The glass had tipped just near her elbow. Most of the dark red spirit had soaked into the blanket, turning it a deep purple. But some seeped out onto the floor.
“Don’t worry about it. The wood is varnished.” Henry laid his head back down against her breasts and wrapped his arms around her waist.
She slid her fingers into the heavy silk of his hair, running her nails lightly over his scalp. “Will it? That would stain the floor in my studio.”
“Aren’t those varnished?” He nestled himself into the cradle of her thighs. Glancing down, she saw his eyes were closed. A slight smile still played around the corners of his mouth.
“Uh-uh. It’s polished hardwood. I thought the varnish reduced some of the natural springiness.”
“I guess I hadn’t really noticed.”
She kept sifting through his hair, enjoying the feel of his weight pressing into her. “Well, you’ve only been inside twice. And last time...” She trailed off. Last time, she’d barely been speaking to him. It seemed so long ago, and yet it was a matter of days. So much had changed since then.
“I am sorry, Sophie. For the papers and everything else.”
“I know.” She smoothed the lines with her thumbs. “I’m glad Carl convinced me to give you another chance.”
He lifted himself to brush a soft, sweet kiss across her mouth. “He’s a good friend. Remind me to send him a fruit basket.”
“A fruit basket!” She pushed playfully at his shoulder. “Is that all?”
“You think I should shower him with jewels instead?”
The mention of jewels made her think of the pearls he’d given her to wear last night. She’d still been wearing them when she woke up this morning. They’d been heavy and warm against her throat. There was something decadent about laying naked in a vast bed wearing nothing but pearls. She’d taken them off before she’d went down to breakfast, laying them carefully on Henry’s bedside table.
Why had he let her wear them? What did they remind him of?
“Henry,” she began, tentatively. She knew she could possibly be ruining the moment, but she had to know. “Is your mother a dancer?”
He turned his head to kiss her fingers, but his dark brows drew down. “No. What makes you ask?”
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”
Sophie scrambled to her knees and began gathering up the spilled fruit and cheese. She spent way too much time organizing the bits of food as the silence spilled out between them. She pressed the tops of the containers on tight, watching out of the corner of her eye as Henry propped his head in one hand.
“Before I was born, she was an actress, but she gave it up when my father moved them to the States.”
An actress. Not very different from a dancer. A performer, someone whose job required passion. “She must have been very talented.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. “When I was little I thought I was very lucky to have a mother who could act out scenes from the books she read to me. She was better than any movie star.”
“And when you were older?”
“She wasn’t around.”
Sophie finished packing away the wine, fruit, and cheese and crawled across the blanket to kneel beside him. She trailed her fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his handsome face. “What was she like?”
He leaned back on his hands. “She was incredibly compassionate. She’d do anything she could to help someone out.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
A strange smiled played on his lips. “Come here.”
She walked over tentatively and sat down next to him. He drew her into his arms and rocked her down onto her back, his hand cradling the back of her head as he kissed her lips softly. Laying on the floor of an unfinished building hundreds of feet in the air, she had never felt safer.
Chapter Fifteen
Sophie inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh air; she wasn’t sure she could remember a more beautiful day. She’d already heard from Henry that morning, a suggestive text about their next date. They hadn’t seen each other in a few days, but he didn’t miss an opportunity to let her know that he was still thinking about their last dance.
The papers were already buzzing about Henry Medina’s “new romance.” He’d warned her there might still be reporters around, but now that her name was clear she was planning on reopening the studio. She couldn’t afford to be closed much longer, and now they’d be asking her entirely different questions.
But she let that slide off her shoulders for now. The warm sun was shining on her face and the scandal was as good as over. She could sit, enjoy the peace and quiet of Turtle Pond, and reflect on how drastically her life had changed in such a short period of time. A few weeks ago she didn’t even know Henry; all she’d known was her tragic and painful past and her dull and interminable present.
She knew she was exaggerating—her life hadn’t been terrible. She had friends like Darren and Wayne who cared about her, not to mention she was running her own business. Sure, her life was a far cry from a whirlwind of international travel, high octane competitions, and the intensity that was being in love with someone like Christian Navarro, but it was a good life nonetheless.
Although it had been lonely at times. Not just because she didn’t have a lover, someone to share the day-to-day with the way Wayne and Darren did. She’d been single before Christian and had never felt particularly lonely.
But back then she’d still been a dancer. She’d had her company and the hours of practice when she fell into the passionate embrace of the dance, partner or no. She’d lost that feeling when Christian gave up on her and she was forced to leave that world behind. She hadn’t been able to forget the look on his face when she’d fallen, the utter contempt and disgust.
Even when she taught her classes those memories were in the back of her mind, and the pain of them had robbed her of the joy she’d felt for dancing. And then Henry had walked into her studio and took her in his arms and that spark had been reignited. When she was with him she forgot the years of breaking her back for parts she didn’t really want, the competitions where politics held more sway than skill, the pain of her injury, and everything that had come after. She remembered the simple joy she’d always felt in the movement of her body and the rhythm of the music.
Henry had allowed her to feel alive and immersed in something greater than herself, something timeless and beautiful.
It occurred to her that his penthouse was only a few streets away, and although they were due for another public appearance soon she didn’t think he’d mind a surprise visit. She rose from the bench she’d been sitting on and turned toward the South exit of Central Park, her pace quick with anticipation.
The bustling traffic of 59th street seemed loud after the quiet of the pond but she paid it little mind—her heart was beating in her chest. Not just from her clipped stride but also from the prospect of seeing Henry again.
As she made her way east a display of flowers caught her eye; they were arranged in front of a shop along with a colorful and fragrant selection of roses, lilies, zinnias. And poppies. Sophie’s steps slowed. White poppies had been his mother’s favorite flower, he’d said. “A big fan of nature’s beauty, Catalina Flores.”
She approached a man watering a display of herbs and touched his shoulder lightly. “Excuse me, sir. I was wondering if you have any poppies? White ones, specifically.”
He grinned at her. “Absolutely, they’re right over here.” He pointed to a bouquet thick with bright white blooms. She slid the bundle from its basket and brushed her fingers over the soft cup of the petals.
“These are perfect.”
As she paid for the flowers she thought about Henry and how it had felt to dance with him on a dusty wood floor overlooking the Hudson; how it had felt to lay beneath him in that unfinished building, filling the empty space with their laughter.
“Thank you,” she murmured softly to the man as she paid for the
flowers and he handed her the bouquet.
She could feel the city change as she left downtown behind her, turning onto a quieter residential street lined with aging brownstones and marbled apartment complexes. But she was too anxious to admire the architecture as she neared Henry’s building. She was still twenty feet away when she realized that the man at the door wasn’t Maurice, but Henry himself. The sunlight gleamed off his slick hair, and the dark grey of his suit coat stretched across his broad shoulders. He was turned away from her, his posture slightly stiff and his head cocked to one side .
As she shifted closer to the street, Sophie could see the elder Medina glaring up at Henry from his wheelchair, sharp glints of light sparking off the silver oxygen tank at his side. Standing beside the old man was the lithe and gorgeous blonde form of Nicole Rossi. The beautiful woman’s short skirt revealed about a mile of smooth, tanned leg. She had one hand on Jorge’s wheelchair.
Nicole was the only one facing Sophie, although she hadn’t seen her yet. But the expression on the blonde’s face as she looked at Henry sent a chill down Sophie’s spine—her wide eyes and mischievous grin were nothing short of greedy.
Nicole moved a step closer to Henry, her lips moving as she spoke to him, and he lifted his head away from his father to look at her. Sophie tensed as Nicole’s mouth curved upward into a coaxing smile, the kind of smile a woman gave a man when she was trying to cajole him into something he didn’t quite want to do.
Sophie’s fingers tightened around the bouquet of poppies as Nicole lifted her long slim fingers to fiddle with his lapel, looking up into his face from beneath her pale lashes. Her lips were still moving as she argued whatever case she was making.
There was nothing overtly sexual in the touch, and yet it was curiously intimate for an employee and her employer’s son. Henry wasn’t removing her hand. He appeared to be listening to what she had to say. Finally he nodded, and Nicole stretched up on tiptoe to brush her mouth against his cheek.
Sophie’s breath caught in her throat, but she forced it out as she tried to convince herself that she was jumping to conclusions. Overreacting. There was some explanation, she just had to go ask Henry.
But he was bending forward, his mouth touching Nicole’s. Not flush on the lips, not the way he kissed Sophie, but at the corner. Still, it was too familiar for a casual acquaintance, and she knew it couldn’t be good when Jorge started grinning. The sight of a smile on that skeletal face was chilling. Sophie’s chest grew tight with dread.
Henry slid behind Jorge’s wheelchair, and a man Sophie didn’t recognize opened the door for the father and son. Jorge turned his head and said something to Nicole. She gave the old man a wide grin and shook her head, shooing them on.
Nicole stayed on the sidewalk as the men went inside. She crossed her tanned arms over her perky chest and grinned at Sophie, who went rigid with the realization that Nicole had known she’d had been standing there all along. Sophie approached the woman, aware that she couldn’t turn around now. She’d been spotted and she didn’t want Nicole spinning some story about her to Henry later.
“Oh, flowers. How precious. Is this prom?”
“Nicole. How are you?” Sophie tried to keep the ache from her voice but the flare of delight in the blonde’s gaze said she failed.
“I don’t want to be rude,” though her tone said she didn’t mind at all, “but clearly someone has to make this clear to you.” Nicole slipped closer and took Sophie’s elbow in her cool hand. “This isn’t real, this thing with you and Henry. He’s protecting his business. Just like you are.”
“But—”
“Sophie, don’t be naive. You’re hardly the type of woman Henry normally dates. If the tabloids hadn’t splashed your picture all over the front page, none of this would be happening.” She drew Sophie to the side of the door. Through the smoked glass, they could see Henry and Jorge waiting for the elevator.
Jorge’s wrinkled hand was thumping the arm of his wheelchair, and Henry was nodding at whatever he was saying, face placid. She even saw the flicker of a smile. Nicole was right. If that picture hadn’t gotten out Sophie would have never gone to that black tie event with Henry. He may have called her the day after she’d run out of this very lobby, but she’d been too upset to talk to him let alone see him.
“It’s not like that.” But even Sophie thought her voice sounded thready. Nicole shook her head, her pink lips curling downward in an exaggerated frown.
“Look, Sophie, you’re cute. No one’s denying that. You’ve got that wounded bird thing going for you. But Henry is the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation. A little girl whose tragic slip-and-fall robbed her of her big Buenos Aires dreams doesn’t exactly fit into that world. I mean, honestly, did you feel comfortable at that cocktail party the other night?”
She hadn’t, but she wasn’t about to admit it to Nicole. “What do you know about my accident?” Only a handful of people knew the ridiculously random nature of her injury, and she knew her parents and Darren hadn’t been talking to this ice princess. And Christian was halfway around the world at a competition in Dusseldorf.
That left Henry. Bile burned in the back of her throat as she realized that he’d been talking to Nicole about her. Nicole sighed as if she was getting tired of the conversation. “I know you managed to ruin your career by tripping over your own feet. It makes you less than graceful on the dance floor.”
Sophie swallowed. “Did Henry tell you that?”
Nicole’s smile was kind but her blue eyes were sparkling with triumph. “Henry’s a man. He’s still going through that rebellious phase, rejecting his father’s lifestyle. Thinking with the wrong head. But we both know that in the end he’ll marry a woman who fits into his world.”
“You mean a woman like you.” Sophie felt numb with dread.
“Of course. He’ll come back. He’d already be back if you hadn’t managed to get yourself on the front page of the Post.” Nicole sniffed, nostrils narrowing. “Henry can’t be seen with a has-been dancer with a gross hole in her leg. It’ll be better this way, more fitting. Don’t you think? ”
He’ll come back? The sight of that kiss Henry had pressed to the corner of Nicole’s mouth burned in her brain like a brand. Sophie almost whimpered. Was she just some fling, something to throw in Nicole’s face?
She didn’t want to believe that. The way he’d been in the limo and at the condo building yesterday, that wasn’t just dalliance. That laughing, passionate, intense man wasn’t just playing with her. But the way Nicole had touched him was familiar, and Henry hadn’t acted as if it was out of the ordinary. And Nicole was right, she didn’t belong in Henry’s world. She’d even been thinking it at the black tie event.
Sophie swallowed back tears, feeling inadequate in the presence of a woman who seemed more intimate with Henry than Sophie was. “I wish you all the best of luck with him then.”
The words seemed to fall from her quaking lips. Nicole was talking again but Sophie ignored her; it didn’t matter what she was saying. God, she’d been so stupid! She’d thought that Henry cared about her in a way that Christian never had. She’d made the mistake of thinking each small gesture meant something—the necklace, how he’d opened up about his mother, sharing the unfinished building with her, even talking about his work. There was no way Nicole could have known that much about her injury if Henry hadn’t told her. He had used Sophie to get back at her.
Just minutes ago she’d been relishing in the warmth of the day, but now the air felt humid and sticky against her skin. She spun slowly on her heel and took two faltering steps. Nicole’s hand touched her arm, and Sophie jerked away from the woman’s frigid touch. She glanced through the windows one final time, but Henry and Jorge had disappeared into the elevator.
Sophie’s hands trembled as she stuffed the bouquet of white poppies into the trash beside the big glass doors. Nicole was calling after her, but Sophie charged forward, keeping her spine straight although it felt like it would crac
k at any second, like ice. It had always been fire with Henry, passion and heat, making love frantically on the floor of a construction site in a puddle of sunlight. She should have known then what their relationship was. Not real, not love.
Sophie stumbled away from Henry’s penthouse, tears blurring her eyes as she went.
Chapter Sixteen
Her apartment appeared to be under water, but that was just because tears still filled Sophie’s eyes. She didn’t even bother dashing them away anymore. Fresh ones just took their place.
It had all been a fake. A lie. A fling to shove in his ex-girlfriend’s face. Henry Medina didn’t care about her. She paced the confines of her living room, muscles twitchy and restless. Every time she tried to sit down, to calm herself, Nicole’s words came back to her, “a little girl who’s tragic slip-and-fall robbed her of a big Buenos Aires dreams.” She wasn’t sure what hurt more, that Henry had just been using her, or that he’d shared such private things with that viper. Right now, her chest was just a mass of pain.
Her ribs felt as if they’d been dipped in cement, her lungs made of stone. Dragging in each breath was hard and painful. Conversely, her stomach felt full of helium, floating up into her mouth. Bile surged into the back of her throat and she lurched into the bathroom and dropped to her knees before the toilet. But her stomach settled again for the time being. Sophie pressed her forehead against the cool porcelain, sobbing.
She had to get away. If Henry was using her as a pawn in some sort of high stakes game against Nicole then she’d just... take herself off the board. She scrubbed at her cheeks until they were raw, but all traces of her tears were gone. All but the sting of her bloodshot eyes and the wet, spiky lashes. She swallowed each new sob that bubbled into her mouth and blinked rapidly to hold new tears at bay.
Sophie crawled from the bathroom to her bedroom. It was the perfect position to tug the suitcase from beneath her bed. She heaved it onto her mattress. The thing was huge and weighed a ton, even empty. It was a hard case, scuffed and dented, an unfortunate shade of yellow. Sophie had had it ever since she moved out of her parents house and come to New York City the first time, for school.
One Last Dance Page 13