To love again. Marina nestles to my side like she was always meant to fit there, and I feel like an ass for ever saying she was too-anything for me. She’s only perfect.

I don’t know when I stop playing or if I even finish the song. But drained of all those bad feelings, I lean against the keys, head low, and relax.

Truly relax.

Soon, Marina stands and shifts my left arm. I push the bench back, and she moves between my legs and the piano, her ass lightly grazing the keys. Her pink lips curl into a soft smile as she looks down at me. I’m struck by how beautiful and understanding she is. This couldn’t have happened without her. The orange glow from the fireplace flecks her eyes like fireworks, and her gorgeous red hair trails down her shoulders like ribbons. She’s my celebration. My heart’s song.

I latch onto her by her hips, dragging her closer. My ear presses against her stomach, hearing the gentle thump of her heartbeat underneath. Her fingers slide around my neck and shoulders, accepting me fully. I caress her lower back, her hips, her ass, bringing her as close as possible like this.

But soon, she drags back, bumping the keys again. My gaze draws up as she starts unbuttoning her dress, opening herself up to me a few inches at a time. She smiles and nods when I find the bottom-most button and undo it, racing upwards to meet her.

Her dress falls open. Her hands drift to her sides as I explore her. Pink lace on pale, speckled skin, satin-soft and flushed warm, she’s glowing and hopeful and sexy as fuck.

Her scars catch my gaze, and I trace them with my fingertips. The surgical incisions are barely there, just ghosts etched into her skin. The knife wound is darker, more jagged, and longer—a forever scar. The deeper scars within, I only imagine. My lips follow my fingers, kissing the wounds, tugging her into me, tears in my eyes once again. Loving her, kissing her pain away like I’ve longed to do all along.

Part of me wants to whisper I’m sorry one last time. Sorry for how I hurt you. Sorry for what I took from you. Sorry for what will never be.

But she doesn’t need it. Neither do I. We are exactly as we should be. No more. No less. Just us. And that is enough.