Free Hidden Away by J. W. Kilhey

fact, there was nothing indicating they were together at all. Her eyes were fixed on the dancing bodies. When I was once more studying the violist, a million questions raced through my mind, but I didn’t know how to answer them. No one in their right mind would ask, and no one valuing their freedom would answer. Still, I heard my own voice sound out. “Have you and he —”
    “No!” Leo said with a smile and a loud chuckle. He leaned toward me, extending his left arm in the opposite direction to keep the smoke from billowing in my face. “He’s very particular.” Leo’s eyes scanned from my forehead to my bent body resting in the chair. He whispered, “He likes beautiful young things with blond hair and sharp features.”
    The tickling low in my belly spread both ways. When it reached my head, I felt drunk, as if I’d consumed the alcohol I’d been warned against. When it reached my groin, I felt like I had only on a few occasions. I turned to the dance floor. Seeing Peter’s long body move in such rhythmic ways set my flesh alight. My skin was flush and raised in bumps. My heart beat faster than ever before as my mind invented stories of his body next to mine.
I bit my lip but couldn’t tear my eyes away.
    Leo pushed a glass of something toward me. Finally, I looked away from Peter’s dancing form and stared at the liquid offered to me. Perhaps it would make me feel a bit better—not so uneasy or overly excited.
    The risks of drinking seemed to outweigh any potential benefits, so I shook my head at Leo. His answering smirk gave me no more peace than his words. “No wonder he likes you. You’re so pure.”
    After two long songs, Peter and his brunette returned to the table. The girl sat down next to Leo’s disinterested girl, and Peter chose a seat next to me. “Having fun?”
I could hardly look him in the eyes as I nodded.
     
He laughed. “Yes, I can tell. Sitting at a table is loads of fun.”
    “No,” I said with a shake of my head. I decided if Leo was right, there was no reason for me to be intimidated by the great Peter Waldenheim. If he truly did like me, he might want to hear me speak more. “But watching you was fun.”
    The devilish smile slid onto his face. Subtly, he moved his hands and repositioned his body. It took all the effort I could give not to jump out of my seat when I felt him squeeze my knee. Although it made me even more anxious and I bit my lip, I couldn’t help but grin a bit.
“Would you look at that,” he said, so softly that only I could hear.
    Our eyes met, his hand squeezed again, and my smile blossomed. It obviously delighted him to see it. I could feel my face flush from embarrassment, but I didn’t lower my eyes. He removed his hand when Marcel, Steffen, and the ladies returned to the table. With his attention on the group, I couldn’t help but hope that Peter was secretly thinking of me.
    He was just as amazing to watch socialize as he was to watch dance or play the violin. Incredibly charming, he managed to make everyone he came into contact with feel special and worth a million Marks. It was not only friends and fellow musicians he treated this way. Everyone seemed equally entitled to Peter’s consideration. He shook hands with fine-looking men, kissed beautiful women on the cheek, posed for photographs with soldiers. It was as if all eyes were on him, and he loved every person in front of him.
    I understood how everyone felt because I felt it too. When his gaze would turn to me, I felt as though I was the only person in the room with him.
    Over an hour passed in this way. I kept glancing at my watch, hoping Peter wouldn’t take offense. I also hoped he would leave soon, so I wouldn’t have to bring it up. Just as I steeled myself to bid everyone a good night, Peter said, “Usually we all go back to my place and play a bit.”
    By “play,” I realized he meant music. As wonderful as it sounded to spend even more time with him—especially watching him