“A Bach sonata.” His face first lit up, then cringed. “Very badly. His pieces are extremely law-abiding, and I’ve never been good with precision.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but he seemed to have forgotten about hypnotizing me with his eyes, which was the end goal. “It sounded wonderful to me.”

“Do you know Bach?”

“I don’t know any foreign music.”

“Oh good. Then you won’t know the difference when I butcher another one.”

My laugh sounded choked from trying to stifle it, and I buried my face in my arms until I could regain my composure—which only took a few seconds, but still. “Maybe if you practiced music as much as you drew you wouldn’t be so disappointed in yourself.”

Magnus had a mask of offense over his amusement. “God, Andromeda. Stop making me reflect on my own failures. What a cruel punishment.”

“Then practice more.”

“I’d rather not work that hard.”

“Then be content with mediocrity.”

This time when he gaped at me it was real. He played with the edge of the page again. “You truly are terrifying sometimes. Not in a horror sort of way, but … you make me feel things brutally. And think things deeply. And you make me sweat a lot. Nothing is easy with you. And, to be honest, after a lifetime of people kissing up to me … I actually quite like this change.”

I felt heat rising up my neck. I don’t know why. It wasn’t exactly clear that his speech had been a compliment. “You’re a strange man.”

“A compliment, coming from you.” That hopeful, boyish grin widened when I smirked at him. He patted the piano bench. “Would you like to sit down?”

I paused, then slowly slid around the instrument and lowered myself to the bench. Magnus held a lot of heat, as men tended to naturally do, and I found myself sitting right up against him, arm to arm. He was taller than me up close. Don’t know why I was noticing that now.

Anyway, it was nicer than standing. Here the sun hit my back, taking the edge from the cold.

I felt him lean closer and something touched my hair—maybe his nose, since I was looking at his hands folded in his lap. “You smell nice,” he said.

“And you sound surprised. Did I stink before?”

“Everything around here smells like this dank house. I never noticed.”

I swatted his music book off its stand, like an angry cat, smirking the entire time as he scowled at me. “What do you mean you ‘never noticed’?”

His scowl slowly crept into a smile, as if he wasn’t used to doing it genuinely. “I mean how a person smells is of little consequence.”