Mrs. Felton took Helena's right hand and placed a metal key in her palm.
Helena blinked at the key, then looked at Mrs. Felton's smiling face.
"This is the key to this room," Mrs. Felton said. "Keep it."
As Helena had suspected, it was the key to the studio, and Mrs. Felton was giving it to her.
"Is this okay?" Helena asked, still hesitant to accept the key in her hand.
"I would be very happy if you accepted it," Mrs. Felton replied.
Helena glanced at the piano in the center of the room. It reminded her of her mother's piano, which was still at her grandfather's house. She hadn't seen it in two months.
"Thank you," Helena said. She could almost imagine this piano being the same as the one at her grandfather’s house.
It made her picture her mother playing it.
"Steve, come here," Mrs. Felton called out to someone standing near the door.
Helena turned around, only now realizing Steve's presence nearby.
Mrs. Felton gestured for her son to come over. Understanding, Steve approached.
But as he got closer, Mrs. Felton suddenly said, "Keep Helen company, dear. I’ll go prepare some food."
"Eh?"
And with that, Mrs. Felton left the room.
They looked at each other, then at the door where Mrs. Felton had disappeared.
Steve cleared his throat and smiled. "Would you like to hear me play the piano?"
Helena hadn't known that Steve could play. Her heart skipped a beat at his offer.
"Well, I only know how to play one song," he admitted.
Helena nodded. She wouldn’t mind at all—she’d love to hear him play.
Steve pulled out the piano bench and sat down in front of the instrument. He lifted the lid and placed his fingers gently on the keys.
The next moment, music filled the room. Steve began to play.
Helena’s eyes were glued to him. She couldn't look away. His fingers moved gracefully across the keys.
Even though the song was different from her mother’s favorite pieces, and even though she didn't recognize it, she already liked it.
Especially since the one playing it was the man she loved.
Helena resisted the urge to clutch her chest, feeling her heart race.
When Steve’s fingers finally slowed and the melody came to an end, Helena spoke up, staring at him in admiration. "That was... that was amazing, Steve."
She clapped her hands, her face glowing with excitement. This was a moment she would never forget.
Steve chuckled. "But I’m not as good as Dave."
Helena raised an eyebrow. "Dave?"
Why was Steve bringing up that name?
Steve nodded. "Dave is even better at playing the piano."
"Are you serious?" Helena asked in disbelief. She couldn't imagine that cold, stiff person playing the piano.
"Of course. Right, Dave?" Steve suddenly directed his question to someone behind Helena.
"Eh?" Helena turned around.
Once again, she hadn’t noticed someone’s presence. But this time, it was probably because she had been too focused on Steve.
Dave stood there, his expression blank. He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe.
"Don’t bring me into this," Dave said flatly. "I came here because I heard the piano. Turns out it was you." He directed his gaze at Steve. "Just as I expected."
Steve smirked at him.
"Care to show off that hidden talent of yours?" Steve teased.
Dave’s face remained impassive. But he straightened up, no longer leaning against the doorframe.
"I’m not interested," he said and turned to leave.
Steve stood up as well. "Oh, come on, Dave."
Dave hadn’t taken a step yet, so Steve took the opportunity to continue. "You should work on your image in front of Helen."
"Eh?" Helena’s eyes widened.
So Steve had noticed that she wasn’t particularly fond of Dave.
If Steve knew, did Dave know too?
Helena looked at Dave, curious. But she quickly regretted it—she should have known better than to try and read him.
"I don’t care," Dave muttered before walking away.
Steve chased after him, motioning for Helena to follow. Understanding his gesture, she left the room as well, locking the door with the key Mrs. Felton had given her.
Steve slung an arm around Dave’s shoulder, ignoring his cousin’s protests. Helena trailed behind them.
"You know," Steve started, "if you became a charming pianist instead of a cold office worker, I bet you'd have tons of fans."
Dave, seemingly knowing where this conversation was headed, simply rolled his eyes.
Helena watched their interaction. She had never seen Dave speak so casually with anyone before. Maybe Steve was the only person who could talk to him like this.
Steve wasn’t as composed as she had thought. Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she had assumed.
The three of them walked until they reached the dining room. Seeing Mrs. Felton pushing a food cart, Helena immediately went to help her set the table.
Several other carts were brought in by housemaids who appeared to be around Mrs. Felton’s age.
Mrs. Felton chatted with them as she set the table, treating them like family.
When it was time to eat, she even insisted that all the household staff dine together.
Helena was amazed by the long dining table, which had ten chairs—none of them left empty.
She did a quick count. That meant the Felton household had six employees: a chauffeur, a gardener, a family chef, and three housekeepers.
They all ate together.
Helena ended up sitting beside Mrs. Felton, not because she chose the seat but because Steve’s mother pulled her down to sit next to her.
Mrs. Felton was treating her like family.
"Eat up, sweetheart," she said, piling food onto Helena’s plate.
Even Steve didn’t get that kind of treatment. Then again, as a grown man, he probably wouldn’t want to be babied.
Still, Helena knew Steve acted spoiled around his mother, even at his age.
"Thank you, Mum," Helena said, not daring to refuse.
She swallowed nervously, looking at the now-overflowing plate. She mentally prepared herself—she had to finish it all.
"Aunty, if she eats like that, she’ll get fat," Dave commented, pointing at Helena’s plate.
Helena glanced at him. Was he teasing her? Or was he helping her since he noticed how nervous she looked?
***