to talk to him in private as soon as he arrives.” Tiller nodded once, a whisper of a smile on his lips. “I’ll be in the music room.”
FIVE
Although they called it the music room, it wasn’t a room of the house, it was a separate outbuilding on estate land. There were various structures dotted around in their acres, built at different times for different things. The music room, however, was definitely her favorite.
With the grand piano elevated in the corner, warm wood flooring and glass pocket doors that gave a view of the sea, it was a space for reflection.
And for writing music.
Getting back in the groove was one thing. Her fingers hadn’t moved on anything other than a computer keyboard for weeks, but Poppy had forgotten how it could take her away. The music bolstered her mood or reinforced it, the melodies and finger dances across the keys took her away from hurt and confusion. The music didn’t care about words in the sky or rewards or people on TV. It helped her to concentrate, to focus her conscious mind so her subconscious could figure her life out.
Living in the real world away from financial privilege hadn’t fixed her. Coming home to all the luxury she could stand didn’t do it either.
She stopped playing to put a few notes on paper. That was when she heard the footsteps and turned to see Primrose coming in to join her.
“You’re writing,” Primrose said. “I haven’t seen you do that in a long time.”
“I’m just messing around.”
Primrose came over and Poppy slid down the stool to make room for her. “You know, I never got it. I hated it when Mom told us to practice our instruments…” Her sister traced the lines between the keys. “You were always a natural.”
“I enjoyed it. The music was a comfort.”
“I can understand that,” Primrose said, still touching the keys without pressing them. “The guy who came here last night… He’s the guy from your building. The one who brought me to your apartment.”
“Yes.”
“You were with him before you came home?”
“It’s complicated,” Poppy said when Primrose glanced at her. “But yes, I was.”
“And he’s in love with you… like Holden.”
Primrose’s fingers slid off the keys and onto her lap as Poppy began to play a soft, happy tune. “The difference being Turner actually knows who I am. He took the time to get to know me. I don’t know what Holden’s about, having some early midlife crisis, I guess.”
“How does Turner feel about Holden loving you?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t asked him. Probably not good.”
“He’s not threatened?”
Her lips quirked, and she kept on playing. “No. Turner knows I have no interest in Holden… the whole thing just makes me angry.”
Primrose sighed. “So Turner can get over it, but Violet can’t?”
“She was humiliated. Being jilted is one thing, but the way Holden did it…” Poppy shook her head. “I don’t blame her for being emotional.”
“I tried to get her to come down here. I think it would help for her to hear that you’re really not interested in Holden.”
“I’ve never wavered in that. When she’s ready to hear me, she will,” Poppy said and leaned over to nudge her while still playing. “I’m proud of you though. Coming to get me. Coming down here to talk, you’re really trying to hold us all together.”
“I… uh…”
Poppy laughed. “I know, we’re not usually so free with the compliments… We should celebrate the positives instead of only highlighting the negatives.”
Still playing, Poppy enjoyed the texture of the keys and the lilt of the tune.
“You’ve changed,” Primrose said after a few moments. “For the better. I like this new Poppy… Grammie always said that finding love alters our outlook. She was right.”
“Maybe,” Poppy said, her fingers speeding up. “Would you like me to teach you something?”
“God no,” Primrose said. “I haven’t played in like twenty years.”
“Because you chose the flute… Where is your flute by the way?”
“No idea,” Primrose said. “There’s no time anyway, I said I’d remind you about dinner. We’re already late.”
Time had got away from her, which wasn’t a bad thing. Poppy needed the oblivion. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last forever. She had to face her family again, Poppy just hoped that night would be somewhat less dramatic than the previous one.
Poppy and Primrose walked into the dining room arm in arm talking about some of the drama she’d missed in their social circles. Poppy wasn’t particularly close to any of their “friends.” Grammie was her best friend. But