Moriarty's Musician

Knowledge Is Power, Part 8

Annabelle watched Nicholas as he gathered the medical supplies from the counter and brought them back to where she was sitting. He pulled up a chair across from her and made a clicking sound with his tongue as he sprayed the stinging antiseptic over the raw wounds of her hand. She didn't flinch.

"Tell me how you played like that with a dislocated thumb." He raised his gaze and saw her eyes fixed on him. He shifted on his chair and went back to tending to her hand. "You could have been any one of those violinists at the concert hall, Annabelle."

He finished wrapping her hand and sat back, bringing his palms to rest on his knees. When he looked at Annabelle, her eyes remained on him, unblinking. Nicholas cleared his throat. "Why do I feel like you can see right through me?"

Annabelle smiled. "Because I can."

Nicholas laughed and shook his head. "Annabelle, you're unlike any woman I've ever met. You're so," he pursed his lips to find the right word, "complicated. Hell, we're going to be so happy together." He got up from the kitchen chair, gathered the medical supplies and took them back to the counter.

"Is that what you told Gwen? You'll be happy together?"

Nicholas turned slowly, his mouth frowning as he looked at Annabelle. "I don't want to talk about her, so don't bring her up again. Understand?"

She lifted her chin. "So what do we talk about then, Nicholas? If not Miss Standfield, then maybe Cynthia, or Emilia, or I don't know, Catherine?"

Nicholas didn't move except for the Adam's apple that bobbed in his throat. When he had regained his composure, he gave her a shrug. "I knew a few women, but I haven't heard from them in a while."

Annabelle tilted her head, her gaze not leaving him. "Why not? They were enamoured with you, weren't they? They attended all those social events you did? Some of them you even let hang on your arm... like Gwen."

Nicholas's eyes narrowed, his fingers tapping on the edge of the counter. "You're my focus now, Annabelle. They were nothing. Just casual acquaintances."

"And Lucy, Margaret, and Marta, they were just acquaintances too? Did you promise them all the things you've promised me? A life with you. Eternal happiness?"

The torrent growing in Nicholas exploded. He pushed the chair, sending it flying across the room. And in one step, he was in front of Annabelle, grabbing her hair and bringing her to her feet.

"What do you know?" he hissed into her face.

"Everything," she said through gritted teeth.

His lips twisted, and he released her, but Annabelle remained planted on the spot.

Focus. Don't let him see your doubts. Don't let him see your fear. Don't let him know you're not ready to die.

Annabelle took a deep breath and lifted her chin a little higher.

Nicholas set his hands on his hips and paced the kitchen floor. "I loved them, Annabelle. I did. But they wanted too much from me. They kept calling me, texting me. I was overwhelmed."

He began to shake and glanced at Annabelle. "Why can't you love me? I've tried so hard to get you to love me."

Annabelle balked. He was insane. "I can't love you."

He pretended not to hear. "Can I kiss you? Your music has made me love you so much more."

Annabelle shook her head incredulously. "No."

Irritation pricked his face. "Are you going to push me into a cart of books if I try?"

Annabelle looked at him in surprise and watched the cloud descend over his face. Her fear told her to back down, but she knew she needed to stand firm. Isn't that what her father told her over and over again? Don't back down. Hold eye contact. Don't let him see you hesitate.