One Last Dance (15 page)

“A gas leak? You make sure they
check--”

“Dad,” she drawled, chuckling.
“I’ve got it under control.” She hardly needed to send him into an occupational
rant. He’d probably end up talking himself into going down to the City to check
it out himself if she wasn’t careful. Still, just being in her father’s presence
eased some of the tension coiling within her.

He pressed a kiss to her head.
“Sure you do, pumpkin. Sorry. Force of habit.” He patted her shoulder. “Why
don’t you let your old man get washed up and then we’ll see about getting
dinner started. Your mom’s at the library tonight until seven thirty.”

“Sounds good, dad. Sounds real
good.” She gave him another brief squeeze before stepping out of his way. He
climbed the stairs halfway before pausing. Sophie bit her lip as she realized
she’d knocked the picture of her and Christian slightly askew. Her dad set it
right.

“Geez, remember that, sweet pea?
You were what? Eighteen? Your mom and I were so proud of you.”

Sophie pressed her fingers to her
lips to hold in the sob that bubbled up in her throat. Luckily, her dad didn’t
seem to require a response. He tromped up the stairs to get his shower, leaving
her to squeeze her eyes shut against the dagger of pain in her chest. Tears
leaked out from beneath her lids, despite her best attempts to keep them back.
She spun on her heel and strode into the kitchen, desperate to get away from
the reminders of her past.

But they were here too, arranged
on a little wooden shelf above the counter. Shot glasses. She’d gotten one at
every airport she’d flown into or out of. Any one that had a gift shop, anyway.
Keepsakes for her parents, more permanent that postcards. And something of a
joke, since neither of her parents drank so much as beer.

“Get yourself together, Becker.
They’re just shot glasses.” The muttered admonishment didn’t do much to calm
her, but the clank of the pipes as her dad turned off the shower did. She wiped
her face free of tears again and pulled open the freezer. Her parents could
usually be counted on to have a Ziploc bag of frozen homemade spaghetti sauce
in there.

Sure enough, crammed between a
carton of Breyer’s vanilla bean and a bag of peas, she found the frozen sauce.
She had it in a pan on the stove and was chopping an onion when her dad came
downstairs. Now, at least, she had an excuse for the tears.

“Mom had some meat defrosted,”
she said without glancing up. “Figured we could do spaghetti and meatballs.”

Her dad rubbed her shoulder.
“Sounds like just the thing, sweet pea.” He puttered over to the fridge, his
hair still damp and mussed, and began rummaging around inside.

“So,” Sophie began, sliding the
diced onions into a bowl on the counter. “How’s work?” If there was one
surefire way to keep her father from asking anything about her and why she was
here, it was to ask him about work. Construction in upstate New York was
fraught with issues, weather being one of the biggest. Especially in the
spring, when it could go from eighty degrees and sunny one day to snow within
the week.

“Oh, well, Fred’s got this notion
that we can somehow get around building code on the window he wants to put in.”
Her father poured himself a glass of juice and leaned against the kitchen
doorway as he continued to regale her with tales of his current client, who
apparently thought that laws were secondary to his aesthetics.

Sophie made the meatballs and
listened to his stories, laughing in all the right places. It felt good to be
home. Safe and warm. Perhaps it was pathetic that she still needed to run to
Mommy and Daddy when something bad happened, but shouldn’t she feel blessed
that she had a home she could run to? She’d think of it that way, instead.

“Well, goodness,” her mother said
from the doorway. “If I’d have known we were having company, I would have
shooed out that Grant kid earlier. He was just looking at the anatomical
drawings in the medical texts, the little pervert.”

“Hey, don’t judge, Rennie. He
might be a doctor someday.” Her father leaned over to brush a kiss on her
mother’s cheek.

Rennie Becker squeezed her
husband’s arm. “I’ll believe
that
when I see it.” She set her purse on
the table and crossed the kitchen in two long legged strides. When it came to
the gene pool, Sophie had been lucky to get her mother’s legs. Her father’s
side of the family was all stocky and graceless. He’d be the first to say so.
Her mom was willowy and elegant.

“Hey baby,” Rennie said now,
wrapping an arm around Sophie’s shoulders and giving her a light hug.

“What’re you doing home?” Sophie
leaned into her mother’s side as she kneaded the meat and spices to make
meatballs.

“Oh, um. Gas leak at the studio.
It’s going to take a few days to fix.”

Her mother studied her face with
calm shrewdness, one dark brow quirked slightly upward. Sophie’s heart dipped a
little. Had her mother seen the news? Maybe one of the town busybodies had said
something. Sophie’s fingers tightened in the goopy meat mixture. But after a
long moment, her mother nodded. “Well, I’m glad to see you.” She brushed a
quick kiss on Sophie’s cheek and turned back to her husband.

“Come on and help me set the
table, Jim. It’ll go quicker with two sets of hands.”

“Slave driver.” The grumble was
good natured. He pushed away from the wall and began rummaging in the drawer,
pulling out utensils.

Sophie tried to relax into warm,
happy atmosphere her parents created wherever they went. She listened to her
mother joke about the old ladies on the library board and their weeks long
debate about the suitability of carrying the Harry Potter novels while she
boiled the pasta and stirred the sauce. She watched her father’s facial
expressions while he talked about the new kid on his crew while she browned the
meatballs.

She felt as if she’d retreated
into a shell, like a turtle. Things inside were pleasant and warm and
comfortable. But she knew just outside the thin crust of protective layering,
the world was cold and brutal. She caught her mother watching her while they
ate, but as long as the conversation remained focused on them, Sophie was able
to laugh and joke. She hardly thought about Henry at all.

The only bad moment had come when
her cell phone rang. There was a lull in conversation as they all finished the
last of their spaghetti. Sophie winced visibly when she heard the musical
jangle of her ringer from her purse in the foyer. Was that him? He was supposed
to call her tonight and set up their next date. The spaghetti she’d just eaten
did a lazy roll in her stomach.

Sophie swallowed heavily. Her
mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Gonna get that?”

“No.” Sophie shook her head for
emphasis, but forced her lips to curve upward. “I have a no phones at the
dinner table policy.”

“Good idea,” her dad rumbled.
“All these young kids on the job, they barely put down their phones to use a
nail gun, I swear. It’s a damn hazard.”

She could have kissed her father.
Instead, she urged him along as he launched into a story of a young guy at his
last job who’d nearly sawed his own hand off because he was updating Twitter.
Her mother didn’t say anything, but Sophie felt her eyes on her all through the
rest of dinner and dessert - angel food cake with strawberries.

By the time they’d cleared away
the dishes and gone up to bed, Sophie’s nerves were stretched taut as bailing
wire. Any second, she felt like she was going to snap. She slid her cell phone
from her purse and glanced at it. Two missed calls. The first was from Darren,
who she’d forgot to call when she’d gotten here.

The other was from Henry. She
deleted the message without even listening to it. Whatever he said, it was only
going to make her feel worse. Sophie sent Darren a quick text to let him know she
wasn’t dead in a ditch, and then slid beneath her covers. Her whole body ached,
as if she’d been dancing all day. Or she’d been beaten. She squeezed her eyes
shut, trying not to see the trophies lined up on top of her bookshelf, and
waited for sleep to come.

It was a long time before she
sank into dreamless nothingness. Every moment until then was filled with
thoughts of Henry.

Main Street hardly ever changed.
For as long as Sophie could remember, Chuck’s Corner Store and the pharmacy
were at one end, and the hardware store and Robin’s Nest were at the other. A
few of the storefronts in between got makeovers or changed hands from time to
time, but overall the feel of her hometown’s one main drag had altered little
from when she was a child.

Her mother had suggested they
have a girl’s day. She had to work at the library (which was also on Main)
until noon, but made plans to meet Sophie for lunch at the Bistro afterward.
Sophie couldn’t spend another minute alone at the house with all those pictures
and trophies. So here she was, an hour early, perusing the shops. She’d gotten
her first after school job at Robin’s Nest, the tiny little general store. They
had still sold penny candy back then, the kind that was set out in jars on the
counter.

Little tchotchkes and curios had
lined every other available surface. Small ceramic ducks and beavers, Hummel
figurines, polished stones. The cramped, overstuffed space had seemed somehow
magical to her as a teenager. As if, if she just found the right object, her
whole world would change. When it was slow, which it almost always ways except
in the summer time when tourists flooded the mountains, Sophie had roamed the
oddly proportioned room, stirring her hand through bins of corn cob pipes and
vats of marbles.

She’d randomly pluck things from
shelves and baskets and study them intently for their hidden properties. She’d
imagined herself as someone in a ballet like The Nutcracker, suddenly
discovering the secret lives of the figurines in the shop. Not that she hadn’t
had any friends at all. But she’d always been so dedicated to her dancing, it
had left little time for socializing.

“Poor little Sophie,” one of the
other dancers used to sing-song as she and the other dancers tripped out of the
studio to go to bars and hook up with men. Sophie almost always stayed back and
practiced by herself.

She’d never needed a bunch of
friends and boyfriends and parties. She’d had the dance, and that had always
been enough. And then she’d lost it. Her knee twanged, as if confirming the
unhappy thought. Sophie paused outside Mademoiselle de Maison and pretended to
contemplate the shin length floral dress in the window. She bent and rubbed at
her leg.

“A gross hole
,” Nicole had
said. The words still felt like a punch to the gut. That’s how Christian had
reacted, when he’d seen her leg after the accident as well. Before she’d been
hurt, he would spend long minutes when they made love kissing her ankles and
calves and knees and thighs, caressing her smooth skin and murmuring sensual
words about her beauty before moving up to tease her cleft with his tongue.

Afterward he couldn’t bear to
touch her injured leg. The few times they’d slept together once she was out of
the hospital, he had come into her from behind every single time. She hadn’t
even realized it until the one time she’d initiated sex. Sophie had felt him
slipping away from her, distancing himself, and had desperately tried to cling
to him, hating the way her body no longer responded to her on the dance floor.

She’d dressed in some of
Christian’s favorite lingerie and approached him where he sat in the living
room of their apartment. There had been heat in his eyes at first, but when she
dropped the silk robe, she’d seen him recoil. He’d flinched at the sight of her
scarred leg. Christian had recovered, of course. He was not the type of man to
turn a willing woman away. He’d pulled her down into his lap and they’d made
love there in the chair. But he’d never touched her left leg.

“Is it so horrible?” she’d asked
him. Of course, she knew it was. But she’d so wanted his reassurance.

Christian’s eyes had been hard
when he answered. “I just can’t look at it, Soph. It ruins you.”

It
ruined
her. He was
right. That’s how Sophie felt about it. Had felt. But Henry had acted like it
made no difference. “
You have lovely legs
,” he’d said, touching her
scarred knee. But Nicole’s words tolled over and over in her head like a bell.
“A gross hole.” The other woman had never seen her leg. Henry must had told
her. And that cut to Sophie’s heart still bled. She clenched her teeth. It
didn’t matter anymore. She was done with Henry Medina, once and for all.

The trill of her cell jerked
Sophie out of her reverie. In the reflection of the shop window, her cheeks
were pale. She snatched the phone from her pocket and pressed it to her ear,
turning away from Mademoiselle de Maison.

“Hello?”

“You’re so lucky you’re there.
Piper Strickland threw up all over the floor in the front room.” Darren’s voice
held a smile. Hearing his soft tones, some of the tension eased from Sophie’s
neck.

“You put on Rhythms on Parade,
didn’t you? She gets really excited with that tambourine.” Sophie chuckled a
little. Piper Strickland was four.

Darren made a gagging noise. “I
don’t know what her parents feed her but it’s foul. Anyway, I was just calling
to check up because you said you were going to
call
, but all I got was a
text
.”

“I know, Dar. I’m sorry I’m
leaving you in the lurch. But—”

“Oh trust me, I know ‘but’ what.”
His voice took on a sudden edge. Sophie could picture his blond brows knitting
together. “And when I get my hands on that snake...” Darren growled.

“What are you talking about,
Darren?” How did he know about Henry? Icy fingers tickled Sophie’s spine. Had
Darren spoken to him? Darren would never tell him where she was. Would he?

There was a silent moment on the
other end of the line, and then Darren continued as if he’d never stopped
talking. “Nothing, Soph. You’ve been stressed, that’s all. What with all
the...” This pause was microscopic, but she still heard it. “You know. Take as
many days as you need.”

“Really? What about the
cancellations?” She knew there were important things they needed to decide.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got
everything under control. Even Piper’s puke. Sawdusted and swept while the
tykes were bouncing with their bean shakers.” He shook one of the small,
homemade maracas into the phone. Sophie’s lips twitched. As much as she loved
her classes—all of them, not just the kids or the professionals, but everything
in between—she really did need this time to get her head back on straight. Ever
since she’d met Henry, she felt like she’d been spinning.

Sophie plucked at her lower lip.
“Are you sure?”

“Positive. You have fun. Wallow
in the small town delights. Tell your mom and pops I said hi.”

“I will. Thanks Darren. I don’t
know what I’d do without you.”

He gave a dramatic sigh.
“Probably die. Aren’t you glad you don’t have to find out?”

She actually chuckled. “Very
glad.”

They said their goodbyes and
Sophie tucked her phone back into her pants. She was lucky to have a friend
like Darren. Someone who not only loved and supported her, but helped her
achieve her goals and was always looking out for her best interests. She knew
there were things that needed to be dealt with, business decisions that needed
to be made, but Darren was doing his best to hold down the fort and give her
the space that she needed. He was a real, true friend.

It was nearly time to meet her
mother for lunch. Sophie’s belly grumbled at the thought. She’d had a light
breakfast, and strolling along the street in the spring sunshine had gone a
long way toward building up her appetite. Her phone rang again, just as she
reached the gas station with it’s line of newspaper dispensers. She glanced at
the display, frowning at the unknown number, and then froze.

Henry was on the cover of one of
the papers. The photo was slightly grainy, obviously taken with a telephoto
lens, but she recognized the strong line of his jaw and the wavy dark hair. She
fished out a handful of change and snatched a paper from the stack. Bile rose
in the back of her throat. She didn’t even read the headline. She didn’t need
to. The blonde head inclined up toward Henry was Nicole Rossi, without a doubt.

Her hand was on his arm, pale and
delicate. His big hand covered hers. His head was angled downward, tilted
slightly. Like a man going in for a kiss. Her fingers tore at the pages,
turning to “
More photos inside!”

They were strolling down the
street. Nicole’s arm was linked through Henry’s. His hands were in his pockets,
but he didn’t seem at all unhappy about how close Nicole was pressing to him.
According to “an anonymous source,” wealthy CEO Henry Medina and his ex, tech
heiress Nicole Rossi, were back together after nearly a year apart.

Henry was “very happy,” according
to the source, and “finally ready to settle down.” “He realized what he
wanted,” a close family friend reported. The article went on to say that recent
rumors of an affair with a young dancer were blown out of proportion. They
didn’t come right out and say Sophie was a call-girl. At least not in this
article. But the subtext that Henry was drowning his sorrows over his lost love
with fast women was heavy in every word. But oh, the reporter rejoiced, the two
lovebirds had finally found their way back to each other. How romantic.

He hadn’t wasted any time when
she’d blown him off. A few ignored calls—she’d deleted two messages from him
without listening this morning when she woke up—and he was back in Nicole’s
arms. In fact, these pictures were probably taken before that. Maybe the
messages she’d skipped were brush offs. She’d never know now. That was probably
best.

Sophie tossed the paper in the
trash and glanced down at her phone. Who was the unknown number? A reporter,
looking for a quote from the rebound screw? Nicole, calling to rub her face in
the reunion. She dialed her voicemail and listened with a clenched jaw.

It was neither. Instead, Carl’s
usually jovial voice informed her that they needed to talk. “I know what you
think, Sophie. Or, at least, I know what I’d think if I were you. But at least
hear me out.”

She deleted the message, not
about to let Carl sweet talk her into... whatever it was he wanted to sweet
talk her into. The comedian had a way with words and could be persuasive.
Hadn’t he been the one to convince her to give Henry a second chance? Well, she
wasn’t about to give him a third.

Speak of the devil. Her phone
rang again, and the number that popped up was none other than Henry’s. What
could he possibly have to say for himself? Heat burned high in her cheeks. Her
hands clenched into fists. She jerked the phone to her ear.

“Save it.”

“Sophie! I’ve been trying to get
hold of you since last night. Listen—” There was an edge of panic in his voice.
He’d clearly been caught out by the article. Sophie barked a rough laugh.

“I think I’ve listened to you
enough, Henry. There’s nothing you could possibly say now.”

He cursed. “It’s not what you
think.” If her throat hadn’t closed up, she would have laughed again. Isn’t
that what someone who’d been caught doing something wrong said?

“Oh? Nicole isn’t your
ex-girlfriend? Or, excuse me,
ex
-ex-girlfriend.”

“She isn’t. I mean, she was. Damn
it. Can we not do this over the phone? Where are you? I went by your apartment
but you weren’t there and every time I call the studio, Darren hangs up on me.”

And when I get my hands on
that snake
, Darren had said, in tones dripping venom. He’d seen the news
already. No wonder he was behind her little vacation all of the sudden.

“Don’t go to the studio. Stay away
from my apartment. Stay away from
me
, Henry.” Her voice was thick with
anger. But it was better than the tears that were prickling at her eyes. She
blinked rapidly to keep them at bay.

“Sophie—”

“I know it was all about the
charade and the scandal, but I thought we were at least being honest with each
other, Henry. I told you things...” She swallowed audibly. “And then you went
and told
her
?”

“What are you talking about? Told
who what?” He sounded genuinely puzzled. But she was babbling a little.

Her thoughts were churning and
her mouth couldn’t keep up. “You told Nicole about my accident. About my
scars
.
You might as well have shoved a knife right into my heart. It would hurt less.”

“I don’t know where you’re
getting this. I never told Nicole anything about you, Sophie. If one of the
papers is saying I did then—”

“How’d she know then?” People on
the street were starting to look at her. Sophie knew her voice was getting
louder, but couldn’t help it. She tried to reign in the volume a little. “How’d
she know what my leg looks like, Henry? I think you know how few people have
seen it since the accident.”

“Sophie, I swear. Look, please
just come meet me. Or tell me where you are and I’ll come there. We can talk
this out.” A car door closed with a thunk. She recalled the buttery leather
seats of his Maybach beneath her thighs the morning Henry had taken her to the
building site.

Her heart turned itself inside
out. “No, Henry. We can’t. There’s nothing more to say. I’m done being the pawn
in whatever game it is you’re playing. Just... leave me alone.” She was
shaking, the last few words a desperate plea.

“Sophie.” Henry’s voice was soft,
low, coaxing. She squeezed her eyes shut, alternating waves of rage and anguish
pouring through her.

“You’re killing me, Henry.”

There’s was a sharp intake of
breath on the other end of the line, followed by a moment of silence. “Don’t
say that Sophie, you don’t know how much those words hurt me.”

“I don’t know anything anymore.
All I know is that my life was fine before you came into it and ruined
everything!”