“We’re gonna be a success.” He traps me in another deep kiss that leaves me lightheaded.
“We’ll see,” I say, not quite daring to believe it yet. Although the videos we’ve posted online have gotten lots of views, our record hasn’t even come out yet. But Killian’s confidence is unwavering and contagious as usual.
“We are,” he insists. “In four months, the whole world is gonna see how brilliant you are, and they’ll love it.”
“He’s right,” Ian agrees, pressing a hand to my back.
A warm sensation wraps around my heart, and their confidence seeps into me the way it so often does and makes me believe they’re actually right.
But just to make sure I’ve gotten the point, Killian says, “You already are a success, kitten. Last time I checked, you had five golden trophies on that shelf in the living room.”
He lowers me to the floor, and I bite my lip as I glance at him through fluttering eyelashes. He’s right. I’ve won a second golden trophy in a duet competition alongside him and two golden ones in solo competitions—ones I entered and he didn’t since we’ve agreed not to go up against each other.
It’s truly been a wild ride since we played the first duet competition. Eighteen months of blossoming creativity, hours upon hours spent at the piano, and just as many hours spent under the heady control of these two men—either at the piano or exploring kinky depravity. It’s also been eighteen months of self-discovery, big changes, and settling into this new dynamic. And aching goodbyes whenever Killian has gone on tour. We’ve discussed going with him, Ian and me, but everything has been overwhelming enough as is with our new record deal, finding my footing in our new dynamic, and just focusing on Ian’s and Killian’s high demands for my piano playing.
For a while, we discussed whether I should apply for the Royal Academy, but we all quickly came to the decision that it didn’t make much sense for me to waste time going to school when I have two brilliant teachers here and my career is already kicking off with the record deal and the plans for a tour.
In order not to get too isolated and get used to being out in the world, among other people, I started volunteering at an animal shelter. It was Ian’s idea—one he ardently claimed he regretted when I brought home our second cat, a ginger that we named Ollie, but there was always a glimmer of humor in his eyes when he said it. Now he’s caved in and disgruntledly admits that he likes the furry creatures. But he still holds firm on three cats as a maximum.
“We have a surprise for you,” I tell Killian shyly.
“Uh, uh, first I need to know why you had to cancel on me last week so suddenly.” Killian crosses his arms over his chest, making me feel terrifyingly small beneath his looming stance and bulging muscles. He’s grown even bigger after he started taking kickboxing lessons—a necessity when he started seeing a therapist and his emotions ran rampant.
“See, that’s the thing. That’s why we had to cancel. We got you something.”
He cocks a brow. “You got me something? What the hell could you get me that would require you to cancel a whole weekend?”
He actually seems a little angry. Which makes me irrationally gooey inside, knowing that missing an opportunity to see me will make him mad. But it also doesn’t exactly ease my nervousness about revealing the surprise. Because if he doesn’t like it, he’ll for sure get mad. His temper hasn’t magically vanished. It still flares sometimes. Mostly when he’s stressed out or just before going on tour, having to leave us. But I’m concerned this surprise will act as a trigger since it’s something he wanted as a kid—before he shut off.
“Relax, Killian,” Ian says. “Just come see. You’ll understand.” He pushes the door to the living room open and gestures for us to enter.
Killian grabs my hand, not so softly, and drags me with him. Flutters erupt in my belly at his dominant demeanor, and I almost want to say that the surprise can wait and just ask him to take me upstairs right now. But then he sees the black fluffy creature on the couch and halts in his tracks. He barely breathes for a moment, just staring.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“No fucking way.” He turns to me. “You got me a puppy?”
Tears are glistening in his eyes, and it’s such a rare sight that it steals my breath. I just nod.
“But why—how… what about when we’re on tour?”
“Marnie has promised to take care of him,” I say. She’s the woman who runs the animal shelter I volunteer at. She already has three dogs and a huge yard and has no problem taking on a fourth dog for a few weeks. “And, well”—I fumble nervously with my dress—“he’s not exactly a puppy.”
At that moment, Alfie, the little Schipperke, lifts his head.
“Go say hi,” Ian suggests, and Killian crosses the room with hurried steps and drops to his haunches by the couch, carefully reaching his hand out for Alfie to sniff.
“Hi there, little guy,” he says, and my heart melts at seeing him so gentle. Even after being on the receiving end of his gentleness and seeing how much he loves Ginny for a year and a half, it still often takes me aback in the best way.
Alfie sniffs Killian’s hand, and within a few seconds, he’s on his legs, tail wagging as the two get acquainted.
“It’s not a puppy like I know you’ve always wanted,” I explain. “He’s almost two years old. But since we’ll be touring and going to the studio a lot over the next year, I figured a puppy wasn’t a good idea—don’t know when it would be. He’s a robust little one, so staying with Marnie while we’re away won’t be a problem, but a puppy—”
Killian gets up and stalks across the room, cutting me off with a firm grip on my arms. “Shut up, kitten. He’s absolutely perfect.” He pulls me into him and presses his lips to my hair. “You’re perfect.”
“You really like him?” I ask.
There’s a thud, then paws are scraping against the floor as Alfie scurries to us.