And then his fingers flowed swiftly across the ivory, and the room was filled with a composition so complex, so luxuriant, so musical, that it was impossible to believe only one set of hands played. I heard my chin drop, my mouth open in astonishment, and low chuckles behind me at my reaction.
Fredward looked at me casually, the music still surging around us without a break, and winked. "Do you like it?" He asked, still playing.
"You wrote this?" I gasped, understanding.
He nodded. "It's Esme's favorite."
I closed my eyes, shaking his head.
"What's wrong?" He asked, still playing. The piece he was playing, which I later learned was called "Clair de Esme," began to escalate in complexity and tonal quality.
"I'm feeling extremely insignificant."
The music slowed, transforming into something softer, and to my surprise I detected the melody of his lullaby weaving through the profusion of notes.
"You inspired this one," he said softly. The music grew unbearably sweet, full of grace notes and runs; his fingers spanned the keys like his music surveyed all parts of human existence.
And then I couldn't speak.
"They like you, you know," he said conversationally. "Esme especially.'"
I glanced behind me, but the huge room was empty now. It seemed even huger for that reason.
"Where did they go?"
"Very subtly giving us some privacy, I suppose."
I sighed, thinking about how my life had been more perfect in the last few moments than it probably ever would be again. "They like me, but Rosalie and Emmett... " I trailed off, not sure how to express my doubts.
He frowned. "No doubts. Don't worry about Rosalie," he said, eyes wide and persuasive, looking directly into mine, not even needing to watch his hands on the piano keys. He took one of his hands from the piano and set it gently on my cheek, the music still ebbing and flowing through every kind of human emotion. "Rosalie is just a bitch," he said sweetly.
I pursed my lips skeptically. "And Emmett?"
"Emmett is a whipped little pussy." He whispered. "He doesn't

327

Chapter 15

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