Two weeks later, Matteo stood in the center of their penthouse living room, staring at the most impulsive purchase he'd ever made.
The piano was beautiful—a Steinway Grand, black lacquer gleaming in the afternoon light, keys pristine and waiting.
The delivery men had just left, having spent an hour positioning it perfectly, tuning it, ensuring everything was flawless.
Now it sat there, elegant and slightly overwhelming, taking up a significant portion of their living space.
Felix was going to kill him. Or cry. Maybe both.
Matteo pulled out his phone, checking the time.
Felix would be home in twenty minutes.
There was no hiding this—the piano was literally the size of a small car.
He'd noticed it weeks ago.
The way Felix's fingers would move sometimes, tapping out invisible melodies on his desk, on the steering wheel, on Matteo's back when they lay in bed.
