The Heir (The Selection #4)(37)

“True,” I admitted, my shoulders sagging under the weight of it all.

“I don’t know how you and Kile ended up . . . umm . . . in that position, but I’d be surprised if he made it to the top of your list. All the same, I’m thankful to you.”

I was taken aback. “Why? I haven’t done anything.”

“You have,” she contradicted. “You’re giving your parents time, which is very generous of you. But you’re giving me time, too. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep him here.”

A knock came at the door.

I turned. “That’ll be Baden.”

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You stay put. I’ll let him in.”

“Oh!” Baden exclaimed when Miss Marlee opened the door for him.

She chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way out. She’s waiting for you.”

Baden looked past her to find me, smiling the entire time. He looked so triumphant, so pleased to be alone together.

“Is that it?” he asked, pointing just behind me.

I spun, taking in the piano. “Yes. The tone on this one is wonderful, and this room has great acoustics.”

He followed me, and I could hear his guitar case bump into his leg or a couch as he navigated through the maze of seats.

Without asking, he found an armless chair and pulled it up beside the piano. I trilled my fingers over the keys, doing a quick scale.

Baden tuned his guitar, which was dark and worn. “How long have you been playing?”

“As long as I can remember. I think Mom sat me down next to her as a toddler, and I just went along with whatever she did.”

“People have always said your mother was a fantastic musician. I think I heard her play on TV once, for a Christmas program or something.”

“She always plays a lot at Christmastime.”

“Her favorite time of the year?” he guessed.

“In a way, sure, but in others, no. And she usually plays when she’s worried or sad.”

“How do you mean?” He tightened a string, finishing his preparations.

“Oh, you know,” I hedged. “Holidays can be stressful.” I didn’t feel right exposing Mom’s memories, losing her father and sister during the same time of year, not to mention a horrific attack that nearly stole my father.

“I can’t imagine being sad at Christmastime here. If she was poor, I could see why she’d be anxious.”

“Why?”

He smiled to himself. “Because it’s hard to watch all your friends getting piles of gifts when you don’t get any.”

“Oh.”

He took the stab at our social differences in stride, not getting mad or calling me a snob, which some might have done. I examined Baden, trying to learn more. The guitar was old, but it was hard to make a call about his financial status while he wore palace-issued clothes. I remembered what Aunt May said about his last name.

“You’re in college, right?” I asked.

He nodded. “Well, it’s on hold for now. Some of my professors were thrown off, but most of them are letting me send assignments back to finish the semester from here.”

“That’s really impressive.”

He shrugged. “I know what I want. So I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get it.”

I gave him a curious smirk. “How does the Selection fit into that?”

“Wow, no holding back there.” Again, no anger. He almost treated it as a joke.

“It’s a fair question, I think.” I started playing one of the classics Mom had taught me. Baden knew the song and joined in. I’d never considered how it would sound with strings.

The music won, and we dropped the conversation. But we didn’t stop communicating. He watched my eyes, and I studied his fingers. I’d never played with anyone before other than Mom, and I was engaged in a way I didn’t know I could be.

We played on with no more than two or three missteps across the entire song. Baden was beaming as we finished.

“I only know a handful of classics. Some Beethoven and Debussy, mostly.”

“You’re so talented! I’ve never imagined songs like that on a guitar.”

“Thanks.” He was only the slightest bit bashful. “To answer your question, I’m here because I want to get married. I haven’t dated much, but when this opportunity came up, I thought it might be worth a try. Am I in love with you? Well, not today. I’d like to know if I could be though.”

Something about his tone made me trust he was being completely transparent. He was trying to find a mate, and I was someone he would never have met if he hadn’t put his name in for the drawing.

“I’d like to make you a promise, if that’s okay,” he offered.

“What kind of promise?”

He plucked at a few strings. “A promise about us.”

“If you’re vowing to give me your unwavering devotion, it’s still too soon.”

Baden shook his head. “No, that’s not in my plan.”

“Okay, then. I’m listening.” His fingers outlined a slightly familiar melody, not a classic, but something I knew. . . . I couldn’t pinpoint it.

“If you found that I wasn’t a reasonable choice for you, you’d send me home so you could focus on your other options. What I want to promise you is this: if I can tell that you’re not the right one for me, I’ll tell you. I don’t want either of us to waste our time.”