Page 5 of Love Unwritten
Like every other eight-year-old kid, Nico wants to be autonomous, especially given the retinitis pigmentosa condition he was diagnosed with about eighteen months ago. According to my late-night Google searches, promoting independence is important, especially as his vision progressively worsens and he gets more frustrated by having to rely on others.
He places his glasses back on his face with thinly pressed lips.
“All good?” I ask.
“Yup.” He squints at my face before rubbing his eyes.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” His harsh tone stuns me as his body brushes against mine on his way out of the elevator, resembling his father so much in that moment.
I clear my head with a quick shake. “All right, sir. Take the attitude down a notch before I make you practice the recorder today instead.”
My comment seems to pull him out of whatever funky mood he was in, and he sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We all get grumpy sometimes.” I follow him out of the elevator and into the basement.
Soon after I was promoted from Nico’s after-school music tutor to his live-in nanny, Rafael converted the unfinished basement into a music studio for his son, mainly due to the drum set his godmother bought him. The large open space is decked out with soundproof insulation, state-of-the-art recording studio technology, and enough instruments to create a whole album if I wanted to.
My stomach sinks at the idea, but I’m quick to recover.
I spin the ring covering my pinkie tattoo. “What do you feel like playing today?”
Nico’s gaze bounces between the display wall of string and brass instruments and the drum set before landing on the black grand piano. “Piano.”
“Really?” If it weren’t for Rafael insisting that Nico practice the piano and violin at least twice a week, I doubt he’d bother with anything but the drum set. Usually, I have to pry the drumsticks out of his hands.
“I want to try something new today.” Nico heads for the bench with a pinched expression that tugs on my heart.
I take a seat beside him, ignoring my impulse to ask him what’s wrong. “Show me what you got, little rock star.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ellie
By the time I tuck Nico into bed for the night, I’m about ready to keel over from overexertion after our extra-long practice session today. Nico is supposed to be practicing for his Strawberry Festival performance coming up this July, but something about his restless energy and residual grumpiness told me he needed the additional time to work through his feelings, so I kept him company while he unleashed his emotions on the ivory keys of his piano.
If Nico’s heartache had a sound, its notes would match that of a sentimental progression—achy and heartfelt and so damn wishful, it comes across as painful longing.
Even the music he listened to while taking a shower carried a melancholic tune, although I pretended not to notice while I folded laundry in his room next door.
“Can you read with me?” Nico pops out his bottom lip.
I stare at the superhero-themed alarm clock on his nightstand. “I’d love to, but it’s late, and you have school tomorrow.”
“Please.” He presses his hands together. “I’ll only ask for one story this time. I promise.”
I’ve always struggled with saying no to Nico. It’s one of my biggest flaws, especially when it comes to cute little kids who wield puppy eyes and good manners like a superpower. If Rafael were here, he would roll his eyes and give me a speech about it, but he is locked away in his office.
Over the last few months, Nico’s bedtime routine became my sole responsibility, and I know Rafael stopped trying because of the awkward tension between him and his son. I’ve tried my best to encourage my boss to try again, but he claims Nico only wants to read stories with me.
Nico and I weren’t always this close, especially given his trust issues with others, but little by little, our bonding over music expanded to most aspects of our lives—from having divorced parents to our love of Formula 1—we have built a strong relationship that I cherish.
“Ellie?” Nico taps on my shoulder.
I let out a deep sigh. “All right. Scoot over.”
He carefully removes his action figures from the left side of his bed and lines them up on his nightstand. Compared to all his other toys that lie abandoned around the house until he is ready to play with them again, he takes extra care of the figures Rafael created with his 3D printer. My boss designed and painted them himself, a fact that I try to block from my mind solely because it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, knowing he spent months working on each one for his son.