finally, Brandon was the first to look away. He collapsed onto the couch, his palms open on his knees. He stared at them as if looking for something to materialize from his empty hands.
“I’d give you everything I have if it would convince you I was for real,” he said. “I’d give you my life if it would protect you and your family. This isn’t some trade, Skylar. You love to play, and I love to hear it. I love you. Don’t you see that?”
The break in his voice matched the fissures in my anger. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t some stupid gesture of ego. His words echoed through my heart, over and over again, as I finally heard what he’d been repeating all evening.
Loved. He loved. Me.
A sob choked my throat as I crossed the room and fell to the floor on my knees in front of him. I pulled one of his big hands to cradle my cheek. The rough, warm edges of his fingers curled naturally into the contours of my face.
“I don’t want your whole life,” I cried against his leg.
The last two weeks had been trying enough—I didn’t want to be apart from him. He had so quickly become the one place I felt safe in the world, and I didn’t want to lose that. But couldn’t he see how hard this was? Couldn’t he see how badly I just needed things to be simple with him when the rest of my life was so complicated?
“I just want you,” I whimpered, over and over again. “That’s all. Just you.”
Brandon leaned down to press his lips to my hairline. “Why does it make you so upset? I’m not asking for anything in return.”
I looked up, and his hands cupped my cheeks while he searched my face for a response. His thumbs wiped away my tears.
“Even the smallest gifts never come without strings,” I said. “These kinds of things…” I gestured vaguely toward the piano, “they’re too much.”
“Come here.” His hands dropped to my shoulders to pull me toward him. “Get off your knees. It makes me feel like you’re my servant, which is awful considering the context of this discussion.”
I pushed off my knees and sat next to him on the sofa.
“No,” Brandon said. “I said come here.”
He tugged my body so that I straddled him, my arms balanced over his shoulders. He kissed me gently, yet thoroughly.
“Let me take care of you, Skylar,” he said. “The way you take care of me.”
“Do I take care of you?” I wondered as I pushed a few strands of hair out of my face.
“In a million different ways,” Brandon said. “When I’m with you, I feel whole. I feel like I’m enough for the first time in my life. Do you love me, Skylar?”
I didn’t have to think about that. He’d said it several times tonight, but I had been too caught up to respond.
“Of course,” I said immediately. “I do love you, Brandon. I love you so, so much.”
“Then stop making it a contest between us, Red. You give me so much more than any of this shit. You are irreplaceable to me. You’re it.”
His words, though simple, overflowed my heart. And yet, there was still one question lingering in my mind. One question left to answer.
“Why?” I asked softly. He could have anyone; anyone in the world would fall over themselves to have everything Brandon Sterling had to offer. “Why me?”
“Because you’re real. And honest. And kind. And smart. And talented. And, and, and…” he trailed off, waving a hand as if there were too many amazing qualities to list.
I giggled, earning a shy smile that only made me laugh more.
“But even more than all of that,” Brandon continued, “I feel like more than anyone else in my life, you really see me. You see who I am in a way no one else does, and you made me feel something again. You are my heart, Skylar.”
He gazed at me, his large blue eyes twin mirrors in the firelight.
“I see you, Brandon Sterling,” I confirmed softly, touching his lips with my finger.
He bit it gently, then released.
I smiled. “I see you, and I do love you.”
I kissed him lightly, but he p
ulled me even closer, begging my mouth to open, which it did willingly. His hands roved, grasping at my shirt, pressing me into his chest. He groaned painfully as if he couldn’t get close enough.
Finally, he stood up, his mouth fused to mine, and keeping me straddled around his waist with his big arms. His kiss was sensual, but it wasn’t until he broke it that I realized he wasn’t carrying me toward the stairs, but instead to the piano. He set me on the bench.
I looked at the piano. “You know, this is really too much instrument for a house. The sound is designed for concert halls. It will break your eardrums if you ever open the top.”
“Well, you’ll have to help me choose something more appropriate, then.”
I gave a small smile. “Maybe.”
“Definitely,” Brandon corrected me. “But before we do, will you play something on it?”
He stepped away, sank back onto the couch, and looked at me expectantly. I opened my mouth to argue with him again, but I couldn’t quite do it.
I stared down at the piano, lost for a moment in the way the warm light of the room blinked off its sleek, polished lines. I’d probably never get another chance to play on something of this caliber again. I closed my eyes, hearing the notes already.
I gave in.
“All right,” I said. “You win.”
“Do you know any love songs?” Brandon asked as I turned up the fallboard to reveal the row of untouched black and white keys beneath it.
I pressed a finger lightly on upper C to hear the sweet, clear tone expel throughout the room. I grinned.
“I play classical music,” I said. “They’re all love songs, in a way.”
“Then play one that reminds you of us.”
I didn’t have to consider the request long; the brooding, angsty melody of Chopin’s “Waltz in C Minor” came immediately. Given the emotions I’d been feeling nonstop for the past week and a half—for the past several months, really—it was easy to pour myself into music that seemed to reflect the polarities of Brandon’s and my relationship. At times my feelings felt as natural as could be, no harder than a walk in the park. He was so easy to love. But at other times, I felt like I was swept away, lost like one of Chopin’s furious arpeggios or the multi-octave scales that spilled up the keys like a wave.
Falling in love with him was simple, but we still fought, still clashed as only two people as strong-willed as we were bound to do.
The piece was short, but it did my feelings justice—better than I could ever do with words. It wasn’t until the end that I realized I’d played the entire thing with my eyes closed. When I opened them, I found Brandon standing next to me, staring at my hands in awe. I took them off the keys and released the pedal; he blinked and sat down next to me on the bench.
“When…why…why did you choose that one?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head. It was hard to explain, especially to someone who didn’t know music. “I don’t know. The minor key, maybe, and the alternation between a walking cadence and the arpeggios—”
“That’s the fast part?”
I nodded. “I think the combination of all of that, probably, is why I chose it. It just…came to mind, I guess.”
Brandon nodded, drifting one finger across the shiny surface of the keys, but not pressing any down. “It was intense,” he said quietly.
I nodded again. “Yes.”
“Intense,” he repeated. His eyes flickered down to my lips. “Is that what this is?”
“I thought you said it was love.” My own gaze dropped to his mouth as well.
“Love,” Brandon repeated again. He tipped his head to the side. “The word doesn’t seem enough,” he said just before he captured my lips with his. Then, just as he broke away again: “Move in with me.”
I gasped. That was the last thing I was expecting him to say after all this. “What, here?”
“Well, I don’t think I’m allowed to live at the law school, Red,” he said with a brief smile, but his expression quickly turned serious.
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re serious. It’s only been, what, two months since we met?”
“Two months and sixteen days. And yeah, I’m completely serious. I’d probably ask for more if I thought I had a chance in hell you’d say yes.”
I didn’t even want to entertain what he meant by that.
“And before you say you don’t want all my money, that’s not what I’m proposing. This isn’t me buying you a condo, Red. It’s asking you to share my home.” He took my chin in hand and forced me to look directly at him. “I love you. You love me. Don’t overthink this.”
“But…we just met…and we barely know each other,” I sputtered. I pulled my chin away, but continued to look at him. “I do love you, but it’s a bit soon, don’t you think?”
Brandon shrugged. “I don’t really care about that. I only know that I wake up every day wishing you were here, and I go to sleep thinking about your face. I want to hear you play this piano each night, and listen to you grumble about your work, and be there when you finally soar, because I fuckin’ know you will.” He sighed. “The best times I have with you are when we’re just together. No fancy dinners, no fancy clothes. Just sitting on the couch, reading in our sweats. I don’t want to wait until Friday to do that.”
I ventured a small smile when he peeked back at me. “So basically, you want me to be an old married couple with you?”
“Well, minus the old,” Brandon said with a smirk before sneaking another kiss. He didn’t linger—he wanted an answer to his question.
I looked away, unwilling to call him on that bluff. “I’ll have to think about it. I’ve already paid for student housing through the end of the semester, so I’m not moving anywhere before then.”
“But you’ll have to move somewhere, right?”
I found him watching me with a raised brow and a knowing expression. I rolled my eyes.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I will.”
Despite our occasional hiccups—like the one tonight—I felt the same as him. I wanted to sit with him on a couch, watch our careers, our lives grow together. I felt loved with him, safe with him, not to mention completely turned on by him.
I wanted to play house too.
I pulled on the collar of his t-shirt nervously. He’d been making grand overtures since we met, and I’d been screwing them all up, too scared to take what he was offering. Maybe it was time for me to make one of my own.
“Okay then,” I said softly. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Brandon didn’t breathe for a moment. “Really?” His face broke into a wide grin. “Really?”
I offered a small smile and leaned in. “Yes,” I said and kissed him.
Like the music, his kiss started out light and easy, but quickly slipped into something more torrid, our tongues warring and adoring at the same time. He managed to get one arm around my waist long enough to yank me onto his lap, causing the piano bench to creak loudly.
“Wait,” I breathed in between kisses.
His hands flew up my shirt, tearing it over my head so his mouth could cover every square inch of my neck, shoulders, and chest.
“Ignore it,” he muttered as he unsnapped my bra and tossed it down to the ground. With a half-painful, half-enraptured groan, he buried his face into the sensitive skin between my breasts.
I followed his order. Instead, I focused on tugging his shirt over his head, eager to feel the taut expanse of his toned chest. His lips found mine again as one hand clasped the back of my head, holding it still so he could conquer my mouth completely. I grasped around his back, hard enough to make him jerk when my fingernails dug into his shoulders.
With a groan, he pushed the bench back and stood up, wrapping his free arm underneath my legs to keep me firmly wrapped around his waist. I kicked off my pumps and hooked my ankles together, unwilling to give up any space between our bodies.
“Need you,” Brandon heaved in between kisses. “Need you. Now.”
His mouth drifted back down my torso as he pushed me to lie back on the hard surface. The buttons on my pants came undone easily with a few flicks of his fingers.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Brandon mumbled before taking a nipple into his mouth. He peeled off my pants along with my underwear.
“You can’t fuck me on a hundred-thousand-dollar instrument!” I cried out, although my treacherous body only urged him on as my hips thrust toward his waiting hands and my hands clutched at the blond mop moving steadily down my stomach.
“I bought it to play, Red,” Brandon growled. “So, let’s play.”
His tongue dipped into my navel, causing me to squirm, but his hands gripped my ass and held me still. He wrenched my legs open, spreading me like a buffet.
“Jesus, baby,” he breathed as he looked at me.
One hand released me long enough to swipe a long finger up my center. The finger traveled up until it was poised over my mouth.
“Suck,” Brandon ordered, eyes dark with desire.
Obediently I opened my mouth and took the rough, salty fingertip onto my tongue, sucking hard and then releasing with a sudden pop. Brandon’s eyes darkened even more. The hand traveled back down my body, pinching one nipple as it went and causing me to yelp. My hips thrust toward him—I craved his touch, any kind of it.
He traced his mouth over the soft skin of my lower stomach and inner thighs—anywhere but where I desperately wanted him to be. One finger, then two gently slipped inside, and I bucked.
“Please,” I breathed, barely able to get out any words. I wanted him so badly I couldn’t think.
“Easy, baby,” Brandon said, laying kisses closer and closer, nuzzling his face in between my legs without making any contact with his mouth.
A third finger slipped in with the first two, all seeking that delicate bundle of nerves inside me. I groaned as Brandon blew cool air over me.
“Brandon,” I whimpered. “Please.”
“Please what, gorgeous?” His voice rumbled and teased against my skin. “I don’t know what you want if you don’t say it.”