The Price of These Hands​

Summary

My husband, Adrian Thorne, was a world-renowned pianist. He despised my hands—hands he claimed were made only for coarse labor.

One day, after I’d dared to dust his grand piano, he melted a bowl of searing wax. Without a flicker of emotion, he seized my hands and plunged them deep into the molten liquid.

“This,” he whispered in my ear as I screamed, “is your punishment for defiling art.”

To avoid his wrath, I never touched his precious piano again.

Until his birthday. He came home drunk, took my hands in his, and guided them over the black and white keys, playing the favorite song of his…