The Pianist

Chapter Thirteen

The following morning, Molly rose from her bed, wiping tears from her eyes. Throughout the night, she had not easily forgotten how the previous day had gone, what had happened to her poor friend. It pained her to remember all the signs, the blunt hatred. It was despicable, and yet, she could do nothing about it.

Molly went to her mirror and drug her comb through her short hair, staring into the reflection of her own green eyes. It just wasn't fair. The people that dared to think of themselves as a higher race had never given the Veins a chance, ever, and that broke Molly's heart entirely.

She broke her gaze away from the mirror and set the comb down. Molly wasn't quite sure what she was going to do today. Going back to Gerard so soon, however nice, seemed like a terrible, terrible idea. He had been so sad, and, quite frankly, she hadn't the slightest clue of what to do. Besides, had he not said the previous night that all he desired was solitude? Yes, it was that exactly. He just needed some time alone.

Molly turned away from the mirror and walked to her closet door. She pushed it open and flicked on the lamp. Gowns of silk and gold, black velvet, and diamonds gleamed back at her. Tall heels encrusted with black gems sat in the large rack. A stainless, perfect mirror reflected Molly at the end of the hall. All of these things, and she still felt so empty.

Wealth could not satisfy her love for the one thing she could never have.

That broke her heart.

Molly cried, dropping to her knees, and she crawled on the floor across the tile of the closet. She couldn't hold back her cries as she curled into a ball. What was money to a lonely soul? Money couldn't buy happiness, and Molly was not happy in her empty skyscraper. So there she lay, sobbing, surrounded by symbols of her ignorance.

When Molly had composed herself, she changed into a black mid-length dress and walked down to the elevator. Her perfect, long finger punched in the down button. She did not know what she would do today, but she knew she wanted distance of some sort. Perhaps, she would go to the park and watch the children play. Perhaps, she would go to the pier and meet the sailors. Maybe she would become a sailor today. Then, she could leave forever and never see the land again. That sounded nice. The doors opened, and Molly's heart immediately plummeted, and she could feel her stomach churn.

Inside the elevator, Blaise and Raymond were both standing in suits.

At that moment, Molly turned to go back into her room and hide, an escape from what was destined to come, but a hand clasped her right shoulder. "Molly," Her father's stern baritone voice said, "Raymond is here for your attention. Molly turned her head to see Raymond just over his shoulder, eyes wide and very sad. She couldn't speak, eyebrows furrowed slightly, so Blaise turned her around completely and stepped out from between the two.

There was an indefinite pause, and Molly and Raymond stared deeply at each other. It was tense. Raymond seeped an exorbitant amount of longing. It pained Molly to watch him so closely. She knew the cause for his depression now.

He was in love with somebody whom did not love him back.

"Go on then, Raymond," Blaise hissed from where he stood, watching the two, "Do it."

Raymond jumped at his name being said, his eyes widening. He straightened his back as if just remembered the first cues to some sort of dance, and, did something that made every hair on Molly's body stand on end. It made her stomach and heart plummet, and her skin crawl. She wanted to cry as she watched in complete and utter horror as Raymond dropped down onto one knee and pulled a small, black box from his pocket.

"Molly Valentine," Raymond began, his voice quaking, "I-I... I really like you. I think... I might even love you. No... No, Molly. I know I do, and... And it would be the greatest honor of my existence to call you my wife."