The violin music fills in the silence between us, the air shifting into a living, breathing thing. It growls and moans and begs for attention, but all I can do is watch Mercy. She undoes her sash. Her movements are deliberately slow. I swallow hard. First falls the robe, fluttering delicately around her bare feet. Then her fingers slide under the thin strap of her nightgown, letting it slip over her shoulder. Then goes the other strap. My throat goes dry. Her eyes burn. A small shimmy of her body. The dress falls. And my violin nearly falters once again.
