by Helen Brooks
‘I’m fine,’ she lied firmly. ‘Absolutely fine.’
The sound he made in his throat expressed what he thought of that, and as he bent and kissed the top of her head with a swift, featherlight touch she thought she heard him sigh again.
Melody stared out of the window without really seeing the brightly lit shops and crowds, overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions—fear and panic and, not least, love. His solid muscular body was against hers, filling her with the old familiar feeling of safety and belonging. When she had met Zeke she’d realised she’d been searching all her life for the security he provided. For the first time she’d felt she had a chance at the things lots of people took for granted. He would take care of her. But now that was relegated to a memory—a beautiful dream which had been sweet while it had lasted.
They didn’t talk on the way to the theatre, but every so often Melody felt his lips brush the top of her head. It took all of her willpower not to twist and lift her face to his, and only the knowledge that it would be immensely unfair to give him any hope prevented her from reaching for him. She had seen sadness mingled with desire in his eyes the last time she’d met his gaze, but she knew he still hadn’t accepted their marriage was over. And he had to. For both their sakes.
Zeke helped her out of the taxi once they reached the theatre, but she was still vitally conscious of her less than elegant exit, and despair at her clumsiness was paramount as she stood on the icy pavement. Mr Price had told her that she was too hard on herself more than once. ‘It is the dancer in you who exaggerates what you see as ungainliness,’ he’d insisted. ‘Other people would not notice.’
She had blessed him for his kindness, but had known it was just that and not the truth. She had watched the smooth, controlled walk of the nurses in the hospital, of visitors, everyone, and marvelled at all she had taken for granted before the accident. But then she supposed everyone was the same in her position. She wasn’t unique.
She breathed in the crisp, bitingly cold air, which due to the snow was devoid of the taint of the city for once. Okay, best foot forward, she told herself with silent irony as Zeke slid an arm round her waist. And they might not meet anyone they knew, anyway.
And pigs might fly!
They were barely inside the foyer when a gushing voice caused them to turn. ‘Darlings…’ Angela Stewart was an actress of some standing and, Melody suspected, one of Zeke’s old flames—although he had never said and she’d never asked. But there was something in the way Angela was with her made Melody feel the tall, willowy blonde resented her beneath the effusive front she presented. ‘So lovely to see you.’ Angela’s sharp blue eyes swept her from head to foot before the actress gave a mwah of a kiss to the air either side of their faces, her carefully tousled hair stiff with hairspray.
Melody braced herself. ‘Hello, Angela,’ she said carefully, trying to breathe through the fog of heavy perfume the blonde was wearing. Angela was the last person she’d have chosen to see. ‘How are you?’ A red-taloned hand touched Melody’s arm lightly. ‘We were so devastated when we heard about the accident, you poor, poor love. And you a dancer too. So sad.’
‘She’s wonderful—aren’t you, sweetheart?’ Zeke’s voice was cool, with an edge that made Melody hope Angela didn’t prolong the conversation.
Angela’s escort—a tall, distinguished man who could have doubled as Richard Gere—must have thought the same thing, because he took her arm after nodding at Melody and Zeke, saying, ‘Our party’s waiting to take their seats, Angela.’
Angela jerked herself free, looking straight at Melody. ‘All those months in hospital must have been tedious for you. I bet you can’t wait to get back in the swing of things again,’ she drawled softly. ‘But you must take it a day at a time, sweetie. You look a little tired and peaky.’
‘Melody has the resilience of youth on her side,’ Zeke put in smoothly. ‘Remember how that used to feel, Angela? Now, if you’ll excuse us…’
They were seated in their box before Melody spoke. ‘You shouldn’t have said that,’ she murmured as Zeke poured the champagne which had been waiting for them. ‘She’ll never forgive you. I’d be surprised if she ever speaks to you again.’
Zeke grinned, offering her the plate of canapés. ‘Sounds good.’
Below them the stalls were filling up, along with the balcony and the other boxes. The musical drama they were seeing was the latest big thing, and tickets were like gold dust. The theatre itself was an old building, with a high, ornate domed ceiling and an air of genteel Victorian splendour, and the central heating was equally archaic and not quite man enough for the unusually cold evening.
Like a magician producing a rabbit out of a hat, Zeke placed a thick, imitation fur throw across her legs. ‘Is that better?’ he murmured softly.
‘Where did that come from?’ Melody asked, surprised.
‘I know this theatre from old. It’s too hot in the summer and cold in the winter, but its charm cancels out such inconveniences.’ Zeke topped up her champagne as he spoke, his voice warm as he added, ‘Relax and enjoy the show. You’re doing great. I’m proud of you, my darling.’
It was the look in his eyes rather than what he said that caused her to flush and gulp at her champagne. She had forgotten how he made her feel when she was with him—no, that was wrong. She bit her bottom lip. She hadn’t forgotten, had merely tried to bury the memory along with a host of others. And he would never understand, not in a million years, because she didn’t understand it herself. It was just this sort of thing that made it imperative she walked away from him now, while things were still civilised between them. She couldn’t bear to experience a slow whittling away of such moments as their relationship went sour.
Was she crazy? She sipped her drink, staring unseeing across the theatre. Probably. Almost definitely. And certainly cowardly and weak and spineless.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and his dark gaze was soft on her face. ‘Thinking again,’ he stated ruefully. ‘I would like to flick a little switch in here—’ he touched her brow lightly ‘—and turn your head off for a while. How can I do that, my sweet wife? How can I make you live in the moment?’
She shrugged, pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel.
‘I only know of one sure way, but that’s impossible in here,’ Zeke went on contemplatively. ‘Impossible to do properly, anyway, and after waiting so long…’
Melody took another hurried sip of champagne, deciding silence was the quickest way to end this disturbing one-sided conversation. She pretended an interest in the stalls below.
‘Remember how it was between us?’ He stretched his long legs, sliding one arm along the back of her seat, so close his body warmth surrounded her as his quiet, smoky voice wove a deliberate spell. ‘Those nights when we didn’t fall asleep until dawn? The taste of pure ecstasy, long and slow and lasting. You’re mine, Dee. You’ll always be mine, as I’m yours. There’s no other way for either of us now we’ve feasted on perfection.’
‘Don’t.’ Her breath caught in her throat, his words causing a chain reaction in her body she was powerless to control. And he knew it, she thought helplessly.
‘Don’t?’ His husky voice drifted around her like a sensuous cloud. ‘Don’t speak the truth? But the truth will set you free. Isn’t that what they say? And you’re not facing the truth. Not yet. Our lifestyle, my work, other people—that’s all on the perimeter of us, you and me.’
He was confusing her, blurring the edges. She shook her head, on the verge of getting up and leaving. It was the dimming of the lights that forestalled such an action, but she sat stiff and taut as the show began, every nerve and sinew in her body stretched to breaking point.
In spite of her acute distress, the drama being enacted on stage began to work its magic after a while. The special effects were spellbinding, and the heroine’s voice enchanting, but it was the dancers who took most of Melody’s attention—especially the lead female, who was as supple and gr
aceful as a young gazelle. It was bittersweet watching the girl, and at first pain overshadowed her perception, but then she felt herself swept into the performance to such an extent she had to bump back to earth when the interval arrived.
‘Well?’ Zeke’s eyes were waiting for her as the lights brightened. ‘Enjoying it?’ he said gently.
Melody nodded, still half lost in the performance. ‘It’s brilliant—absolutely brilliant. And I’m not criticising, but—’
‘But?’ he pressed her when she stopped abruptly.
‘I’d have arranged that last dance number differently. It would have been far more poignant if the lead dancer was taken by the underworld after it finished rather than pulling her out at the beginning. The scene lost something without her present.’
Zeke nodded. ‘I agree.’
‘That way the roles of Cassandra and Alex could have been tweaked to make them more involved in the struggle, rather than being almost observers.’ Melody stopped abruptly, aware of the half-smile on Zeke’s face. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ Zeke turned as a waitress appeared with a plate of fresh savouries and coffee which he’d obviously arranged to have brought to their box. After tipping the girl handsomely he closed the door after her, enclosing them in their own private little world again. He solicitously plied her with the delicious morsels, and unlike previously his conversation was now easy and amusing, requiring little in response from her.
To her immense surprise Melody found she was enjoying herself in spite of the nerves still making themselves felt in the pit of her stomach. She had dreaded battling her way to the crowded bar in the interval—a place where many of their contemporaries liked to see and be seen—and with that obstacle dealt with, the pleasure of being out on the town after all her weeks incarcerated in the hospital was foremost.
Zeke handed her a cup of coffee, his thigh briefly brushing hers, and immediately she tensed. He was wearing a clean, sharp aftershave that blended well with his own personal male scent, and he had always looked exceptionally good in a dinner suit, his particular brand of hard, rugged sexiness emphasised by the formal attire. ‘This is nice,’ he said in a contented murmur, his brawny shoulder against hers.
It was. Too nice. Melody said nothing and the comfortable silence changed, becoming uncomfortable. Still she didn’t break it. Zeke sipped his black coffee slowly, his face calm and inscrutable. She had no idea what he was thinking. Not that she ever had. The thought troubled her with its truth and she chewed it over, worrying at it like a dog with a bone.
Was it because he deliberately kept his thoughts from her and because he was enigmatic, private? Or—and here her fingers clenched on her coffee cup—because she had never taken the time to find out his innermost feelings and desires? She had been so occupied with her career, with making good, surviving in the glitzy, showy world they inhabited, that she’d been content to skate on the surface of their marriage while everything had been easy and harmonious. Her amazement that he had chosen her as his wife, that it was all too good to be true, had induced a feeling that she must be careful not to rock the boat and it had been simpler not to delve too deeply.
Children, for instance. She glanced at his chiselled profile, her heart thudding. When they’d spoken of a family she had sensed he wanted children soon, but she’d never really talked to him about that, preferring to relegate it to somewhere in the hazy future. From the way he’d spoken earlier, when the two little Japanese girls had prompted things, it was clear he wanted to be a father—probably needed to create a family unit more than most men due to his upbringing. He would want to give his own children everything he’d never had. Why had she never realised that before?
Because she hadn’t taken the time to consider; she had been too busy keeping up with how she felt the wife of Zeke James should be. It symbolised everything which had been wrong in their relationship before the accident and most of it was down to her. But it had been impossible to bring her insecurities into the open because they’d been buried too deep, locked way in the small, scared child part of herself. But she wasn’t a child any more. She was a grown woman, and she had to come to terms with her buried fears and emotions before she could function properly as a person, let alone a wife.
She was a mess. Melody sipped at her coffee as tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Zeke didn’t deserve to be landed with a nutcase like her. He wouldn’t divorce her. He’d made his commitment and he would never go back on it—that was the sort of man he was. So it was up to her to end things and let him find happiness in the future with someone who was his equal—something she’d never felt from day one.
When his hand moved her face to look at him she was too late to blink away the tears. He surveyed her steadily, his black eyes velvet-soft, but the solid strength that had first attracted her was very evident. ‘It will be all right.’ His thumbs brushed away the telltale moisture. ‘Now you’re back with me everything will slot into place, you’ll see.’
She shook her head very slightly. ‘No, Zeke. It won’t.’
He looked at her gravely. ‘Do you seriously think your scars will have any impact on my love for you? Apart from increasing my admiration for the way you’ve fought to overcome your injuries? Just how shallow do you think I am?’
‘I don’t think you’re shallow.’ She swallowed hard. ‘And I’ve come to realise this is about me, not you. I should never have married you. I shouldn’t have married anyone—not until I knew myself. Not until I understood where my problems were.’
His face was expressionless. ‘And do you know yourself now?’
‘I’m beginning to.’ She moistened dry lips. ‘And I didn’t realise what a headcase I was.’
‘No, not a headcase.’ His voice was calm, level. ‘Merely vulnerable and afraid and unconfident. You have always been those things, Dee. This is no surprise to me. You are also courageous and sweet and generous, with the softest heart of anyone I have ever known. The positives outweigh the negatives big time. If you’re going to examine yourself, do it properly.’
She stiffened a little. ‘You think you know me so well?’
‘I know I do.’ His smile was almost pensive.
‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’
‘I have to be,’ he said quietly. ‘For your sake as well as mine. The accident has brought to the surface issues which would have been dealt with slowly, over a matter of years, if it hadn’t happened. But it has happened. And maybe it’s for the best.’
She stared at him, hurt beyond measure. ‘How can you say that?’ she accused thickly, the physical and mental agony she’d suffered over the past months rising up in a bitter flood. ‘I’ve lost everything I’ve worked for all my life.’
His face tightened, but his voice was still calm and controlled when he said, ‘No, Dee. You have lost the ability to dance as you once did. That has been taken away from you. But that’s all. You can still see and hear and smell and touch. Your mind hasn’t been damaged, your intellect is still as sharp, and you can make decisions about where you want to go and what you want to do and carry them out without being dependent on others to enable you to move or walk. There are plenty of people—some of them in that hospital you’ve just left—who would give ten years of their lives for that alone. You have everything to live for.’
Anger replaced the hurt. ‘You’re accusing me of self-pity?’
He looked at her intently with those ebony-dark eyes. ‘Your words, not mine,’ he said quietly as the lights began to dim once more. He settled back in his seat, his face inscrutable.
Melody barely heard the orchestra strike up. She sat staring towards the stage, fighting hot, angry tears and telling herself she hated him. Hated him. How dared he say all that to her after all she had been through? Didn’t he understand how this had changed her life? Didn’t he care? She had been right to insist on a divorce—this proved it.
The curtain rose, but it was a few minutes before she focused on the drama being enact
ed on the stage. The drama in her own life was paramount. She could feel Zeke’s eyes on her now and then as the musical progressed, but she didn’t glance at him once.
The anger and outrage subsided after a while, and a quiet but insistent little voice deep inside was telling her that Zeke was right. Right, but cruel and hard and unfeeling, she told herself bitterly. How could he say he loved her and talk to her like that?
It was another twenty minutes before she could bring herself to acknowledge that Zeke had said what no one else would dare to say, because he felt she needed to hear it. In all the time she had known him she had never seen him be anything but ruthlessly honest and direct. It was just that the searing truthfulness had never been directed at her before—or not with such severity, anyway. Nevertheless, if this was tough love she didn’t want it.
By the time the last curtain call was finished, to rapturous applause from a very satisfied audience, Melody felt like a wet rag. If she had just endured twenty sessions with a therapist without a break she couldn’t have been more exhausted or emotionally drained, she thought, as the lights rose and people began to stand up. It was as though in the past few hours since leaving hospital the door in her mind where all her insecurities and issues had been under lock and key had been flung wide open, and she was having to deal with the resulting cans of worms in one fell swoop. Some Christmas Eve, she thought wretchedly.
She must have looked as spent as she felt, because Zeke’s voice was genuinely concerned when he said, ‘We can skip dinner out and order Room Service when we get back to the hotel, if you would prefer that? It’s probably more sensible with the weather.’