Mel eyed them. “What? It wasn’t the right thing to do? Wouldn’t that contradict everything you preach, Maxine?”
Max nodded. “You know, we’ve all said the same thing to ourselves over and over. Yet, every one of us thinks that it doesn’t make any sense and there’s something more to it that Drew’s just not sharing. But none of us can put our fingers on it. Don’t ask us why we think that, it was just an immediate hunch on all our parts.”
Mel gripped her napkin. She was sick of hearing that, and she said as much. “Here’s something you can do. Quit saying there’s something else. You guys, my dad, even Jackie said that, but if there’s something else, that ‘something’ is as elusive as my once twenty-two-inch waist. So leave it alone, please?”
Please, please, please leave it alone. She was exhausted from hoping Drew’s “something else” would magically reveal itself.
It was over between her and Drew, and unlike her slowly coming to terms with what Neil and Stan had done, she was having a hard time coming to terms with what Drew had done—said.
Jasmine’s hands went in the air like two beautifully manicured white flags. “Consider it left. We were just throwing out the possibility.”
Maxine and Frankie nodded in unison. “So Nikos says his mother’s meatloaf cures even the most painful of heartbreaks,” Frankie joked with a smile. “Want some?”
Mel squeezed her eyes shut then popped them open and forced a smile. “You bet I want some—and supersize it.” Because if meatloaf was the answer, she was going to need a dumpster-sized portion to cure this heartbreak.
“Why am I here, Nate?” Mel toed what she suspected was the edge of a curb.
“Please, Ms. Cherkasov. It’s a surprise I made just for you. Just keep your eyes closed and hold my hand.”
Nate’s plea and her genuine affection for him were the only things keeping her from ripping off this crazy blindfold and hitting the ground running. “I willingly got into a car with you and your Aunt Myriam, who shouldn’t drive unless someone else is doing it for her. Now I want to know what’s going on,” she demanded, fighting a surly tone.
When Nate had shown up at her father’s door tonight, Myriam in tow, and told her he had a surprise for her, she’d been happy, and skeptical. Happy because she’d missed seeing him, skeptical because what kind of surprise could Nate possibly have for her? Had he re-created the atom bomb with toothpicks and Krazy Glue?
After checking with Nate to be sure his father knew where he was, they’d gotten into the death trap Myriam called a car and only broke out when it was a special occasion.
Before they’d arrived at this secret destination, Nate had insisted Mel put on a blindfold while Myriam careened down winding roads, which was just as well. If she were going to die, she’d just as soon do it not seeing the Mack truck that took her out.
Five minutes or so later, Myriam screeched to a halt and told her and Nate to get out. A creak of a door, with Nate’s hand around hers, and she heard the sound of an engine roaring back to life and leaving them wherever they were standing.
“I don’t like this, Nate,” Mel fretted, rubbing her arms for warmth.
“I worked really hard on this, Ms. Cherkasov. Please, just trust me.”
Mel’s ears pricked to the plea of frustration she was hearing in Nate’s voice and softened. “Okay, okay, but if I break a leg, I can’t teach in a cast and on crutches. So keep that in mind, partner.”
Nate placed his hands on her arms from behind and moved her somewhere warmer, taking her jacket from her shoulders, and said, “Just stand right there, okay? I’m going to leave you for a sec, but swear you won’t take the blindfold off.”
“I’d pinky swear it, but I can’t see your hand.”
Nate laughed, his chuckle easy and light. “Just promise.”
“Promise.”
“Be right back.”
“Don’t be long. I’m not a huge fan of the dark, or surprises in the dark. Did I mention I don’t like the dark? I’m only down with this because I sort of like you.”
Nothing. Silence. Mel’s nostrils flared. Was that the scent of freshly cut wood? A tear threatened to slip from her eyes beneath the blindfold. The smell reminded her of Drew—his shirt off that warm fall day—naked from the waist up as he varnished an end table for his mother under the oak tree in the McPhee’s front yard.
She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to break her promise and rip off the blindfold. “Nate?” she squeaked into the room.
Her ears pricked when the music to “Come Away With Me” began to play. Always, when she heard this song, it would remind her of her and Drew, swaying in the dark of his bedroom, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Was Nate trying to rip her heart out?
Of course not. He had no idea.
He only knew that this was one of her favorite songs to waltz to.
She’d told her class that when they’d snickered the first time she’d played it for them. Nate wouldn’t know the meaning of the song went much deeper for her now.
The shuffle of feet, more than one pair, sent a shiver of fear along her spine until Nate said, “It’s okay, Ms. Cherkasov. Gimme your hand and walk forward.”
Mel did as she was instructed, following Nate’s innate lead. He placed her hand on something warm and hard, covered in something crisp that felt like the material for a man’s suit. She hissed a breath at the uncertain texture.
Nate pulled the string from the blindfold, then let it fall to the floor. Mel heard it flutter to the ground. As her eyes adjusted, she let out a small gasp.
Lights, so many twinkling lights—the room was illuminated in a soft, dreamy haze—strung from each corner, ending in a spiderweb leading to the center of the room where they connected.
The floor shone, buttery soft with nary a scuff on it. Her feet instantly moved to test the glide of it beneath them. Mirrors lined one long wall. There were no cracks like at Westmeyer, just a smooth surface with her reflection in it.
And Drew’s.
The world had officially stopped turning and she barely heard Nate say, “Good luck, Dad,” before he gave Drew a slap on his shoulder, shot Mel a shy smile, and escaped through the side-door exit.
Drew’s deep, blue eyes held hers, defying her to look away.
His sharp jaw, defined by the crisp white shirt under his black tie, made her eyebrow raise. It was the only outward emotion she’d allow.
On the inside, her heart ached its pounding was so fierce and her knees were like jelly.
“What …”
He held up a single finger in front of his lips, and then held out his hand.
Mel cocked her head in question, tamping down the rush of nervous anticipation touching every part of her body. His handsome length in a black tux with tails stole her breath.
Drew remained silent. Instead, he covered the distance between them and pulled her into his arms.
Into a waltz hold …
Okay, and it was one of the most awkward holds ever. Like right up there with R. J. and Emilio’s kind of awkward, but it didn’t matter.
Because it was Drew. Strong, handsome, and so obviously completely unsure, she had to fight a chuckle while she bit back tears.
“Isn’t your head supposed to be tipped up and back or something?” he asked, his deep voice a rumble of determination.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” She corrected the angle of her head on command, taking her questioning eyes from his gorgeous face.
And then Drew’s feet began to move, slow, sluggish, but with the kind of resolve Mel saw by the tic in his angular jaw. She watched as he counted the rhythm in his head, stopping himself each time his lips wanted to move, and she fought another giggle.
Their toes cracked together when he lost his footing. Yet he continued. “Sorry. I forgot where I was, and stop looking at me like that. You’re not supposed to be looking at me from that angle if your head’s supposed to be tilted the other way. I’m the frame and you’re some k
ind of artwork. Be the artwork, or something, and help a guy out,” he muttered, focusing back on the point over her shoulder.
“The picture. Yes. I’m the picture,” she acknowledged quietly, reveling in the clench and release of his tense fingers, forcing herself to keep a straight face.
And the music played, the cool air of the foreign studio doing nothing to ease the dampness of Drew’s tux now clinging to her bulky sweater.
Whatever this was about, Drew wasn’t giving up.
He didn’t lead her around the floor; he pushed her like a shopping cart. Yet, with each thrust of his arms, each failed rise and fall of his obviously uncomfortable feet and stiff knees, Mel fell more in love with him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be pressed closer to me?” he chastised through clenched teeth. “You’re messing up this frame thing. We could park an elephant between us. What kind of ballroom instructor are you?”
Her shoulders heaved in another attempt to keep from laughing out loud. “Absolutely. I forgot this isn’t the circus,” she teased. Mel immediately straightened, closing the gap.
As the music swelled, and she internally prepared for what she was sure was going to be a natural spin turn, tears slipped down her cheeks, blurring her vision and almost tripping her.
Drew’s upper torso tensed, and he forgot to look over her appropriate shoulder, making following him an exercise in trust, but his effort was all that mattered to Mel.
Nothing else mattered but this moment.
The music stopped before Drew did, though he clearly needed to end this with a waltz pose if it was the last thing he did by the way he forced her body to bend to his will.
Their bodies warred momentarily, Mel’s frame fighting for the proper, instinctual position. Drew’s making a hasty decision then correcting himself in the middle of everything.
Mel ended up sort of draped across his arm, but not quite. She clung to him when he gazed down at the awkward line her body was in and winced. “I forgot when to stop. Damn, that’s been driving me insane.”
It was all Mel could do not to throw her arms around him and lavish him with the swell of love she felt for him at this very second.
This was about Drew now. It was about him choosing to understand something she needed to breathe. Something he’d never quite understand but had so clearly gone to extreme lengths to try.
Was there really anything else a woman could ask of the man she’d fallen so desperately in love with?
Sweat glistened on his forehead as she hung there and waited until he was ready to speak. “I clearly suck at this dancing thing.”
She cocked her head, forcing herself to bite back more giggling.
“‘Suck’ is so harsh, Drew.”
“But so true.”
She tipped her head and winced. “There are levels to suckage.”
“Of which I’ve scaled.”
She couldn’t take it anymore. She caved in a fit of laughter, snorting and snickering. He did suck. Period. But he sucked in a way that made sucking seem like the most romantic gesture in the world.
Drew hauled her upward, lifting her off her feet and forcing her to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. Her neck arched backward, capturing his gaze so deep, so intense.
“You want answers, right?”
“Only when you’re ready.”
“Stan taught me how to waltz. Stan, Neil, and Nate.”
Her eyes widened in shock even as her heart thrummed. “Stan? You’re kidding me.”
“Would I joke about letting your ex pretend to be you while he threw me around a dance floor and snapped words at me in a language I’d need the Rosetta Stone to understand?”
Mel’s giggle squeaked when she summoned up an image of that in her head. “Stan can be a hard taskmaster. So wanna tell me why? Why would you do this? Why would Stan help?”
“He said he owed you, and after he explained what happened, I thought he was right. He stepped in and saved Myriam’s hip and her toes. Never thought I’d say it, but he’s an okay guy, your ex-husband. So is Neil.”
Mel’s nod was fond without a trace of bitterness. “Yeah. Yeah, he is. So you know everything?”
Drew nodded his consent. “I know. I saw the Nora Phillips show, and after I said what I said to you, it made everything that much shittier. Stan told me all about Neil and… what happened tight before you married Stan.”
Mel smiled up at him, her heart fluttering in her chest. “I didn’t know it, but when I saw Stan again a few days ago and we talked, it was like this huge weight had been lifted. I hated thinking I’d been married to someone so callous because there was good in our marriage and it turned it all so ugly. Turns out, I was just married to someone who was too afraid to be who he really was.”
“It’s a pretty grim way to live.”
“Did he also tell you what happened with his manager, Jerry?”
Drew brushed a strand of her hair from her face with tender fingers. “Over pumpkin pie and coffee. Myriam invited him back to the house, but not before she gave him a ration of shit for hurting you he’ll probably never forget, after we practiced this waltz thing for the hundredth time. I think I could do it a million times and never get it right. He told us everything. Yelena, Neil, everything.”
Mel bit her lower lip. “Did he also tell you I’m very rich? Because you can drop me right here if we’re going to fight over money again, Drew McPhee.”
Drew pressed his nose to hers. “He told me, and I’m an ass.”
“Baby got back kind of ass,” Mel agreed on a hopeful giggle.
His smile was warm—the smile she’d hoped to see just one more time every night when she’d closed her eyes this past week. “I was wrong.”
“You were way beyond wrong.”
“I said some shitty things, Mel.”
“The shittiest.”
“But the things I said weren’t the real issue.”
“Is this going to be the ‘something more’ thing I’ve been trying to figure out?” she asked.
“The what?”
Mel shook her head with a wry grin. “Forget it. Just tell me what the real issue is.”
“Nate set me straight.”
Her surprise was genuine. “Nate?”
“Yeah. He used big words like ‘transference’ and ‘post-traumatic stress disorder’—or something. What it boils down to is I couldn’t trust you to love me as much as you love to dance.”
Hmm. “Couldn’t?”
She sensed the struggle in Drew to find the proper words and express them without sacrificing his manhood, and it made her tingle from head to toe. “Fine. I was afraid to trust you, and I took it out on you because of my marriage to Sherry and the fact that she chose her passion for her career, and eventually her drinking, over us. It was unfair and unjustified, and I used the money thing as a cover for the real issue at hand, which was you potentially putting your career before Nate and me. I said those things to you to keep you from finding out what an ass I was being.”
Ahh. So that was the “something else.” “So the real truth is you felt threatened by my career possibly turning into something much bigger than just being Ms. Cherkasov from nine to five?”
His eyes hardened, but only for a moment before he winced. “It consumed Sherry once …”
“But my name is Mel,” she whispered. “And here’s something to think about. I’d never make you choose between me and a piece of wood.”
“But my love for making things isn’t going to take me away from my family or put me on TV across the country.”
Mel smiled sympathetically. “Let’s just say it did? Maybe some sultan somewhere wants you to build him a palace. Am I going to tell you that you can’t because you have to think about me?”
Drew sighed. “No. You’re going to tell me it’s an amazing career opportunity to do something you love and then you’re going to let me go build the sultan a house.” Mel nodded. “Exactly, and
I get it, and I can se
e it took a lot out of you to admit your feelings, oh ye of the demand for communication,” she taunted with a teasing grin.
Drew’s laugh was husky. “You have no idea. This past week has been like one long therapy session of discovery.”
“No kidding,” she acknowledged with a coy smile. “So wanna tell me what this is all about, Mr. McPhee? The dancing—this studio? Whose is it?”
His lips came to rest on her cheek when he whispered, “I wanted to prove to you that I get this dancing thing. Not on the level you do, obviously. You once said dancing freed you to express emotions you didn’t even know existed. I don’t feel free when I dance. I feel like an idiot with really big feet. But I get why it’s more than just a job to you.”
Warmth flooded her and made her fingers tighten on him. “Really?”
“Honestly?”
“Please.”
“No,” he said on a laugh. “I don’t understand it at all, but it makes you happy, and that’s really all that matters to me. Plus, if I’m honest, when you do that stretchy thing to warm up, it’s pretty hot.”
Mel’s heart tightened and released as she clung to his neck and lifted her lips for a kiss she’d missed more than any words could express. “So where are we?” She craned her neck to take a peek around.
He set her down and took her hand to walk her toward what would eventually be a door. Drew pointed to the wall. On the bare sheetrock hung a sign that read “Ms. Mel’s Office.”
Mel gasped when she read it, but remained speechless, still confused.
Drew pulled her to him, molding her body to his in a gesture that was possessive. “Stan. He bought this for you, to make up for losing your studio in L.A. Nate and I and my brothers-in-law have been here all week trying to get the floor and mirrors in on time to surprise you. Add in my dance lessons, and we’ve been busy.”
“Stan bought this?” she squeaked.
Drew’s head bobbed. “He did. There was no talking him out of it either. He couldn’t stop worrying over you losing the studio, so he called up a real estate agent, and bam. Things happen damned fast when you’re rich. It’s going to be a few months before it’s up to code, but it’s all yours.”
Waltz This Way (Ex-Trophy Wives Book 3) Page 31