by Jane Porter
“Pretty good, huh? Next thing you know and I’ll be out on the comedy circuit.”
He laughed softly, appreciating the levity, appreciating her. She was such a little thing—the top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulder—but she was fierce. Fiesty. His Argentine beauty.
“Can we start tonight over? Try this again?” he asked.
“Maybe.” She extended a hand to him. “I’m Ava.”
“I’m Colm.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Colm. Do I detect an accent?”
“I was raised in Scotland.”
“I was raised in Argentina.”
“What brought you to the US, Ava?”
“Ballet. I’m a dancer—” She broke off, corrected. “Was a dancer. I just teach now. What about you?”
“I buy things, sell things, make money.”
“Is that your passion? Money?”
“No. I’m just really good at it. Is dance your passion?”
“Yes. I love it. I do.” She looked up at him, her gaze examining his face. “I also have a passion for brawny blondes with a Scottish accent. You can blame it on Diana Gabaldon. The Highlander.”
His lips quirked. “I believe the story is The Outlander.”
“Ah, right. Well. This might be a good time to mention that I was in a car accident in New York and hit my head pretty good. So there’s some brain trauma, and memory issues, and balance problems, and pain, but other than that, I’m really good.” She smiled up at him. “Any questions?”
“None at all.”
“Good. Because it looks like you have an army of staff arriving with dinner.”
*
After the earlier drama, dinner was relatively uneventful.
There was no more fighting. The tension was gone. They’d come to an understanding of sorts.
Ava wasn’t sure what the understanding was. Maybe they were just too mellow from the champagne, or maybe the fact that they were eating by candlelight in an elegant tent on the beach made them feel civilized.
Or, perhaps, the torches ringing the tent’s perimeter had them feeling like castaways on a tropical island…
Or, maybe, just maybe, they were enjoying each other’s company.
Imagine that.
Ava sipped her coffee and lounged against the soft silk pillows lining the couch, watching the flame dance on a torch just outside the cabana. The flame was matched by the flickering candles on the table. It had been a gorgeous meal. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten so well, or been served on such fine china or toasted with such excellent crystal.
“Did we take a picture of this?” she asked, turning to look at Colm. “If not, we should. I want to remember this. It’s like you’re Valentino and we’re in our very own desert oasis. Except, we’re not in the desert but on a private beach with a view of the sea.”
He grinned. His teeth flashed whitely. “You’re funny.”
“You bring it out in me.”
Colm leaned forward, checked her wine glass. His eyes were brilliant in the candlelight. “You’re empty. Want more?”
“No, I’m happy with my coffee. I have enough trouble without a hangover.” She smiled at him. “Thank you. For this. It really was lovely.”
“It turned out okay.”
“Despite the bumpy start.”
“We’ve always had bumps, babe. We’re strong people. We knock heads. Have different opinions. But it’s what makes us, us.”
She held his gaze a moment and then set her cup down. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Have we ever been friends?”
Colm opened his mouth then closed it. He gave his head a brief shake. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Which makes me think the answer is no.”
His brow furrowed. “Relationships are complicated.”
“Or are we complicated?”
He made a soft, rough sound. “I’ve always said you are the smartest woman I’ve ever met.”
She gave him a look. “And still you avoid the question. Never a good sign.”
“I want to be honest with you, and I’m trying.” He leaned forward, wrapped his hand around her neck and drew her towards him, kissing her hard, and then soft, and then slow, hot, and demanding as the kiss sparked and desire exploded and the kiss went on and on until she was boneless and mindless and a tingling mass of nerves.
“We were not then what we are now,” he said, stroking her full soft lip with the pad of his thumb. “We didn’t talk about much. You had dance. I had my work. We met late at night, and, if lucky, we slept together until early in the morning when you left for the theater. But there were plenty of days—weeks—where I traveled or the Manhattan Ballet traveled and we would text or call, but those calls would be brief. There wasn’t much to say. We didn’t share feelings. We didn’t talk too much about work. We communicated in bed. We expressed ourselves through sex.”
She caught his thumb, stopped its maddening caress so she could try to complete a thought. “And you never wanted more from me?”
He hesitated only briefly. “No.”
“Did you ever want more from any woman?”
“What is this about, Ava? I’m not sure I understand.”
She searched his eyes, trying to see past the startling color to the man behind. Their relationship baffled her. She wondered if it had always baffled her. She imagined so, but couldn’t be sure. Maybe before the accident she’d been happy with what he gave her…maybe the sex had been enough.
Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe the unexpected pregnancy had jolted them out of complacency….
“I search my memory and you are there,” she said, holding his hand, “but there is very little attached to you. You are just there. Big, handsome, sexual…but I can’t find a relationship. I don’t have stories. I don’t have lots of pictures. If anything, I just see you and me, in bed.”
“That is where we were happiest.” He hesitated. “And you were happy with me, Ava. You were happy with us. At least, you were happy until our fight that night. That night wasn’t good. You said things. I said things. You stormed out. I happily put you into the cab. And then the taxi crashed and you were hurt and we have both lived with that night, hanging over us, haunting us, ever since.”
“And the fight was about the baby.”
“The pregnancy.”
She mulled his choice of words over. She thought about the relationship and what she’d felt for him, and how she’d imagined he felt for her. She must have discovered the night they’d fought that he didn’t have strong feelings for her. That he didn’t want her, or the baby. Or maybe he’d given her an ultimatum. She didn’t know. She might never know. Could she live with that?
*
On her second night on the island, she slept better than she had in years, cocooned by soft French linens, clouds of down, and the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan. Ava didn’t wake until Genevieve opened the plantation shutters and let in the golden sun.
“Good morning, Ms. Galván. It’s going to be another beautiful day. Mr. McKenzie hopes you’ll join him in half an hour for breakfast on the yacht.”
“The yacht?”
Genevieve smiled. “I’ve packed your swimsuit and a cover up in a tote since it sounds like you’ll be doing some swimming later, too.”
*
Ava dressed for the day on the yacht in a slim, white knit skirt and a white tank. She let Genevieve do her hair and was pleased by the loose but stylish ponytail.
Once she was ready to go, Genevieve drove Ava to the gondola platform in one of the estate’s small golf carts to keep Ava from having to walk too much too early in the day.
Colm was waiting for her at the bottom of the gondola and he escorted her across the beach to a small motorboat waiting to ferry them out to the yacht anchored in the bay.
Ava was delighted to be out on the water and laughed as the motorboat hit a wave and gave them a light splash. In Argentina, she�
��d spent a lot of time on the water as a girl, and being here was bringing back memories of her family, and the holidays at the sea.
“Happy?” Colm asked as the boat neared the anchored yacht.
She nodded. “I love this. Reminds me of home.”
On the yacht, Colm took her on a brief tour so she’d have her bearings and then they took seats at a table on one of the back decks to take advantage of the morning sun.
It was a perfect morning, warm but not hot with just a few puffy white clouds to highlight the azure sky.
Staff appeared with pitchers of fresh squeezed juices and pots of strong black coffee and then followed with platters of eggs and grilled tomatoes and breakfast meats. Ava focused on coffee and a delicate croissant, while Colm ate a little bit of everything.
They didn’t talk much over breakfast, content to just enjoy the meal, the sun, and the passing scenery. It was a spectacular way to see the island. From the water, St. Barts was a jagged sweep of green circled by white sand and lapping blue waves.
“This isn’t real,” she said. “I don’t feel real. I’m not even sure you’re real.”
“Let me check that,” he said, and before she knew what was happening, he’d dipped his head and kissed her.
A shiver of pleasure raced through her at the touch of his lips. He tasted good, warm, and she shivered again as the tingle of sensation gave way to heat. She always forgot how quickly the fire between them ignited, and it ignited now, hotter than ever.
By the time Colm lifted his head, her heart was racing and she felt positively electric.
How could one small kiss be hot and cold? How could it burn? How could it make her feel so painfully alive?
“It seems real enough to me,” he answered lazily.
She flushed, battling emotion. She wanted more even as she knew more wasn’t good for her…or them.
“You look great today,” he added. “But then, I’ve always liked you in white. It sets off your gorgeous hair and eyes.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ve begun to exercise again, haven’t you?”
She glanced down, taking in the short skirt and length of bare leg. From this angle she couldn’t see the scars but even if she could, she was determined not to let them upset her. “I’m dancing,” she said. “Nothing complicated. Just beginner classes a couple days a week, but it feels good to be at the barre. Who knew I loved plies and tendus so much?”
“I did. And I’m glad you’re taking classes again. It’s good for you. Not just for your body. But your head.” He leaned back as the staff cleared the last of the breakfast dishes. “Speaking of your head, you seemed to have slept well last night.”
She frowned, puzzled. “Do you know something I don’t?” she asked uneasily.
“I was with you last night.”
“I didn’t realize.” She stiffened and then swallowed hard, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. How could she not have known? “Did I…did we…?”
“We didn’t make love. We didn’t even kiss. You were worried about waking up and not knowing where you were, so I stayed with you. That’s all.”
But she wasn’t reassured. It was troubling for her, deeply troubling—even terrifying—to not know things, much less remember significant details like sharing a bed with someone.
Or remembering where one left one’s son.
Her eyes burned. She blinked back tears before they could fall. “This is why I did not want to come here. This is why I begged you to leave me in New York, to leave me with my routine. I hate forgetting things. I hate waking up and being lost and confused. But most of all, I hate that I can’t remember what is important. You. Jack. And yet I do. And I always will.”
“Maybe, but maybe not. You are better, Ava. Much, much better. And you know it.” He leaned towards her, his big body invading her space, making the hair on her nape rise and her skin prickle with awareness. “Look at you. You’re beautiful. And you’re happy here. And, Ava, you’d be even happier with Jack.”
He pushed an envelope towards her. He’d kept it hidden under the placemat but wanted her to have it now. “You don’t have your notebook here, but if you did, I’d have you put these in it. To remember how you are. Not how you imagine yourself to be.”
Her hands trembled as she opened the envelope and withdrew a half dozen photos. There were snapshots taken of the beach and sunset, another one of the tent, glowing with fresh flowers and candlelight, and then there were four of her, talking, laughing, smiling, and then just of one looking off towards the horizon, her expression thoughtful, perhaps a little wistful, but there was no pain in her features, no tension in her expression.
“You are this woman, Ava. Beautiful. Intelligent. Passionate. Proud. Funny. Regal. I could go on.” He tipped her chin, looked into her eyes. “And you are ours…you are important and necessary to our family. We need you.”
A lump filled her throat and she pulled away and glanced down at the photos she’d spread in a half circle on the table.
One wouldn’t know she’d been so badly hurt from looking at these photos. She could see what Colm saw. The thick, long hair, tumbling down her back. The wide expressive eyes. The curve of her generous mouth. The slim shoulder and the skin pale and creamy against the rich plum of the silk camisole.
On the outside was beautiful, but the external beauty hid her damaged mind. And it was damaged. Every day she woke up and had to discover herself again. Every day she had to come to terms with whom she was, and what she now was, and if it exhausted her, how could it not exhaust Colm? And how could it not eventually embarrass her son?
She didn’t want to cause Jack more pain. Hadn’t she hurt him enough already?
She tapped the shot of her curled up on the couch, staring out at the horizon.
“I don’t remember you taking these,” she said softly.
“It was near the end of the evening. You took a couple of me. And then we took one together. A selfie.”
“A selfie? How indulgent of us,” she teased if only to hide the pain. She would go through life and not remember it. She’d go through life and forget everything that made life life.
“We had fun last night.”
She struggled to smile, not wanting him to see the tears that were making her eyes sting and grow gritty. “I’ll have to trust you on that.”
“That’s why I took the pictures. I wanted you to have memories—”
“But I don’t remember. They are your memories, not mine.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and he seemed to be choosing his words with care. “You don’t remember anything of last night?”
She chewed on her bottom lip, working the tender skin over. “I had a massage and Genevieve did my hair and helped me dress.”
“Yes.”
“And I took the gondola down, to the beach.”
“Yes.”
“We ate there.” She nodded to the photo of the tent. She frowned as she stared at the pictures. “I don’t remember what we ate. I don’t remember what we talked about, either.”
“But you remember meeting me on the beach, and having dinner with me.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you remember how you felt?”
She hesitated a long moment. “I think I was happy. Maybe. I think I was also unhappy.” She nudged a photo, sliding it over another. “Did we fight?” she asked, looking up at him.
“No. Why?”
“Because I think…I feel…there was something…something that wasn’t happy.”
“We talked about the accident last night. We talked about us, and how we were before the accident, and the fight we had the night of the accident.”
He’d spoken calmly, casually but each word felt like a blow. She put a hand to her chest, rubbing at the knot of pain. “That’s why I was unhappy. We were fighting because you didn’t want Jack, and I did, and yet because I got hurt, you have Jack and I don’t, and we both feel guilty.”
�
��You’re remembering something that was years ago. That’s not who we are today. We’ve changed. We’re a family—”
“No.”
“We are, and instead of you relying on your notebook for everything, I’m going to start taking pictures and showing you pictures and showing you what you don’t see…that you’re loved and wanted, but even more so, you’re needed. I need you. Jack needs you—”
“Stop.”
“You might not remember everything, but you are still you. Interesting, complex, beautiful. A miracle. Even the doctors agree that you are a marvel of modern medicine. Which is why you’re here. I’m not going to allow you to give up.”
“I haven’t given up! Look at me—I’m working, teaching, living. But at the same time, I know my limitations. I have a routine, and I’ve created order and structure, and I stick with that order and structure. I don’t try to multitask anymore. I’m realistic. You need to be realistic, too.”
“You didn’t become a principal with the ballet by being realistic.”
“That was the past. We know I’m not that Ava anymore.”
“Life isn’t about sulking in shadows, playing it safe. We have to take risks. And in this case, it’s a risk absolutely worth taking.” His voice dropped, deepening, feathering up and down her spine the way his hands used to travel the length of her. “Jack’s worth it, Ava. You know he is.”
She gasped for a breath, heart tumbling.
Jack.
Jack was the best part of her. Gorgeous, gorgeous little boy, her miracle boy, the miracle she thanked God for every day. But at the same time, she had to protect him. She had to protect him from her. He could have died that day she abandoned him in his stroller. He could have been kidnapped, or murdered—
“Yes, bad things could have happened that day,” Colm interrupted, able to read her emotions. “But they didn’t. Security found him. I was able to get him. Everything turned out fine.”
“But it wasn’t fine,” she whispered, still horrified, still deeply ashamed of what she’d done that day, and of how incredibly stupid and irresponsible she’d been. She had many highs and lows in her life, but that moment had been by far the lowest.
She fought a wave of nausea, her coffee and croissant perhaps not the best breakfast after all, and gripped the edge of the table, determined to keep her stomach from upending.
