by Jemma Harte
Deep breath, prepare, focus...and...
The light hit her face, and there was Peter, poised in arabesque for her hand.
Lily Keene was about to become a star.
* * * *
After the curtain call, she hurried back to her dressing room, perspiring heavily, hugging a large bouquet of lilies from the choreographer. Her adrenaline was pumping, her body still in mid-flight.
She was instantly consumed by a crowd of hugs from the other girls, but the first thing she wanted was her phone, for while she curtseyed to the audience Lily had suddenly been hit by a horrible sense of something wrong. It surely wasn't right for her to be so happy, to have everything going right for her. That's not how her life worked.
Needing to talk to Joe, she was about to dial his number when she saw she had a message from him. Thank Christ!
With a trembling finger she dialed her voice mail to listen to his voice and be reassured.
But it wasn't his voice on the recorded message. It was from his number that the call had been left, but the anxious voice was not Joe's. It was his brother's.
* * * *
The cab got caught in traffic and took close to an hour to get to the hospital. Damn those fucking Christmas shoppers, she thought, sitting on the edge of the seat, feeling sick.
Through the cab window all the holiday lights were nothing more than a bright blur, and every time she blinked it got worse. The long fake lashes were wet, holding on to her tears and multiplying the glare. She hadn't even stopped to take off her make-up so the driver kept giving her strange looks.
What did it matter what she looked like? Joe was gone, dead. It was over before it had properly begun, and she was alone again.
Dead, dead, dead.
She pictured herself at his grave, wearing black, trying to comfort his mother.
She couldn't breathe.
Fuck ballet. Fuck everything. God was cruel.
At last they pulled up at the entrance to the emergency room. She paid the driver and leapt out, running for the glass doors and looking for Mike.
The place was crowded, and she couldn't see much through her desperate, blurred gaze.
This is what she knew would happen the moment she entangled her life with someone else and let the outside world in. Now he'd made her damn-well care about him. And he'd leave her behind.
She must have been mad to get involved with a fucking firefighter in New York City. What was she thinking?
This wasn't her world. She couldn't—
There was Mike! A tall series of blobs melded together into his form as he saw her and hurried over. "He's okay, Lily. He's gonna be okay."
A wheezing gasp sputtered out of her, all the anguish she'd held in forced out on a tidal wave of anguish. "Okay? Okay?" She thumped him in the arm. "I thought he was dead. When I got the message that he was here and was hurt...I thought. Oh, god, I hate him. I hate him for making me feel like this. What the hell...what the hell happened?"
Mike looked askance. "Er. He was fighting an interior fire and the roof came down. Joe and his partner were trapped."
"Oh, my god!" She covered her face with both hands. "Oh, my god!"
He put his hands on her shoulders. "But it's okay, Lily. Joe managed to drag his partner out of there. Both a bit knocked up, but they're still breathing. More roof fell as they came out so he got a little concussion, but hey, you know he's got a hard, thick head and nothin' much inside there to damage."
Her knees began to crumple, so she let him give her a hug to keep her standing.
"And my little brother's a hero. But don't call him that, unless you want to annoy him."
Slowly she was getting her breath back.
"I didn't mean to get you too worried," he added. "I found your number in his phone and thought you maybe oughta know he was in hospital. He would never ask me to let you know, but I think secretly he'd want you here." He passed her a tissue, and Lily blew her nose hard. "They just admitted him overnight to keep him under observation. But he's fine. Already complaining."
For a second she rested her head on Mike's shoulder, recovering. Then she stood upright, swallowed and put her chin up. "Where is he? Can I see him?"
"Sure. What's on your face?"
"Make up. I just came off stage."
"Ah."
"Do I look like an Oompa Loompa, Mike?" She wiped at her face with the tissue.
He laughed. "Only a very pretty one. Somehow I don't think he'll mind. Come on. I'll take you up."
* * * *
Joe winced when he saw her. Damn. He didn't want her seeing him like this, all bandaged up with a scratched face. He glared at Mike, but he couldn't keep it up for too long as it made his head ache under the bandages. Felt like an oak tree had fallen on his head.
"I'll leave you two lovebirds alone," he brother said, slipping out again and closing the door.
Lily came to the side of the bed, her lips pressed together but wobbling, her face a mess of dripping make-up. Before she could speak he said, "What the hell happened to you, Princess?"
She scowled. "I just raced in a cab from the theater to see you, didn't I?"
He smiled and grabbed her hand.
"And I'm supposed to say that to you," she added with a sniff. "What the hell happened?"
"Just work. How was your day, honey?"
Aha, that teased a bit of a smile out of her reluctant lips. "I thought you were dead, Joe."
"Me? Nah! I'm still here, see?"
She licked her lips.
"Come sit here." He patted the bed beside him. "I need you."
"I don't know—"
"It's just a few scratches. I've gotten worse playing basketball with the guys at work."
After a hesitating glance at the door, she hitched up onto the bed and he put his arm around her as she nestled against him, hiding her face in his shoulder.
"I'm glad you're here," he said, feeling it with every bone and fiber in his body.
"They're keeping you in tonight."
"Yep. I told them I'm fine, but they insisted. I just wanna go out for a beer and some pizza. And fuck you, nice and slow."
She laughed softly. "Typical." There was a pause. "Tomorrow you can come home with me. I'll look after you."
For a moment he thought his hearing must be screwed up. "Home with you?"
"While you're recovering at least." She raised her head and looked at him through those long, thick theater lashes. "And no argument. Someone's got to look after you, since you're making such a shit job of it yourself. As you once said to me."
"But I'll get in your way. You have to dance, sweetheart."
"It's not the only thing I have to do now, is it?"
Joe didn't know what to say. Maybe that was her plan to shut him up, he mused.
"I'm glad you're okay," she whispered, placing a gentle kiss on his bruised lips. "I was terrified when I got Mike's message."
"Don't worry about me, Lily. I'm tough."
She rolled her eyes. "I know."
He hugged her a little tighter. "Don't worry about us. We'll make it through. We're gonna be fine."
She pressed her lips to his cheek. "I love you, Joe Rossini."
Good thing he wasn't hooked up to any of those heartbeat machines, he thought, or he might have broken the damn thing. Suddenly his head didn't hurt anymore. "I'm the luckiest guy in New York tonight," he whispered. And he wasn't just talking about his escape from the fire. "Now, if you could just climb up here and get under the covers—"
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Lieutenant."
"What? I can't have a lil' something to tide me over?"
She chuckled. "You're impossible."
Just then the door opened and a nurse looked in. Lily immediately scrambled off the bed and pretended to be straightening the cover.
"Mr. Rossini? Your friend— the other fireman they brought in— wants to come and see you. Feel up to it?"
Lily gave him a quick peck on the check. "I'll se
e you tomorrow."
* * * *
She didn't want to meet the man he'd saved that night. It was too emotional for her, and she was still taking baby steps into the real world.
Right now she wanted to go home and clean up.
As Lily walked out through the hospital doors, fat, glistening flakes of snow were just falling. She turned her face up to them and stuck out her tongue.
It was years since she's done that—felt a snow flake land on her tongue and melt.
But the snow was beautiful tonight in the city.
Real life was beautiful.
Chapter Eleven
As promised, she picked him up from the hospital in a cab the next morning, once the doctor gave Joe the "all clear". When they got close to her apartment she wanted to walk, because there were a few things she needed to explain before they got there.
"What's up, Princess?" he wanted to know as they strolled arm in arm along the snow- plowed sidewalk.
She took a deep breath. "I don't know how long I have left to dance."
He turned his head to look at her, his expression concerned but his lips silent, letting her get it out.
"It's this...hip thing. I've worn away cartilage. Sometimes it causes me a great deal of pain and stiffness, but I keep dancing." Lily dug her free hand into her coat pocket. "It's the only thing I know how to do."
He nodded slowly.
"Of course, I always knew it wouldn't last forever. Dancers have a shelf life. But I could put it out of my mind. Like death. Everyone knows it will come but they don't know when, so they forget about it. They can't think about death every day or else they wouldn't be able to carry on. That was how it was for me and dancing."
Still his was quiet, patiently waiting.
"When the doctor explained about my hip, it was as if, suddenly, he predicted a shortened end to my life. I could see the end coming, and I couldn't ignore it anymore. The truth was there in front of me in big, flashing letters." Now that she'd begun her words flowed easier, tumbling out faster. "I was terrified because I had nothing else. How could I face it? Suddenly I was forced to see how alone I was— would be —once I couldn't perform anymore. At twenty-two I was facing an abyss that felt as final as death, and there was nothing I could do but keep on dancing. Yet every time I danced I was shortening that life I had left."
He stopped walking, put his hands on her waist. "And then I came along. This big jerk."
"Yes."
"And I got in your way."
"Yes."
Gently he kissed her forehead and she leaned closer, her hands on his shoulders. "You know now that your life isn't over, right? It's only just beginning, sweetheart."
She swallowed hard. "Is it?"
"Absolutely, Princess. Count on it."
He sounded so sure, and looking up into his honest face she couldn't doubt him. Ever.
"We're both starting over," he said, his lips lowering to kiss hers. "The whole world is ours. This whole city belongs to you and me. We got a full life to live together and we'll do it all. Picket fence, kids, dog, holidays at the beach. All of it."
"You're very sure about this."
"'Course I am. I knew it the first time I saw you, and I am always right. About everything. You oughta know that by now."
His bold brattiness made her smile and with his arms around her she felt ten feet tall. And young and silly. And desperately in love. "I've been thinking...maybe I could teach dance. Maybe."
"I know you could."
"And one day...one day...perhaps... I'd like a baby."
He looked over her head briefly and then back down at her, his smile turning mischievous and boyish. "Ya know what? I've kinda been thinking the same thing."
"It would mean making a few changes," she said somberly. "A child is a big responsibility."
"And you'd have to marry me first, before I get you knocked up. My ma would want it that way. She's old-fashioned."
That broke her solemn, pensive mood, and she let out a pent up breath of anxiety.
"There ain't nothing we can't do together, Princess," he said firmly.
Laughter rippled out of her. "Although it's terrible grammar, Lieutenant, I rather like the sound of that."
* * * *
As they entered her building, he went quiet again. She supposed the concierge who greeted her and handed her some mail— not to mention the coolly elegant marble foyer and the large, glittering chandelier — might be a surprise.
They got into the elevator, and she pressed the code for her floor. Joe was looking at her oddly. "This roommate of yours won't mind me staying here with you for a while?"
"Nope."
"Pretty fancy building. I kinda pictured something... smaller."
She merely smiled.
The doors slid open, and they stepped out into her private foyer.
Joe took two steps and stopped. "Where the hell are we?"
"My apartment." Lily steered him through into the sunken living room with a wall of windows overlooking Central Park. "I suppose I can tell you now, if you haven't guessed, that there is no roommate." She sighed. "I live here all alone."
His mouth was wide open and for once no sounds came out.
"This place belonged to my parents," she explained sheepishly, "for when they had to be in New York. After they died, my grandmother kept it. She was going to sell it, but when I started training here she decided to let me live in it. Now, of course, it's mine, like everything else of hers."
Joe swung around. "You lived in this apartment since you were eleven?"
She nodded, hands in her pockets.
"All alone?" he added.
Lily shrugged. "Just me."
He stared at her for a long moment and then crossed the hardwood floor to fold her in his arms. "You were a little girl all alone in this place. Do you know how sad that is, Lily?"
She hadn't thought of it as sad, but she supposed it was. In a way. "I had the concierge. He's very nice, and he's been here as long as I have."
He put his hands around her face and lifted it for a kiss. "This explains a lot, Princess. Why didn't you tell me?"
Lily put her arms around him. "I was used to keeping myself to myself. I thought if I brought you here you'd have some weird impression of me and it would scare you off."
He laughed. "Like I didn't have a pretty weird impression of you already."
"I made up the roommate as an excuse, of course, not to bring you here."
"So you're rich, huh? No wonder you didn't want my sorry ass around."
She gave him a squeeze. "I love your hot ass. And it's not going anywhere."
"Is that so, Princess?"
"Yes it is, Lieutenant." Lily rose up on tip-toe to nibble his chin, her hands already sliding carefully under his shirt. "Now...let me give you a tour of my place..."
* * * *
Funny how things like that can happen on a crowded New York City street. Two absolute strangers from different worlds, colliding somehow and then getting stuck together.
He'd never thought of the city as romantic before.
But that was before the firefighter and regular Joe met his virgin princess.
Hey, fairy tales did happen in the city. He had proof.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jemma Harte is the hard-working mother of two young boys, two guinea-pigs and a one-eyed rescue cat named "Blinkers". Between waitressing jobs, laundry loads and car pool, she started writing down some of the stories that float around inside her head. Suddenly she'd found a good way to stay semi-sane without turning to a box of wine.
Born and raised in Brooklyn, she currently lives across the country in Seattle— a perfect place for a woman who loves the rain, and she finds it the ideal climate for writing. She hopes you'll enjoy her spicy stories of unexpected love and maybe escape your daily chores too, for a few pages at least.
Twisted E Publishing, LLC
www.twistedepublishing.com
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Jemma Harte, The Firefighter and the Virgin Princess