Right now, I realize we’re totally alone. We’ve been totally alone a few times before—ducking into my bedroom so I can dump my books before dinner, or watching a movie, or just hanging out and talking—but it’s never felt weird like this.

“Sorry,” I say, like an idiot.

“What for? It sits in here like an ornament. It’s a waste, don’t you think?” She kicks off the wall and crosses the room as carelessly as she stood. “Snapping up something that was made to produce music, just to own it. So that you can lock it up in a silent room no one ever enters, where it won’t do anyone any good.” She reaches my side and, towering over me, she presses middle C. She’s really, really close to me.

“Well,” I say, swallowing. “I don’t think even the top players in the world earn the kind of money to buy something like this.”

“Isn’t that exactly the problem?” Rose murmurs, almost to herself. “Anyway. You’re probably the best thing to happen to it in years. Don’t stop.”

I don’t think even the king himself could pay me enough to go back to playing alone with just Rose in the room. Not like this. So, I pretend I didn’t hear her. “Did you ever learn?” I ask.

“Oh yes. I got quite proficient.”

“Really?”

She nods, and gestures to the seat. “May I?”

I should get up, right now. There’s only just enough room for two on the bench. But I apparently lose my grip on reality, because instead of doing that, I shuffle over. And instead of asking me to move, she squeezes in beside me so she’s pressed firmly against me, shoulder to hip. And instead of leaning away, I take a deep breath and hold steady. So does she, but when she breathes out through her nose, there’s a shakiness to it that makes me wonder if this is too close for her. Maybe I made her uncomfortable when I didn’t stand up? But then I realize she’s probably just nervous to perform. If anyone can relate to that feeling, it’s me.

Clearing her throat, she takes her pointer finger and starts stabbing at the piano. A few notes in, I realize where I recognize the tune from. It’s “Heart and Soul.” And a simplified version of it at that. Of course she isn’t taking this seriously. She never is.

I fight to keep a straight face as she glances at me. “Don’t you know it?” she asks. Oh, right. It’s a duet.

“I’m familiar,” I say wryly, and I jump in with the bass line.

Rose shoots me an indignant look and swats at my left hand with hers. Her skin brushes against mine as she does. “Hey, one finger, please,” she says. “You’re showing me up.”