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She pressed down on the pianoforte keys, flinching as her thumb hit the wrong key and set off a discordant note. The house was quiet. The house had been quiet since she moved in, but it had only now become disquieting. She’d liked it when it was just her and John. That was her favorite type of silence: sitting together with John, doing their own activities. She could play the pianoforte or read, while John would read or write. There would only be the sound of their breathing, their slight movements, and sometimes her music. But now John was out on some business she knew nothing about, and she was left alone. She didn’t like this sort of silence.
She pressed her fingers back onto the keys, playing out the beginning of a symphony she knew well. She’d been playing it since youth, going over the keys like they were a second home for her. She ran through it twice, just to make sure.
She didn’t hear as the door creaked open behind her, but she felt John’s presence before he could announce himself. She turned as he crossed the threshold of the room. His eyes lit up when he saw her, a smile slowly taking hold of his face. He held a folder of papers in one hand, alongside a long stemmed flower, the petals a soft pink hue.
She was unable to resist her own smile, not that she would have wanted to. “John. You’re home early.”
“I missed you.” He crossed the room in long, easy strides, coming up beside her and leaning down to kiss her cheek.
“I missed you too.”
“This is for you.” He laid the flower out over the pianoforte keys. She picked it up, clutching it close and letting the petals whisper over her cheek.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
“I saw it in the shops and thought of you. I was actually getting you this.” He raised his hand with the papers. Francesca extended a hand, and John gave them to her. She slid them out, and gasped when she saw them. New, perfect pages of songs for her to learn. “You were saying the other day that while you enjoyed your current repertoire that you would like to extend it. Thus, some extension.”
Freancesca ran her hand over the smooth white paper. The notes were perfectly pressed in ink. She pulled out the first song and set it up on the piantoforte. “Would you like to hear it?”
John smiled, brushing his lips over her cheek again. She turned her head, kissing him in proper. He cradled her face, pulling her close.
“Go,” she said, a little bit of laughter escaping into her voice as he pulled away. “You can read your books while you listen to me play.”
“And listen I shall.” He stepped across the room, settling down on the chaise lounge. His novel was resting where it had been before, and he picked it up, finding his place. Francesca turned back to the music, her fingers finding their place on the keys for the first note. Still, she did not miss that his attention wasn’t on the book. It was fully on her.