King of Pride (Kings of Sin #2) by Ana Huang

“I sense a but at the end of that sentence.”

“But you were too aggressive at the start of the second theme. It’s supposed to be lighter, more understated.” It wasn’t an insult; it was an objective appraisal.

Isabella cocked an eyebrow. “You think you can do better?”

My pulse spiked, and a familiar flame kindled in my chest. Her tone straddled the line between playful and challenging, but that was enough to throw the gates of my competitiveness wide open.

“May I?” I nodded at the bench.

She slid off her seat. I took her vacated spot, adjusted the bench height and touched the keys again, thoughtfully this time. I only played the second movement, but I’d been practicing the “Hammerklavier” since I was a child, when I’d insisted my piano teacher skip the easy pieces and teach me the most difficult compositions instead. It was harder to get into it without the first movement as a prelude, but muscle memory carried me through.

The sonata finished with a grand flourish, and I smiled, satisfied.

“Hmm.” Isabella sounded unimpressed. “Mine was better.”

My head snapped up. “Pardon me?”

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “You’re a good piano player, but you’re lacking something.”

The sentiment was so unfamiliar and unexpected I could only stare, my reply lost somewhere between astonishment and indignation.

“I’m lacking something,” I echoed, too dumbfounded to dredge up an original response.

I’d graduated top of my class from Oxford and Cambridge, lettered in tennis and polo, and spoke seven languages fluently. I’d founded a charity for funding the arts in underserved areas when I was eighteen, and I was on the fast track to becoming one of the world’s youngest Fortune 500 CEOs.

In my thirty-two years on earth, no one had ever told me I was lacking something.

The worst part was, upon examination, she was right.

Yes, my technique surpassed hers. I’d hit every note with precision, but the piece had inspired…nothing. The ebbs and tides of emotion that’d characterized her rendition had vanished, leaving a sterile beauty in their wake.

I’d never noticed when playing by myself, but following her performance, the difference was obvious.

My jaw tightened. I was used to being the best, and the realization that I wasn’t, at least not at this particular song, rankled.

“What, exactly, do you think I’m lacking?” I asked, my tone even despite the swarm of thoughts invading my brain.

Mental note: Substitute tennis with Dominic for piano practice until I fix this problem. I’d never done anything less than perfectly, and this would not be my exception.

Isabella’s cheeks dimpled. She appeared to take immense delight in my disgruntlement, which should’ve infuriated me more. Instead, her teasing grin almost pulled an answering smile out of me before I caught myself.

“The fact you don’t know is part of the problem.” She stepped toward the door. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Wait.” I stood and grabbed her arm without thinking.

We froze in unison, our eyes locked on where my hand encircled her wrist. Her skin was soft to the touch, and the flutter of her pulse matched the sudden escalation in my heartbeat.

A heavy, tension-laced silence mushroomed around us. I was a proponent of science; I didn’t believe in anything that defied the laws of physics, but I could’ve sworn time physically slowed, like each second was encased in molasses.

Isabella visibly swallowed. A tiny movement, but it was enough for the laws to snap back into place and for reason to intervene.

Time sped to its usual pace, and I dropped her arm as abruptly as I’d grasped it.

“Apologies,” I said, my voice stiff. I tried my best to ignore the tingle on my palm.

“It’s fine.” Isabella touched her wrist, her expression distracted. “Has anyone told you that you talk like an extra from Downton Abbey?”

The question came from so far out of left field it took a moment to sink in. “I…a what?”

“An extra from Downton Abbey. You know, that show about the British aristocracy during the early twentieth century?”

“I know the show.” I didn’t live under a rock.

“Oh, good. Just thought I’d let you know in case you didn’t.” Isabella flashed another bright smile. “You should try to loosen up a bit. It might help with your piano playing.”

For the second time that night, words deserted me.

I was still standing there, trying to figure out how my evening had gone so off the rails, when the door closed behind her.

It wasn’t until I was on my way home that I realized I hadn’t thought about the CEO vote or its timing once since I heard Isabella in the piano room.





CHAPTER 4


Isabella



“Mom asked about you the other day,” Gabriel said. “You only come home once a year, and she’s concerned about what you’re doing in Manhattan…”

I frowned at the half-empty page in front of me while my brother rambled on. I already regretted answering his call. It was only six a.m. in California, but he sounded alert and put together, as always. He was probably on his office treadmill, reading the news, replying to emails, and drinking one of his hideous antioxidant smoothies.