The strains of Cosmo's latest composition drift through the house as I pause in the doorway of the music room. There he sits at the piano, golden hair catching the afternoon light, lost in the melody that will become our wedding song. I lean against the doorframe, drinking in the sight of him - the way his fingers dance across the keys, the concentration on his face, the unconscious tapping of his foot.

He looks up suddenly, catching me watching, and the music falters. A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features from intense concentration to warm familiarity.

"Starlet," he says by way of greeting, patting the piano bench beside him. "Come to critique my masterpiece?"

I cross the room slowly, the silk of my dressing gown whispering against my thighs. The air feels charged somehow, heavier than usual with unspoken words and lingering glances. Since Don and I invited him to move in, something has shifted between us - a tension that wasn't there before, a current of electricity waiting to be discharged.

I sit beside him on the piano bench, close enough that our shoulders touch, and place my hand lightly on his forearm. His skin is warm beneath my fingertips, and I feel a tremble run through him at my touch.

"It's beautiful, Cosmo," I say softly, "but then everything you write is."

His smile fades slightly, his eyes darkening with something I've never seen there before - something raw and vulnerable and hungry. For a long moment, we simply look at each other, the unplayed piano keys between us suddenly feeling like the only barrier in a world that has always belonged to the three of us.