Tempted By My Adoptive Billionaire Uncle

Chapter 8: The Flashbacks.

(Flashback) Unedited

Hiding behind the door Watching Monsieur Fitz plays his Violin at the age of sixteen. I am fond of a grown man. I felt something for him, and he has this look, this look that I can't seem to understand. He's sure the world is a handsome man.

"Ama, why are you peeping at a young master playing the Violin?" I flinched in shock. His grandmother, Margret Fitz, questions from the door that's connected to Pierre's room.

She smiles. "Why standing at the door, go in!" She added. Suddenly, Pierre Fitz halts. He takes a turn and then smiles at me. This made my heart melt.

"Girl, don't just stand there. Come in!" He smiles, making me, sixteen years old, idolize his smile.

I felt my cheeks flame in a quick blush. He nods again for me to come in. "Do you like Violin?" He asks me.

"Yes, and you play it very well!" I smile sheepishly at my young teenage foolishness.

"Wanna try?" He squirms his head to the side, making him look cuter.

"Can I ?" I glance through his eyes, searching for my lifespan with him.

"Of course, I can teach you now, or I can hire a professional violinist to come to teach you!" He suggested.

Hell no, who would want a mug when they already have a teacup? Nobody.

"No, No, No, you don't have to hire anyone. Please teach me." I twist the hem of my gown, looking down at my feet.

"Okay, then you have to hold it like this, then you have to position like this," he holds my arm, directing my every move. "Playing with a straight bow, you have to learn this note and lessons and basic playing scales like  note reading, intonation, sound quality, correct position, and more." He continues guiding my every process.

This is making me blush too much. His warm palm was holding my shoulders. Too much... this is making me so slutty for a clean sixteen-year-old.

"Don't be shy, and you can play as you want. I'll get you a new violin for practice every day for better improvement. You're so bright, Ama!"

Hearing his praises made me happy, but on the other hand, this made me sad because I wanted to know why his grandmother and his father adopted me.

"Young master, can I know why your grandfather adopted a grown-up teen?" Right now, I know I sound stupid but ordinary. I saw him three months ago, under a tree, when I was crying. But now, I am here in this enormous mansion with a man who makes me bask in the glory of his accomplishments.

A frown replaces his straight face, making his moonlike eyes dark and pump-like go way back into a slimline. His French accent hit the back of my throat.

"Mlle Ama, Je pensais Vous dire de ne pas m'appeler Jeune maître? Ou Sir ?" His tongue rows to every Frenchlike sentence. "Pierre! I told you three months ago to call me Pierre. You're making me look so old." He breathes out. "Compris ?" He questions.

I cringed. He has a habit that when he's angry, he can rap out all his French accents in a row. I sniffed. "Oui!" I nod. "Oui, Je comprends !"

"Bien." He smiles back at me after showing me the mad side of him again. "About that, your questions. I told them about a girl I saw crying under a tree and that she lost both her dad and her mom. Hearing this, Dad was startled when I told him I wanted to adopt you, but his grandmother said I was too young to adopt a grown-up teen. She said I was not qualified to adopt. Why do you ask?" He looks bewildered at me.