He was playing again. He often did right before dawn. Relaxing things. Slow melodies by Bach or Satie or Chopin. Things he knew she loved. She wondered if it was an attempt to quiet her and let her rest, even though she rarely took comfort in sleep anymore. There were only a few hours a day that she was able to sleep. She didn’t tire, but she did envy the peaceful oblivion that slumber had once provided.
And dreaming. She missed the dreams.
Beatrice approached the piano, sliding next to Giovanni on the narrow bench he had pushed back to fit his long legs. He didn’t cease playing the Nocturne when he leaned over and kissed her.
“Want me to show you a few things?”
“A little Mozart melody.” His fingers tripped up the keys. “You’ll be amazed by how fast you pick it up.”