the way up the steps to the street level.
Marcus’s pulse raced and he held tighter to Evie’s hand. The short walk to the row house Evie and her brothers shared with their grandmother seemed to take an eternity.
“You’re going to have a panic attack, if you keep that up. She really is a lovely woman,” Evie said.
“So, she raised you guys?” he asked, trying to make conversation. “Where are your parents?”
Lukas shared a quick, furtive glance with his brother, then shot a look over his shoulder at Evie.
“Sort of,” she said. “Our parents raised us, but they’re musicians. They left when we were old enough to not need them anymore, and Nanyo’s been there for us ever since.”
“Left… as in deserted you?” He tried not to sound accusatory, because deep down, he thought he understood.
“No. They both got jobs with the Budapest Festival Orchestra. It was their first love—the thing they wanted most together, after each other and having a family.”
“Ah, musicians,” he said, as though that should explain everything. The truth was, he envied their lifestyle. She and her brothers both seemed so free. He had the weirdest sense that they might just fly away at any moment, and he wanted more than anything to keep Evie on the ground with him.
Climbing the steps to their front door, he believed his heart might be a percussive genius the way it kept time with Evie’s steps and every single rhythm of her movements. Maybe he was meant for a life in music, too?
At least, he hoped he was meant for a life within her music.
The apartment they led him into was nothing like he expected. In spite of the exterior’s humble appearance, the interior was cluttered with wondrous things. Everywhere he turned, he spied new details. Old photographs lined the walls up the stairs, each one with a different, ornate frame. The photos the frames contained seemed to stretch back for centuries. In one particularly ancient one, he could swear he saw Evie’s face, but the tug of her hand urged him onward.
At the top of the stairs, he was blinded by the sunset through the high windows. When his sight returned he gazed around, awe-struck at the view they had from this seemingly mundane location. It took him another moment to register the eclectic décor inside. Every inch of wall was filled with something. Photographs, shelves of books, knicknacks, or memorabilia. Yet everything was neatly placed and belonged exactly where it was. It had its own rhythm that meshed perfectly with everything he knew and loved about Evie.
Evie led him through the entryway, into the living room. Though Marcus couldn’t really call it one room. The entire apartment was one big room, which seemed strange to him.
“Do you like it?” she asked. “We had to take out the walls to fit all our stuff in.”
“It’s amazing. It feels like a…” He couldn’t find the word at first, as he gazed around at the sofas and cushions scattered over the immense array of colorful rugs that covered the floor. More bookshelves rose up around an ornate fireplace and even flanked the huge mirror that hung above the mantel. He saw himself in it, with Evie behind him, curled up in the deep sofa like a little bird roosting. The silhouettes of Iszak and Lukas were visible for a second before disappearing down a hallway.
“What does it feel like?” she asked.
“A nest,” he said, walking over to sit beside her. “It feels like a nest. A very comfortable nest, too. How long have you lived here?” The collections he’d seen had to have taken decades to amass. Generations, really.
Evie darted her eyes out the window and plucked at his shirt cuff. “Not that long,” she said. “It is pretty cozy, isn’t it? I love it here. Especially now that you’re here.”
She threaded her fingers through his hand and squeezed. The mere sensation of her touch made him crave more of her. He looked at her, enthralled again at her beauty. He’d heard her sing so
Marcus’s pulse raced and he held tighter to Evie’s hand. The short walk to the row house Evie and her brothers shared with their grandmother seemed to take an eternity.
“You’re going to have a panic attack, if you keep that up. She really is a lovely woman,” Evie said.
“So, she raised you guys?” he asked, trying to make conversation. “Where are your parents?”
Lukas shared a quick, furtive glance with his brother, then shot a look over his shoulder at Evie.
“Sort of,” she said. “Our parents raised us, but they’re musicians. They left when we were old enough to not need them anymore, and Nanyo’s been there for us ever since.”
“Left… as in deserted you?” He tried not to sound accusatory, because deep down, he thought he understood.
“No. They both got jobs with the Budapest Festival Orchestra. It was their first love—the thing they wanted most together, after each other and having a family.”
“Ah, musicians,” he said, as though that should explain everything. The truth was, he envied their lifestyle. She and her brothers both seemed so free. He had the weirdest sense that they might just fly away at any moment, and he wanted more than anything to keep Evie on the ground with him.
Climbing the steps to their front door, he believed his heart might be a percussive genius the way it kept time with Evie’s steps and every single rhythm of her movements. Maybe he was meant for a life in music, too?
At least, he hoped he was meant for a life within her music.
The apartment they led him into was nothing like he expected. In spite of the exterior’s humble appearance, the interior was cluttered with wondrous things. Everywhere he turned, he spied new details. Old photographs lined the walls up the stairs, each one with a different, ornate frame. The photos the frames contained seemed to stretch back for centuries. In one particularly ancient one, he could swear he saw Evie’s face, but the tug of her hand urged him onward.
At the top of the stairs, he was blinded by the sunset through the high windows. When his sight returned he gazed around, awe-struck at the view they had from this seemingly mundane location. It took him another moment to register the eclectic décor inside. Every inch of wall was filled with something. Photographs, shelves of books, knicknacks, or memorabilia. Yet everything was neatly placed and belonged exactly where it was. It had its own rhythm that meshed perfectly with everything he knew and loved about Evie.
Evie led him through the entryway, into the living room. Though Marcus couldn’t really call it one room. The entire apartment was one big room, which seemed strange to him.
“Do you like it?” she asked. “We had to take out the walls to fit all our stuff in.”
“It’s amazing. It feels like a…” He couldn’t find the word at first, as he gazed around at the sofas and cushions scattered over the immense array of colorful rugs that covered the floor. More bookshelves rose up around an ornate fireplace and even flanked the huge mirror that hung above the mantel. He saw himself in it, with Evie behind him, curled up in the deep sofa like a little bird roosting. The silhouettes of Iszak and Lukas were visible for a second before disappearing down a hallway.
“What does it feel like?” she asked.
“A nest,” he said, walking over to sit beside her. “It feels like a nest. A very comfortable nest, too. How long have you lived here?” The collections he’d seen had to have taken decades to amass. Generations, really.
Evie darted her eyes out the window and plucked at his shirt cuff. “Not that long,” she said. “It is pretty cozy, isn’t it? I love it here. Especially now that you’re here.”
She threaded her fingers through his hand and squeezed. The mere sensation of her touch made him crave more of her. He looked at her, enthralled again at her beauty. He’d heard her sing so
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