by Jackie Braun
“I haven’t spoken to Danica for weeks, Ella.”
Another time, his words might have made her feel better. Right now, raw from this discovery, she could only tell him, “You haven’t spoken to her in weeks, yet in all that time, you never once mentioned her to me.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“You didn’t trust me.” He reached for her, but Ella backed away. “You didn’t have faith in me. Bernadette and Camilla, even my own father expressed doubts or outright disbelief that I could do this. But you...”
She shook her head, unable to go on.
“I know it seems like that, but when I called Danica, I didn’t know you, Ella.”
She didn’t point out that they had to have been sleeping together. They’d gone to Chase’s apartment immediately after Elliot had refused to let her quit.
“Okay.” She nodded. “You didn’t know me then. The point I am making is that you’ve known me pretty well for several weeks now. You didn’t level with me, Chase. Were you ever going to?”
He shoved a hand through his hair, drawing her attention to the cowlick. She loved that cowlick, but maybe it was a sign of bad luck.
“Honestly, with everything else that has been going on, I just forgot.”
That was his explanation? He forgot? Ella’s chest ached along with her throat. It was just as well that the door opened and Owen entered.
“Oh? Sorry. I didn’t realize you were busy.”
“That’s all right,” Ella told him. With one last look at Chase, she added, “We’re finished.”
THIRTEEN
The early morning sunshine coming through the bedroom blinds should have put Chase in a good mood. Today was his uncle’s big party and bad weather would have been a disaster. But it was difficult to be in a good mood when he hadn’t spoken to Ella in nearly a week.
She hadn’t only walked out of his office on Monday. She’d walked out of his life.
We’re finished.
Two words that had struck his heart like an arrow finding the bull’s-eye. Still, he hadn’t thought she’d meant them.
But since then she’d refused all of his calls. She hadn’t replied to his text messages or emails. And when he’d stopped by her apartment, knowing full well that she was home, she’d ignored the buzzer. Chase had almost wished the damned brick had been back, propping open the main entrance. At least that way he would be able to get inside, with only a single door between them, rather than two doors and four flights of stairs. Perhaps if he were that much closer he might have been able to get her to listen.
He had plenty to say, too. He would start with a heartfelt apology and grovel if need be. He was that desperate to make her understand. She had to believe him when he said that his concerns with her abilities as a party planner had evaporated over time, and then everything happening with his uncle had become his focus. He believed in Ella. It was impossible not to. He’d never met another person so determined.
Then he had another admission to make. One that had taken him a while to wrap his mind around. One that still filled him with equal amounts of awe and nerves. He could only hope she was ready to hear it. And that she felt the same way.
It was just after ten o’clock when Chase arrived at his uncle’s estate. The driveway was jammed with an assortment of delivery trucks, and both the house and the grounds were a hive of activity. Chase found his uncle in the study, playing cards with Dermott. Elliot was happy, if a bit befuddled at times. His condition had stabilized now that they’d diagnosed his condition as vascular dementia brought on by high blood pressure, but the doctors were clear that some of the damage to his brain was permanent.
While he couldn’t run Trumbull Toys, Elliott remained the heart of the company and the de facto head of the creative team. His office was just as he left it, the nameplate on the door more apt than ever. The Purveyor of All Things Fun glanced up at Chase now.
“We can deal you in the next hand, if you’d like,” he offered.
“That’s all right. I’m looking for Ella.”
“The last time I saw her, she was by the pool house,” Dermott said.
“Thanks.”
Chase turned on his heel, ready to leave. Elliot’s words stopped him.
“She’s a lovely girl, with a lot on her mind right now. Don’t upset her.”
“I... What do you mean?”
“The two of you have had a fight.”
“She told you?” Chase asked, surprised.
“She didn’t need to. I may be a bit loopy at times, but I could figure it out. She’s been walking around here like she’s planning somebody’s funeral for real.” Elliot picked up a card from the deck and glanced at it before transferring his gaze to Chase. “Can I give you some advice, my boy?”
“Sure.”
“Wait until tonight to seek her out. She has so much to do right now. I’ve asked a lot of her, planning my wake.”
“She’s done a great job.”
“She has.” He beamed. “I knew she had it in her. I could tell the moment I met her. Reminded me of myself when I started out.”
His uncle’s blind faith made Chase feel doubly disloyal for his doubts.
Elliot was saying, “Once most of the guests are gone and those who are still here are good and sloshed, bring her a glass of something cold along with one for yourself. Toast her success as the fireworks go off.”
“Fireworks?” This was the first Chase had heard of them. How had she had managed to pull a permit and line up a pyrotechnics show in a matter of days?
But Elliot was grinning. “I trust you to supply those. You’re going to tell her you love her, right?”
Chase was, but first, even though it was going to kill him, he also was going to take his uncle’s advice and wait.
* * *
Ella had seen Chase arrive. She’d spied his car as it had snaked up the crowded driveway. She’d been too busy to talk to him then, and so she’d been grateful that he hadn’t sought her out.
Once guests began arriving, she saw him with Owen and Elliot stationed at the entrance to greet everyone. He was dressed formally, as were his uncle and cousin. He looked gorgeous, perfect. Was it bad of her that she hoped he felt as miserable as she did?
He glanced up once, caught her eye. Then the crowds moved and so did she, losing herself to the throng and to her job. It wasn’t only for Elliot’s sake that she wanted this party to go off without a glitch. She had a lot to prove.
Dinner went mostly according to plan. She credited the workers overseeing each station for that. They kept the guests moving, the chafing dishes replenished. The Italian station ran out of meatballs early after an entire pan got dropped in the grass. Accidents were to be expected. She overheard a couple of women complaining that the alfredo sauce was too rich, but she chalked that up to taste. With a crowd this size, it was impossible to please everyone. Besides, if they didn’t like the alfredo sauce, there were plenty of other dishes to try.
Once dinner was over and the guests were swarming the dessert stations like bees to a hive, Ella spied Chase making his way toward her. Security chose that moment to call her cell about a scuffle between two tabloid reporters.
By the time she’d gotten that and another small crisis settled, she heard the music start. The dancing got under way.
“Are you going to save a dance for me?”
She knew a moment of disappointment when she turned to find Owen. With a polite smiled, she told him, “Sorry. I’m on the clock.”
He snapped his fingers. “Damn.” Before she could walk away, he added, “Do both yourself and Chase a favor. Don’t turn him down if he asks.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do. I don’t know what happened between you two. I don’t need
to know. But this much is clear. My cousin is lost without you. Not all that long ago, I would have been happy about that. Now...” He shrugged. “Give him a second chance, okay?” Owen’s tone was filled with irony when he added, “Everyone deserves one.”
Ella’s heart thumped unsteadily as she watched Owen walk away. Was she being a hypocrite? She was all for chances—giving people a chance to prove themselves as well as to redeem themselves. Shouldn’t she extend the same courtesy to Chase?
As she mulled that, the retrospective of Elliot’s career began on the big screen. Ella stayed in the back, out of the way of guests, but she was close enough to hear some of the delighted responses. Elliot was beloved by many and admired by his peers. It only could do his health good to know that, she thought, wiping her damp cheeks.
“I hope those are happy tears,” Chase said, coming up alongside her. He held a flute of champagne in each hand. “You did an outstanding job here tonight, Ella.”
“Thank you. Of course, the night’s not over.” She cast a meaningful glance at the champagne. “I’ll pass on that. I need to keep a clear head.”
“I figured that’s what you’d say, which is why it’s sparkling cider.”
“Oh. Well, in that case.”
She took the glass and sipped. Bubbles tickled her nose. Even without the kick of alcohol she started to feel warm. Chase’s unwavering gaze didn’t help. She’d seen Chase’s face reflect anger, interest, frustration, regret, satisfaction and a number of other emotions. She’d never seen this look.
He was humbled, she realized. Contrite. Lost...as his cousin had claimed.
And something more. Something that required not only trust, but forgiveness to survive.
“Can I offer a toast?” he asked.
Chase, Owen and a few other speakers, all of whom had been tapped in advance, had given toasts earlier in Elliot’s honor. All of them had been moving and heartfelt. Ella and a lot of other people had wiped away tears afterward.
“Only if you promise not to make me cry again,” she said. “The toast you made for your uncle was very touching.”
“Thank you, this one is to Madame Maroushka.”
“You’re toasting the fortune-teller?” she asked.
“If not for her, we might never have met. I owe her.” Chase’s voice lost its teasing quality when he went on. “And I owe you an apology, Ella. One I hope you will find it in your heart to accept. I screwed up. I should have mentioned that I’d called Danica Fleming from the beginning, or at the very least when things between us started to get serious.”
“How serious are they?” she asked softly.
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Ella.” Chase took her glass and set it, along with his, on a nearby table.
“What are you doing? I thought we were going to toast?”
“I need to be touching you when I bare my soul.”
When he put it like that, it was impossible to argue.
“The past several days without you, have been...they’ve...”
When he groped for the right word, she supplied, “Sucked.”
Chase laughed. “Yeah. They sucked.”
“For me, too,” She admitted.
He sobered. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen Chase quite so serious or intense, when he said, “I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but I did. And for that, I feel awful. I do believe in you, Ella. Maybe I had doubts at first, but—”
“Chase.”
He shook his head. “No. I need to say this. If you’ll give me another chance, I think I can make you as happy as you’ve made me. I love you, Ella. I—”
She put her fingers over his lips to stop him from talking. When had the man become so chatty? She needed to get in a few words herself.
Starting with the most important, “I love you, too.”
And because it already felt as if an eternity had passed since they’d last kissed, Ella grabbed Chase by the lapels and hauled him close. Just before their mouths met, it occurred to her that Madame Maroushka’s supposed vision of Ella and a tall, handsome man at a party had come true.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE DANCE OFF by Ally Blake.
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ONE
Loose gravel coursing through the gutter slid and crackled beneath Ryder Fitzgerald’s shoes as he slammed shut his car door.
Through the darkness of late night his narrowed eyes flickered over the uneven footpath, the barred windows of the abandoned ground-floor shopfronts, past big red doors in need of a lick of paint, up a mass of mottled red brick, over deadened windows of the second floor. The soft golden light in the row of big arched windows on the third floor was the only sign of life on the otherwise desolate street.
He glanced back at his car, its vintage curves gleaming in the wet night, the thoroughbred engine ticking comfortingly as it cooled. Since the closest street lamp was non-operational—tiny shards of broken glass pooled around its base, evidence that was no accident—only moonlight glinted off the black paint.
And he silently cursed his sister.
Glowering, Ryder pressed the remote to double-check the car alarm was set, then he glanced at the pink notepaper upon which Sam’s happy scrawl gave up a business name and a street address, hoping he might have read the thing wrong. But no.
This run-down structure in one of the backstreets of Richmond housed the Amelia Brandt Dance Academy. Inside he would find the woman hired by his sister, Sam, to teach her wedding party to dance. And considering in two months’ time he’d be the lucky man giving her away, apparently that included him.
A wedding, he thought, the concept lodging itself uncomfortably in the back of his throat. When he’d pointed out to Sam the number of times she’d done her daughterly duty in attending their own father’s embarrassment of weddings, she’d just shoved the address into his palm.
“The instructor is awesome!” she’d gushed. Better be, he thought, considering the price of the lessons he was bankrolling. “You’ll love her! If anyone can get you to dance like Patrick Swayze it’s her!”
Ryder, who’d had no idea who Sam was talking about, had said, “Life-changing as that sounds, there’s no way I can guarantee my attendance every Thursday at seven for the foreseeable future so you’ll have to have your dance lessons without me.”
Lucky for him, Sam had gleefully explained, the dance teacher had agreed to private lessons, any time that suited him. Of course she had. Sam had probably offered the doyenne enough to lash out on a six-month cruise.
“Your own fault she’s so damned spoiled,” he grumbled out loud.
A piece of newspaper picked up by a gust of hot summer wind fluttered dejectedly down the cracked grey footpath in response.
Ryder scrunched up the pink note and lobbed it into an overflowing garbage bin.
He tugged at his cufflinks as he sauntered up the front steps. It was a muggy night, oppressive in a way Melbourne rarely saw, and he was more than ready to be rid of his suit. It had been a long day. And the very last thing he wanted to d
o right now was cha-cha with some grand dame in pancake make-up, a tight bun and breathing heavily of the bottle of Crème de Menthe hidden in the record player. But Sam was getting antsy. And he’d spent enough years keeping the antsy at bay to know revisiting the high-school waltz would be less complicated than dealing with one of his sister’s frantic phone calls.
“One lesson,” he said, wrenching open the heavy red door and stepping inside.
A Do Not Enter sign hung askew from the front of an old-fashioned lift with lattice casing. His eyes followed the cables to their origins, but all he saw were shadows, dust, and cobwebs so old they drifted lazily by way of a draught coming from somewhere it structurally ought not to.
Less impressed by the second, Ryder trudged up the steep narrow staircase that wound its way around the lift shaft, the space lit by a string of lamps with green-tinged glass so pocked and dust-riddled the weak glare made his eyes water.
And the heat only grew, thickened, pressing into him as he made his way up three floors—the ground floor apparently untenanted, the second floor wallpapered with ragged posters advertising student plays from years past. As it tended to do, the hottest air collected at the top where a faint light shone through the gap at the bottom of the door, and a small sign mirroring the one downstairs announced that the big black door with the gaudy gold hinges led into the Amelia Brandt Dance Academy.
Ryder turned the wooden knob, its mechanism soft with age. Stifling heat washed against his face as he stepped inside. He loosened his tie, popped the top button of his dress shirt and made a mental note to throttle Sam the very next moment he saw her.
The place appeared uninhabited but for the scent of something rustic and foreign, and the incongruously funky beat of some familiar R&B song complete with breathy sighs and French lyrics.
