Dirty Pretty Words

CHAPTER 8

ELLE’S POV

Slam! The discordant noise made me wince as my fingers struck the wrong keys for the twentieth time. I swear the piano was mocking me with every mistake.

I struck the piano chord wrong again and I sighed and facepalmed myself in frustration. After the contest earlier today, I had been invited by one of the judges for an interview. Ms. Reynolds—no relation to Noah, thank God—had smiled at me with those perfectly white teeth and manicured nails that screamed old money.

"Your voice is extraordinary, Elle," she'd said, jotting something in her leather-bound notebook. "Do you play any instruments to accompany yourself?"

The question made my stomach drop. "No, ma'am. I just sing."

She clicked her tongue. "A shame. A piano would complement your range beautifully." She handed me her business card, the glossy surface catching the light. "Find someone to teach you. It could open many doors."

I nodded eagerly. "I will, Ms. Reynolds. I promise."

"Wonderful. I have connections at Juilliard, you know. They're always looking for... versatile talent."

Juilliard. The word hung in the air between us like a sparkling, impossible dream.

So here I was, hours after my unexpected victory, hunched over a piano in the empty music room, trying to teach myself with a beginner's booklet Lucas had given me. The school offered musical classes, and piano lessons were among them. However, Noah was the student instructor, and I didn't dare ask him to teach me.

Never.

He would only tease me more, so I decided to do it myself. But I've been at it for over an hour, using the piano booklet I got from Lucas, and I still can't get it right.

"C, E, G," I muttered, pressing the keys one at a time. "That's a C major chord. So simple, yet I keep messing it up."

My fingers trembled slightly from exhaustion and frustration. My big moment had come and gone, and now reality was setting in. I needed to capitalize on this win, prove it wasn't a fluke. Learning piano seemed like the logical next step, but at this rate, I'd master it sometime around my fortieth birthday.

Suddenly I heard a voice. "Who dared toy with my piano chords like that?" His face appeared at the doorway, and when he saw me, he looked slightly surprised. "Cinderella?"

My heart dropped to my stomach. Of course he would find me here, fumbling through the basics like a child.

I rolled my eyes at him and he laughed as he walked in. "What are you doing here?"

"It's the music room. I'm making music," I said, trying to sound confident and failing miserably. "Or attempting to, anyway."

"I'd call it more of a musical crime scene," he quipped, sauntering over.

I bit my lip, remembering how he had helped get rid of Benita earlier, and I felt the sudden urge to thank him. The words stuck in my throat, though. How do you thank someone who's made your life miserable for months?

"You think pianos are like writing songs and all?" He began to tease, leaning against the glossy black surface of the grand piano. "It takes days of practice, not hours."

"Why did you do what you did earlier?" The question burst out of me before I could stop it.

He raised a brow. "Be specific, Willsmith. I did many things today."

"You know what I mean. Exposing Benita. Was it... was it to help me?"

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or discomfort. He shook his head with a smug smile, and as he stayed close to me, he told me he just wanted to play hero because he loves playing hero. "There's nothing wrong with me playing hero for you, even if it's just once," he added, his voice softer than I expected.

"I wanted to thank you earlier," I admitted, "but for what you just said, I think I won't."

I made to leave, gathering my sheet music and stuffing it haphazardly into my backpack. Noah moved surprisingly fast, blocking my way to the door.

"Move, Noah," I said, trying to sound firm.

"Not until you thank me," he replied, his eyes sparkling with something between mischief and... something else I couldn't quite read. "You said you were going to. It's only polite."

"I said I was going to, past tense. Now I'm saying I won't."

"Come on, Cinderella. One little 'thank you' won't kill you."

"Don't call me that," I snapped. "My name is Elle."

"Elle," he repeated, and something about the way he said it made my stomach flip. "Say thank you, Elle."

I tried to sidestep him, but he mirrored my movement, still blocking the exit. "This is childish, even for you."

"I'm a child at heart," he replied with a mock bow. "And persistence is my middle name."

"I thought it was 'Jerk,'" I shot back.

He clutched his chest in feigned hurt. "Ouch. The kitten has claws."

I tried once more to dodge around him, but he kept blocking my way until I lost my footing and found myself spiraling to the ground. He was quick to catch me, but I ended up falling flat on him. My heart pounded, both at the fall and the touch of his body on mine.

For a moment, neither of us moved. I could feel his heart beating against mine, surprisingly fast. I could smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle that made me think of autumn nights.

I looked up at him and he was staring at me. Not with the usual mockery or disdain, but with something intense that made my skin prickle. It felt like he was staring past my face, into something deeper.

"Will you thank me now or not?" he asked, his voice lower than before.

That made me pull out of my reverie. I tried to get up, but he held me down, one arm wrapped firmly around my waist.

"Let me go, Noah."

"Thank me or..." His voice trailed off, a threat or a promise hanging in the air between us.

"Or what?" I raised a brow, trying to sound defiant despite the hammering of my heart.

His eyes dropped to my lips for a split second before meeting my gaze again. "I'll kiss you."

I gasped, more from surprise than outrage. This had to be another cruel joke. Another way to humiliate me. There was no way Noah Roth, king of DE Fountain Academy, actually wanted to kiss me, Elle Willsmith, scholarship charity case.

"You wouldn't dare," I whispered, the words barely audible even to my own ears.

"Try me," he challenged, his face inching closer to mine.

I wanted to pushed him away, but there I was, frozen on top of him.

"Last chance," he murmured, his breath warm against my lips. "Say thank you."

I haven't recovered from the shock when I felt his lips on mine.