One Last Dance (10 page)

She wanted to flee the minute
they climbed the steps into The Garden. Though the affair was probably considered
“intimate” at less than a hundred people, Sophie felt immediately surrounded.
Only Henry’s light touch on the small of her back kept her from turning and
running for the limo.

He bent slightly to whisper in
her ear. “Relax. This will be painless, I promise.” His warm breath on her neck
and the slight brush of his mouth against her earlobe sent heat blazing through
her chest. The tinkle of the metallic beads on her dress gave her away.

“I wish I had your confidence.”

Henry stopped a passing waiter
and took two glasses of champagne from his silver tray. He handed one to Sophie
and toasted her. “To our first outing as a couple.”

She returned the gesture, but
reminded him, “It’s just for show.” Maybe she was trying to remind herself as
well. Being this close to Henry, having him touch her and joke with her and
open up to her, it was heady. He was making her forget she was still angry with
him.

“Henry!”

Sophie stiffened immediately at
the woman’s shrill voice. Henry’s hand pressed her closer to his side in reassurance.
They were approached by a reed thin woman with silver hair arranged in an
elaborate pile on top of her head.

“Muriel, how lovely to see you.”
Henry bent to brush a brief kiss on the woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Where’s Golan
tonight?”

She waved a jewel encrusted hand.
“Around. Foolish boy is having something of a tantrum. You should go find him
and talk him out of his sulk. But first, introduce me to your lovely guest.”

“Muriel Trenway, this is Sophie
Becker. Sophie, Muriel is the CFO of Trenway Global.”

Sophie swallowed. Trenway Global
owned resorts and hotels all over the world. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms.
Trenway.”

“Pleasure, pleasure. And what do
you do, dear?”

“I—” Was she supposed to tell the
Chief Financial Officer of one of the largest hotel conglomerates that she
taught children how to tap dance?

“Sophie’s a dancer.” Henry
flashed her a dark look. She stiffened further. She wasn’t a dancer. Not
anymore.

Muriel’s ice blue eyes flicked
down Sophie’s body and then lit on Henry with a mischievous twinkle. “That
makes more sense.”

Henry cleared his throat. Was
that a flush of red on his high cheekbones? That was intriguing. But of course,
once Muriel had approached them people began to swarm, and Henry was
introducing her left and right. She shook hands and smiled, trying to memorize
faces and names, but it was hopeless. There were too many, too fast.

“I’m beginning to think you’re
avoiding me, Ms. Becker,” Carl Barrett said as he sidled up beside her.

Sophie gazed up into his face. A
genuine smile spread across her mouth. “I would never.”

“You’ve been here for almost half
an hour and not come over to say hello. What else am I supposed to think?” His
blue eyes twinkled down at her.

Sophie tapped Henry on the
shoulder and cocked her head at Carl. He smiled in approval as she tugged Carl
away from the knot of people toward one of the more secluded corners.

“You looked like your brain was
whirring so fast it was about to lift off.”

“That’s about how I felt.” She
gulped some of the champagne.

Carl snagged a passing waitress
and requested a gin and tonic. “You’re not the only one who feels out of place
in this crowd. How many other comedians have you seen here tonight?”

She opened her mouth, glanced
around, and shut it again. He was right. “So what are you doing here?”

“Moral support. For you and
Henry. And to help legitimize your relationship. Even if someone is dumb enough
to think Henry would bring an escort to an affair like this, I wouldn’t be
talking to you, right?” He took the drink from the returned waitress, tipped
her generously, and winked. The waitress glided away with a smile.

Sophie sipped more of her
champagne and scanned the room. Several people were munching on the pizzette of
smoked Catskill salmon with wasabi caviar that was being served. Everyone had a
drink in hand. Several fortunes worth of jewelry glinted on fingers, wrists,
and throats. She touched the strand of pearls around her neck. They were more
modest than most of the other jewels, but she thought they were more beautiful
than any of the garish baubles the other women wore.

From across the room, Henry met
her eye. She saw his gaze drop to the hand at her throat and even from this
distance she could see the heat in it. She bit her lip. Could she risk giving
the gorgeous yet reserved man another chance? He had opened up to her a little
bit. The conversation in the limo was clearly him making an effort. And his
mother’s pearls.

“Well, that look made it pretty
clear to anyone watching that you’re not being paid to be here,” Carl said.

Sophie felt the heat burning in
her cheeks at Carl’s words and tore her gaze from Henry.

“By tomorrow,” Carl continued,
“the media will be buzzing with your unlikely love story. He saw you dancing
through a window, how romantic, blah, blah, blah. Pretty soon something else
will come along and bump you off the page. Romance only sells so many papers.
Unless you’re royals.”

“Let’s hope so.”

They were both silent for a
moment as they watched Henry weaving through the crowd, slapping backs, shaking
hands, nodding. Carl drained the rest of the his drink. “Sophie, listen. People
think his life has been so easy, raised in wealth, set to inherit the family
business. But that’s bullshit. That baggage I mentioned? It’s heavy. Just be
careful, okay? I’d hate to see either one of you hurt.”

Who had planned out Henry’s life?
His father? He never mentioned him, except in relation to the business.
 “Thank you, Carl. That means a lot.”

“You’re getting along well, I
see.” Henry slid an arm around her waist. Sophie leaned into him.

“We are.”

Carl raised his empty glass. “And
now I need another drink. I’ll be back.”

“I can’t stop looking at you,”
Henry said, once Carl was out of earshot.

Sophie touched trembling fingers
to her temple. “I appreciate that, but I’d appreciate being pointed in the
direction of the ladies’ room more.” The combination of the champagne, her
anxiety, the crowd, and Henry’s nearness was making her light-headed. She
needed a bit of cool water on her cheeks.

Henry gestured toward the
restrooms. “Just there. Everything alright?”

“Fine. Just need to refresh. I’ll
be right back.”

Sophie moved as quickly through
the crowd as she could, smiling politely. Inside the lavish ladies’ room she
ran the water until it felt ice cold before wetting her hands and patting her
flushed cheeks. How much longer would they have to stay here?

The low sound of voices gossiping
snapped her to attention. “And did you see her shoes? Louboutin’s. I’m so
jealous.” The voice came from a stall behind her to the right. An answering
voice replied from the one next to it.

“Well, she
is
a dancer.
Clearly, she has to take care of her feet. What better way than to pamper them?
Anyway, I thought she seemed nice.”

They were talking about her.
Louboutin’s? Sophie glanced down at the crystal-studded heels.
Louboutin’s
?
They could be worth a thousand dollars at least!

“You’re such a soft touch,
Jeanie,” the first woman sighed. “She’s obviously with him for his money.”

Jeanie giggled. “I don’t know.
Have you looked at Henry Medina lately?”

Sophie quickly dried her hands
and ducked out the door. While it was good to know that the faceless Jeanie
thought she was nice, she really didn’t want to meet her under those
conditions.

When she finally found Henry in
the crowd of the party, he was talking to Carl. The blond man begged off as she
approached.

Henry eyed her as she neared.
“You still look a bit flushed.”

“There were some women in the
bathroom talking about me,” she blurted. Henry’s brows shot up.

“Whatever they were saying,
ignore it.”

She extended her leg slightly,
pointing the polished toe that peeped out of her crystal-studded heel. “So
these
aren’t
Christian Louboutin’s?”  

Henry’s gaze dropped to her lip
and he swallowed.

“No, they are.”

“How could you spend so much
money on me?”

“I wanted you to look nice.”

“I can look nice in something
less than thousand dollar shoes!”

“Trust me, I know. Better than
nice, as I remember.”

Her breath caught in her throat.
His tone was playful, but the heated intent in his dark eyes was anything but.
She didn’t doubt for a minute that he was thinking about kissing her. And not
just a brief brush of lips like she’d done before.

“Pardon me, pardon me, so sorry
to interrupt.” The tiny little man’s smile was wide. He was balding, with a bad
combover. “Mr. Medina, can I get a picture of you and your lovely date?” He was
clearly a reporter.

She was pretty sure, from the
twitch at the corner of his mouth, that Henry knew exactly what she’d been
thinking. “Certainly, Alphonse. Try and get a better shot than last time,
okay?”

Alphonse tittered nasally. “No
telephoto lens here, Mr. Medina! Though, you must admit, I caught the anger in
the beauty’s eyes!”

Realization slammed into her
chest and Sophie drew in a long, slow breath. This little worm was the man that
had taken the picture of her inside Henry’s building. The picture that had been
splashed all over the front page and caused all this trouble. Her spine
stiffened. “Why are we letting this—”

Henry’s arm tightened around her
waist. “Hush,
dolce
. Alphonse was just doing his job,” he whispered. He
turned his attention back to the photographer.  “You’ll have to forgive
Ms. Becker, Al. She’s a little put out with you. She prefers her privacy these
days.”

Alphonse bobbed his pumpkin
shaped head up and down. “Of course, of course. Romance is a private matter for
most people. But you’re here tonight!” He beamed at her.

Sophie stiffened, then relaxed.
“I realized trying to keep our relationship private only made people more
curious. So, here we are.”

“So, it was your decision to stay
private? Not Henry’s?”

Sophie laughed. “Well, Henry,
were you trying to keep me hidden?”

“Would you want to share such a
rare jewel, Al? No, Sophie wanted it private, but I didn’t mind at the time. It
meant I got to keep her all to myself, too.” He winked at the man.

Alphonse wheezed laughter,
snapping a photo of them as he did. “How did you two meet?”

“I was practicing the tango.
Henry barged into the studio and demanded I dance with him.” Sophie shot Henry
a look from beneath her lashes.

“That’s how it was. She was a
vision.”

“Ah, and what was it that caused
Ms. Becker to throw an envelope of cash in the lobby of Figleaf Terrace?”

Damn.
What was their cover
for that again?

Henry didn’t miss a beat. “That
was completely my fault, it was a special date for us and I only realized last
minute. I gave her a tactless gift and Ms. Becker was justifiably upset, but
I’ve since made it up to her.” Henry smiled at her, the perfect actor.

She giggled in relief at his
story, hoping that Alphonse would buy it.

Alphonse tittered and snapped a
few more pictures before Henry waved him off. “Off with you and your story. Let
us enjoy the night.”

The man smiled, satisfied that
he’d gotten his story, and scurried off into the crowd. Sophie sighed. “Is that
the beginning or the end of that?”

“The end. Which is why I allowed
it. Now that Al has the pictures and the scoop the rest will all move on.”

She pressed back into Henry’s
touch. “Good.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but
the sound of his name from across the room drew him up short. Scanning across
the crowd, he grimaced.

“I have to go deal with this.
Wait here. I won’t be long.”

***

“Well, at least the peasant knows
how to dress. I suppose that’s something.” The heavily accented voice startled
Sophie out of her people-watching. She glanced down at the frail man in the
wheelchair.

His skin was a deep nut-brown and
creased with age, though he had kept his long white hair. It was tied back in a
ponytail and his goatee was trimmed to a sharp point. She didn’t need to ask
him his name. The dark eyes boring into her from the pockets of wrinkles looked
exactly like Henry’s, except they were full of spite.

She extended her hand. “Mr.
Medina.”

He took her hand in his leathery
grip and flipped it, palm up. “See? Callouses. Told you she was a peasant.” He
directed the statement to the woman behind him, wheezing in a long, thin
breath. His bony chest rattled with the effort. The woman held out an oxygen
mask for him, her mouth twitching the slightest bit upwards at the corners.

“I see, Jorge,” she breathed. Her
green eyes twinkled with amusement as she swept Sophie from head to foot. “It’s
clear Henry chose the outfit. He has exquisite taste.”

“Usually. Nicole, I need to speak
to this woman alone for a moment.”

She saw the muscle in Nicole’s
jaw clench, but the slender blonde obeyed.

“I have spent my life building
Henry’s fortune,” he started. He wheezed into his oxygen mask and coughed. “I
will not see it squandered on some harlot dancer.”

“Excuse me?” Sophie practically
choked on the words.

Jorge gestured with a jut of his
lips toward Sophie’s shoes and dress. “These clothes, shoes, his mother’s
pearls. You like to play dress-up, dancer? Never leave the stage? I’ve seen
dozens of you and I’ll see dozens more. The best thing you can do now is get
away from my son as fast as you can.”