Piano Concerto No. 21 in C major, K. 467, by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

As soon as they reached his study, Aiden pushed her inside before slamming the door behind them. The only light came from the faint glow of the moon, slipping through the half-opened curtains. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust. When they did, he turned to her, his raging mood still intact.

"What do you think you are doing?" he roared. Her worried expression turned into consternation.

"Excuse me?"

"You can't be like this with these men!" he shouted. "They will imagine things. One of them will try something if you keep behaving like this!"

"Like what?" she asked, nearly yelling as well.

"Like a fucking courtesan!"

She took a step back, outraged. Ah, shit... He'd spoken too fast, and he'd insulted her, which he never should have. His jealousy and anger had gotten the best of him, and he was about to regret it even more.

Pointing an accusing finger at him, she practically vibrated with rage.

"Some of us weren't born with a silver spoon in our mouths, you know! Some of us need money. We can't all have our days filled with leisure time and frivolities." She was now screaming vehemently. "Because you've led an easy life of idleness doesn't mean we all get that chance, Aiden! I have a family – sisters – to take care of. Tonight is the perfect opportunity to do so. And I won't let you ruin it because you think I can't handle a few horny men!"

"Didn't you get enough money from me?" he asked, scandalized by how she was trying to turn this onto him.

"There will never be 'enough money' Aiden," she replied, her voice cracking. Something else was slowly replacing her anger, and he read the distress in her eyes. "You don't know what it's like to be as poor as I have been. What it's like to have to give your share of food to your baby sisters because they are so hungry they can't stop crying." She paused, her eyes watery and unfocused. "I'm never letting them go through that again. Ever."

Aiden remained silent, letting her confession sink in. He hadn't realized she had gone through all this. The bohemian camp here was well-supplied, but it was possible that before, they had gone through some tough times. He hated the idea that she could be hungry, cold, not taken care of... It was too much for him to imagine Amalia suffering because she was lacking something as trivial as money.

Her making the most of tonight, charming these men to get more money, meant so much more than he'd thought. He knew her well by now. This wasn't her. She wasn't a flirt or a seducer. She didn't do these things, not with him, and not with anyone else, from what he'd seen. But tonight, her survival instinct had taken the lead. These fools outside didn't stand a chance. Not when she was so adamant about making more money, spurred by a past of misery and the knowledge there might be more of it in the future.

Without saying anything, Aiden went to a glass cabinet, opened it, and took out a book. From it, he retrieved a hidden key before putting the book back in its place. He then went to the safe behind his desk and opened it. Without thinking about it twice, he retrieved the bundle of one pound bills there, and went back to Amalia.

"This is fifty pounds," he explained, handing her the money. "Take it. I won't ask anything in exchange for it. Nothing other than for you to, please, stop flirting with those men."

Astonished, Amalia stared at the money with uncertainty, never making a move to take it. "You would give me fifty pounds just so I'd stop talking to those men?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I would give you ten times that, but this is all I have on hand."

He could see that a thousand questions were running through her mind, but she could only form one. "Why?"

The question took him by surprise. Why, indeed?

In the past, he'd never been like this with any woman. None of his conquests had ever turned him into a possessive caveman. His relationships never lasted long enough to make him feel like he needed to claim a woman as his. Even with his longest affairs, which had lasted up to five months, he had been able to watch the women flirt and talk to other men without it being an issue. Hell, he'd even shared a few with acquaintances, and it had caused no problem.

Why was Amalia so different?

He looked at her, her dark eyes full of confusion. Despite the headpiece hiding it, he knew that when she frowned like this, there was this vertical fold forming between her eyebrows. He knew that when she smiled – when she truly smiled – a dimple appeared on her left cheek. He knew she could fit seven and a half sugar cookies at once in her mouth, four without breaking them. He knew that sometimes when she laughed too hard, she would let out a small snorting sound, which never failed to make her stop at once. It embarrassed her greatly each time, but he had never minded it, finding it endearing instead. Knowing she was laughing hard enough to reach this point always left him elated.

In over twenty-five years, he had never learned so much about anyone. Not even his sisters. He cherished every single detail about her. Even what could have felt like a fault on someone else felt like a quality on Amalia. She was stubborn, but debating with her was something he could do for hours. Her sharp tongue was unsparing, but he loved it when she didn't hesitate to put him back in his place. She was exuberant, and he adored that she never tried to hide her emotions, or how she always said what she was thinking.

He loved everything he knew about the woman. And every time he discovered something new, it only lengthened the list.

All of a sudden, an epiphany dawned on him.

He loved her. For everything she was. With his whole heart.

Of course, he did.

She was perfect.

It didn't exactly come as a shock, but he finally understood why his relationship with this woman was so different from what he knew. For the first time in his life, he was in love with someone. With her.

The knowledge energized him; his mind was galvanized with the idea that he couldn't have found someone more deserving of his love. Amalia was the most unique person he'd ever encountered. Sure, it had taken them a while to adapt to each other, but the harmony of their relationship now predicted that they would get along perfectly. Yes, sometimes they still argued, just like moments ago, but it was unavoidable with a woman like her. She had a mind of her own, her pride, her intelligence... and she would never stop defending it. He wouldn't want her to, anyway.

"Aiden, why would you give me fifty, or even five hundred pounds?" she asked again, still dismayed.

Aiden was tired of leaving things unsaid. All this beating around the bush would lead them nowhere. They had known each other for long enough, and he'd fallen for her almost from the start. Even if he'd only realized it now. She needed to know, too.

"Because I'm in love with you, Amalia."

Her eyes widened as her mouth fell open. He didn't know if she loved him back, but if she didn't yet, he was hopeful he could conquer her. He wouldn't rush her, allowing her to move at her own pace. But it was certain she would, in the end, love him back. They were destined for each other; he was convinced of it.

"Seeing you like this with those men... it wrecks me. Especially when it took you so long to be this comfortable around me," he explained with patience. She still couldn't talk, so he shook the money in front of her. "Please. Take it and stop torturing me for the night."

She didn't move. Utterly silent, she stood there, processing what he had just told her. When she talked, her voice was shaky and unstable. "I wasn't like this with you because..." She hesitated. "I know nothing will ever happen with those men downstairs. But with you, Aiden, it was different. I was always in real danger."

"In danger of what?"

"Of losing myself. Of... letting go."

His heart swelled in his chest, delighted by her confession. It was different for her, too. He threw the money on his desk and moved toward her. Distressed by whatever was happening within her, she took a step back. When he met her eyes and read the confusion in them, it quenched whatever offense he might have taken. She was troubled, battling with her desires and her conscience.

"Amalia, let go."

"But I can't, don't you see it?" A desperate tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away with a hurried gesture. "You will end up leaving, and I will stay. I will never meet someone else like you, Aiden."

He tried to reach for her again, but she took another step away from him, evading his grasp. She gave him a warning glance, raising a cautionary finger between them. "One day, you will find a woman from your world, and you will marry her, Aiden. She will bear your children, and you will spend the rest of your life with them. All I will be left with is a broken heart and some memories, while you live your life with your perfect wife, in your perfect palace, with your perfect children..."

He took another step, and this time, when she tried to keep her distance from him, the wall behind her prevented her from getting away. When her back met the wooden surface, she jumped and her startled eyes flew to his. She looked like a wounded animal, with her large, teary eyes, the fright in them, and the way her limbs were slightly trembling. Everything in her was telling her to be cautious, to preserve herself. She was scared, terrified to let go, to compromise her heart, to trust his affection for her.

Unable to resist, affected by her dismay, he lifted a hand to her face and brushed a tear away with his thumb. The gesture was enough to appease her, and something turned soft in her dark irises. His heart ached when she closed her eyes and pressed her face inside his palm. The worries she'd voiced had probably been on her mind for a while now. The distance she'd maintained between them hadn't been because she wanted to stay away from him, but because she was fearful of all the suffering she might be subjected to. It angered and tormented him to imagine her with another man, marrying him, sharing his bed, having his children... It only made sense that she would feel the same way.

But where she was wrong was that there was only one woman in this world Aiden could imagine spending the rest of his life with. Now that he'd known Amalia, he would never settle for anything less than the force of nature she was. Everything about her was unique, and any other woman would feel remarkably bland compared to the one before him. An entire life by her side would never have a dull moment. Of that, he was certain.

"I will never leave you," he promised, reaching for her soft cheek again.

"Of course you will," she argued in a trembling voice. Adamant to flee again, she ripped her cheek away from his palm. "We cannot... It can't work. We are literal opposites of a very long, very unforgiving social ladder. Aiden, we couldn't be more ill-suited for one another."

"We will make it work."

He would do anything in his power to make it work. He wanted her, had to have her, needed her... If he had to climb down that ladder, he would. If she had to climb up, he'd help her. But in the end, she had to become his.

She was struggling to find another argument, another pertinent reason as to why this wasn't possible. So Aiden decided action would be his best defense. Before she could expect it, he slipped a hand on her nape, enjoying the way her hair felt under his palm, and pulled her face to his, bending toward her intently.

This time, no one would come to interrupt them. This time, he'd kiss her, the woman he longed for, the woman he loved.

This chapter's piece is Piano Concerto No. 21 in C major, K. 467, by Mozart. It's Aiden's instrument, the piano, and it's fragile, hopeful, and romantic all at once.