In love with my brother's wife

Lily asked about my life in Paris. At first, it was light curiosity. How was work, the food, the city, but then her questions veered closer to the heart.

She wanted to know about my love life.

I couldn't tell if she was genuinely curious or just trying to figure out if I had moved on from her. Maybe both. Either way, we strolled from deck to deck, letting the movement distract us until we ended up at the indoor garden, a quieter, more secluded spot filled with the scent of jasmine and warm golden light. It was the perfect place to ask the one question I had been avoiding.

"So... how did you end up falling for Sam?" I asked casually, though my voice was tighter than I intended.

"You never really seemed like the bad-boy type back then."

She chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that held a hint of regret.

"If someone had told the younger version of me that I'd marry a guy like Sam, I'd have laughed in their face. I was more into nerds back then. Smart, quiet, serious. They felt more relatable. But you know, life happens. Sometimes we don't choose who we fall for."

I looked at her, nodded slowly. "Yeah. We really don't."

And if anyone knew that truth intimately, it was me.

We slipped into silence again, but it wasn't uncomfortable, just full of unspoken words. We found a sitting nook among the hanging ivy. As she sat down, her skirt caught on a piece of wrought iron. I bent down to help her free it, and when I looked up, our eyes met.

My gaze drifted to her lips.

For one irrational moment, I wanted to kiss her, just one taste of a past I hadn't let go of. But I caught myself, pulled back before temptation became regret. She was married. No matter how much I wanted to, that fact was immovable.

I coughed awkwardly, trying to shake the tension.

"Did you ever follow through with your music?" I asked. "You used to dream of studying it, remember?"

Her face softened. "I still sing. I go to concerts now and then. But no, not full-time. You know my dad, he's always wanted the family to stick to law. Said music was a hobby, not a legacy."

"And you agree?"

She shrugged. "I don't hate law. I've come to see his point. But music, music is the part of me that still feels like mine."

She looked away for a second, her fingers brushing a vine growing along the stone planter.

"I guess we all make peace with our compromises," she added, her voice low.

There was silence again, but this time, it weighed heavier.

"Do you love him?" I asked, unable to hold the question back anymore.

Lily turned her head slowly to look at me. Her lips parted slightly, like she had an answer ready, but then she closed them again. When she finally spoke, it was quieter than before.

"I care about Sam. He's been there for me. He's seen me at my worst and never left. He understands a part of me that no one else does."

That wasn't a 'yes.' Not really.

But I didn't push further. Maybe I didn't want to hear more.

Just then, the soft strains of a piano echoed from the ship's nearby lounge. Lily smiled faintly, as if the music reached some old part of her. She rose slowly.

"Do you want to see the music lounge?" she asked. "I heard there's a grand piano on display that's been played by a few famous artists."

I stood up beside her. "Sure. Lead the way."

As we walked out of the garden, a strange feeling settled over me, like we were two people balancing on a tightrope between past and present. The silence between us wasn't awkward anymore. It was full of memories we hadn't yet dared to speak aloud. But somewhere deep inside, I knew.

The music lounge was dimly lit, elegant, with velvet curtains drawn slightly back to reveal windows overlooking the sea. A soft glow shimmered from wall sconces, casting golden light over the polished grand piano in the center of the room.

Lily's eyes lit up the moment she saw it.

"Oh wow... It's a Bösendorfer," she whispered.

"You still remember your brands," I said, smiling.

"I could never forget." She walked over slowly, her fingers gliding along the smooth surface of the keys, reverent like the instrument was sacred.

A few people sat around, sipping cocktails, lost in the ambient music playing through discreet speakers. But for us, the piano was the only thing that mattered.

"Play something," I urged, softly.

She looked up at me. "I haven't played in years."

"Just try. For me."

She hesitated, then slowly took a seat. Her hands hovered above the keys, trembling slightly, then pressed down. A gentle, familiar tune poured out. It was Clair de Lune. Soft. Tender. Devastating.

I closed my eyes and listened.

Each note unraveled years. Her laughter in school. The way she used to hum while walking home. The tears she never let me see the night I left for Paris.

When she finished, there was a pause in the room. A few people clapped politely, but I was too caught up to move.

"That was beautiful," I said, sitting beside her now.

She didn't look at me. "I used to imagine playing that at our wedding."

I turned to her slowly.

Lily's eyes flickered to mine, and for a moment, the world faded. The lounge, the music, the audience, it all dissolved.

"It's too late for that now," she said, standing up too quickly.

I caught her hand before she could walk away.

"Is it?"

She paused. But this time, she didn't turn back.

And just like that, the music stopped, yet everything inside me kept playing the song we never got to finish.