But first David insisted on taking a dozen more shots, then included Yetta in a few when she showed up to tell Kate it was time to start the ceremony. By the time he handed the camera back to Liz, her sisters were laughing and hamming it up like they were on a photo shoot for a magazine.
“Ahem.”
The pointed cough from the doorway made everyone freeze.
“Hi, honey,” Grace called. “Wait till you see these shots. David’s a genius. Have you two met?”
She dragged David across the room to where her fiancé, Nick Lightner, was standing. The two men, who were nearly equal in height—although Nick had a good twenty pounds of muscle on David, exchanged a quick, perfunctory greeting. “The music is swelling,” Nick said, taking Grace’s hand. “If we don’t get down there now, they’ll be playing ‘Here Comes the Bride’ for us.”
Grace kissed him playfully. “Think of all the money we’ll save. Bye, all. See you when we change for the dance.”
Argh. Liz wanted to ask Grace to explain her earlier comment about David, but now she’d have to wait until after the ceremony.
“Shall we join them?” David asked, suddenly appearing at her side.
He’s not real. Well, hell, who was? “Sure,” she said, offering him her arm. “I had no idea I’d invited the Annie Leibovitz of gardeners to the party. Where’d you learn photography?”
“I always take a disposable camera with me when I go into the desert after new stock. Believe me, if you can get a cactus to smile, working with four beautiful women is a breeze.”
Liz laughed, letting go of her worries. He was handsome, multitalented and fun. And her instincts were telling her to relax and enjoy the moment, so that was what she planned to do.
He seemed comfortable letting her link her arm through his as they descended the grand, curving staircase. “You’ve got an interesting family,” he said.
“Loud.”
“Boisterous.”
She smiled. “You’re too kind. Wait till the food and drink arrives. And the storytelling starts. Thank goodness we don’t have a fire. Give my uncle Claude a bottle of brandy and a fire pit and you’d be here all night.”
“Sounds romantic—in the sense of tall tales being passed on through generations.”
She chuckled softly. “Sometimes, yes. Depends on who’s telling. My father used to make up fairy tales about each of his princesses. We were always doing valiant things like rescuing villages and taming unicorns. Unicorns are actually quite difficult to catch and the tips of their horns are poisonous to the mean of spirit. I bet you didn’t know that, did you?”
Her tone was a mix of tenderness and something else. Regret? Remorse? David couldn’t tell, but he was curious. When they reached the foot of the stairs, he impulsively pulled her to one side to let the rest of the latecomers file past.
“How long ago did your father pass away?”
She didn’t have a chance to answer because two servers in black pants, white shirts and wine-colored aprons rushed past, trays clanging with empty wineglasses.
“We need to sit down.”
He could tell she was intentionally avoiding his question. Why? he wondered.
They went out the side door and joined the last of the guests slowly making their way down the center aisle. Liz’s grip on his arm intensified.
“You miss him a lot, don’t you?” he asked softly.
She nodded, moving closer. “He was an amazing man. Larger than life, as they say. You should have seen all the people at his funeral. The local paper ran a story called The Last Gypsy King. Losing Dad was…well, it rocked our world. None of us was prepared—even though we probably should have been. We had nearly a year between his first stroke and the one that took him.”
If only it was that simple. “Is anyone ever really prepared to lose a parent? Mine died when I was twelve. In a car accident. My grandmother’s friends tried to tell me that sudden was better, but I don’t think that’s true.”
She looked at him while they paused to let an older woman with a walker get settled into her chair.
“Twelve?” The sympathy in her eyes was easy to read even in the waning light. “That must have been so scary. I can’t imagine.”
David very rarely talked about that time, which was why he couldn’t figure out why he was bringing it up now. Maybe the empathy in her eyes encouraged him to admit, “It was tough. I was an only child and we’d always done everything as a family. That was the first trip they’d ever taken without me. A second honeymoon, they’d called it.”
You stay with your grandmother, honey boy, and we’ll be back before you know it. Have fun, sweetheart. Fun? Fun was the last thing his grandmother ever thought about—especially after she learned that she was expected to take over raising her dead daughter’s child.
David stepped forward to help the older woman fold her walker. He tucked it to one side of the aisle then returned to escort his date to their seats. The sweet trill of a harp filled the air along with the low murmur of the fifty or so guests. An empty chair on each side of them created an island effect, which might have accounted for the reason David confessed, “I never really forgave them for not taking me with them.”
She gripped his hand in hers and said softly, “It took me six months in an ashram in India to stop blaming myself for my father’s death. Finally, one morning I woke up and a voice in my head said, ‘You’re a physical therapist, not God.’”
She shivered. He reached behind them for her loosely woven silk shawl and draped it across her shoulders. He decided they both needed a change of topic. “Tell me about Rob, your new brother-in-law. Seems like a good guy.”
She lifted her chin and looked toward the altar where Rob Brighten stood to the left of a short, plump woman dressed in a black robe topped with a colorful stole. “He’s a sweetheart. He and Kate are so madly in love it’s almost painful to watch, but I’m really happy for them both. Kate pushes herself too hard, and Rob’s a bit more laid-back, so I think they’ll be good for each other.”
“Why is it painful to watch?”
Her skin tone turned dusky. “I didn’t mean that exactly, but when everything is going well for someone else and your life is in chaos, it’s tough not to be a little envious. Unless you’re a saint, and I’m definitely not that.”
He wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t argue. Partly because the music changed to the wedding march. Heads started to turn. David pivoted in his chair. His knee brushed against Liz’s thigh. Warmth seeped into his bones. How long had it been since he’d made love with a woman? Too damn long. She wasn’t a saint and he wasn’t a monk, but did that mean they belonged in bed together? A guy could dream, couldn’t he?
Chapter Ten
Liz decided the only way to get through this dance was to let her mind play. She wouldn’t worry about whether or not she was any good. She’d try to recapture the joy she remembered from when she and her sisters had danced for their father.
She could almost picture him in the front row, his thick wavy black hair gleaming from the greasy tonic he used to keep it in place. His wide grin always beamed with pride when he watched his girls, his princesses. He’d named them each after strong women who knew their worth and made a lasting impression on the world around them.
A lot to live up to, perhaps, but when he was healthy, he’d always made Liz believe she could do anything she set her mind to. She needed to remember that, now, when inhibition told her she was going to make a fool of herself.
“Ready, ladies?” Alex asked.
“Absolutely,” Grace said, rising up on her bare toes to stretch her calves. “We are going to rock.”
Or sink like a rock.
Liz adjusted the snug bodice of her costume, being careful not to snag any of the hand-sewn sequins that made it shimmer in the stage lights. She’d been pleasantly surprised to find that the outfit fit as well as it did. Her body had changed some over the past few years, but she still exercised. Not the vigorous,
athleticism of dance, but they were only doing three numbers. She was pretty sure she could keep up.
“Well, here goes nothing….” Alex said, nodding to the DJ who pushed a button on his console.
The distinctive sound of a flamenco guitar filled the tent. Drums and castanets blossomed. A beautiful but foreign voice seemed to float on the desert breeze that teased the colorful scarves Grace had tacked about.
Alex and Grace moved into the spotlight, to a swell of applause.
Liz gave an encouraging nod to her niece, who positively glowed in her miniature belly dancer costume. White, like her mother’s gown, Maya’s sheer pantaloons and sleeves were trimmed in gold. Her hair was loose and wild, a flowing mane of deep chocolate curls, like Kate’s.
On cue, Liz wiggled the finger cymbals she’d played since she was Maya’s age and lifted her arms. She and her niece danced onto the platform that been hauled out of storage for this performance. The squeaky sound of bare feet against the shiny flooring sounded loud in Liz’s ears, but she knew the crowd would hear only the music, which seemed to course through her veins like a drug.
They finished the first number with a flourish and a low bow. Liz glanced up see David clapping and cheering—surprise and pleasure in his eyes. He was glad for her, proud of her. Oddly, his presence made what was coming next less intimidating.
Their second routine gave each sister a few minutes in the spotlight to a song by Dulce Pontes, a Portuguese singer whose fado, or poetry set to music, appealed to Liz’s love of the exotic. The raw passion of the music touched something deep inside her soul, but putting that emotion on display for public consumption was never easy for Liz.
But this time, she wasn’t dancing for everyone. She was sharing a personal, private gift with David, the man whose sad childhood had touched her deeply. As the haunting chords of the singer’s voice swelled, Liz twirled, giving herself over to the love story she heard in the words of a language she’d never studied. She unconsciously searched the audience for her father. Tears worked their way into her eyes. Intellectually, she knew he was gone, but…then she saw him. At the back of the audience. Right where he always stood. Smiling. Clapping and nodding. Enjoying the spectacle as any proud father would.
Her spirit soared with a lightness she couldn’t explain. A healing had taken place. She stumbled slightly as she exited the stage to give Alex her time in the spotlight.
“Wow, where’d that come from?” Grace asked, embracing her. “That was gifted.”
A gift. Yes. That was what she felt. She had her father’s blessing. His forgiveness.
She was too overcome with emotion to speak, so she hugged Grace back, then turned to clap to the music. Alex looked ethereal—as graceful as any ballerina. Her long, slender arms swaying with undeniable loveliness—and sorrow, Liz realized.
Suddenly, the music changed and Grace and Maya traded places with Alex, who returned breathless to Liz’s side. Smile in place, Alex appeared happy and content with her performance—and her life.
Liz made a mental note to have a serious talk with her big sister in the near future. Now wasn’t the time. Now was about celebrating—love, hope and gifts too precious to question.
“WOW. I’VE NEVER seen anything like that before.”
David had had to fight his way through the crowd to find Liz after the Sisters of the Silver Dollar performance. The entire audience seemed energized by the dazzling efforts of the Radonovic sisters and their adorable niece.
Laughing, Liz took a drink from a water bottle someone had handed her. “Thanks. We didn’t suck, huh?”
She was still in costume, and he had to make a conscious effort not to stare—and drool. Her skin seemed to glow against the garish spangles and beads sewn to the shimmering material that hugged her curvaceous body. A girdle of amethyst jewels and gold coins rode low on her hips over a skirt of silken material that was both modest and revealing.
“You were amazing. And you look gorgeous.”
Her brown eyes seemed alight with joy—and some residual passion he’d felt during her solo. He’d never been much of theatergoer and could only name one or two live performances that he’d attended in his life, but her dance had touched him in a way he hadn’t expected. He’d felt almost as though she’d been dancing for him.
She licked her lips and smiled. “I think we pulled it off. A couple of little mistakes, but not bad, huh?”
“Mistakes? I didn’t see any. That last song—where you and your niece were telling a story—was amazing. Even though I couldn’t understand the words, I felt the tragedy and the happiness.”
She dipped her head modestly. “Thank you. I’d never danced that part before. Alex used to handle the lead, but she’s had some health issues the past couple of years and her stamina isn’t what it used to be, so, since Grace and Maya danced the Dulce Pontes song together, Alex thought Maya and I should do the one about the mother and her little girl.”
“No one could have danced it more convincingly. When your sisters pulled the child from your arms, I heard the women around me gasp and cry out. I think several wept.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “It was very moving.”
“It’s supposed to symbolize a daughter getting married and leaving her mother’s house, but having a child dance Kate’s role changed the tone, I guess. I couldn’t help thinking about what it would feel like to lose a child. To know that I wouldn’t get to watch her grow up. Never dance at her wedding.” She blinked rapidly and looked away.
He stepped closer, needing to comfort and reassure, but knowing anything he said would be a lie. The pain she’d imagined was the worst thing he’d ever known. Powerless to stop himself, he put his arms around her and pulled her tight.
She sighed then melted against him.
He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, but finally it crossed his mind that music was playing and they weren’t dancing. He cleared his throat. “Tell me about this music,” he said softly, drawing her hand to his chest.
She put her other hand on his shoulder and moved in step with him. “My cousin Gregor—you met him, right?” David nodded. “He arranged for the DJ. Joaquin something. A distant relative, I think. He teaches at the college and has traveled all around the world collecting and recording indigenous music. I guess because the Romani have lived in so many diverse lands over the course of history, our taste in music leans toward the exotic.”
“What’s playing now?”
She tilted her head. “I don’t know, but I brought him a CD from India. He promised to play my favorite later. It’s slow and romantic. Maybe I should change first.”
His fingers splayed wide across the middle of her back, touching both silk and bare skin. “Are you cold?”
She tossed her head and laughed. “Are you kidding? Between the adrenaline and the exercise, I can’t feel a thing.”
“Not even this?” he asked, softly strumming a spot in the hollow of her low back with his thumb.
She stilled in his arms, even though everyone around them was laughing and dancing to the Calypso beat. Their gazes met, and he read the look in her eyes all too easily. She was falling for him. Maybe even telling herself that no matter how busy her life was or how unmotivated he might be—career-wise—they might be good together.
And if things were different—if he were a different man—she might have been right. He desired her. A part of him felt a pull toward her unlike anything he’d ever felt before. But the masquerade would end, sooner or later, and David had no intention of making Liz pay for his mistakes.
He knew what he had to do.
One more dance. Then, I’ll call a cab and get out of here. No harm. No foul. Just one more dance.
Liz stepped away, shivering. She sensed something changing between them, as if a vein had been opened and the blood that raced in anticipation of the hot sex to come was slowly seeping away.
“Breeze,” she said, rubbing her bare arms. “Night on the desert. Get
s you eventually, doesn’t it? I’d better get dressed.”
David cocked his head, obviously surprised by the sudden change of plans. Close, sexy dancing one second, partner on the run the next. But he graciously escorted her to the sidewalk, where she left him with a stupid little twitter.
What is wrong with me? she silently asked herself as she dashed into the first-floor guest room where she and her sisters had changed into their costumes. Why do I always pick guys who are emotionally unavailable?
Three glittering outfits were hung up, draped over a chair and tossed on the floor, respectively. One hanger and empty plastic dry-cleaning bag waited beside her party dress and high-heel shoes.
She changed quickly. No use putting off the inevitable. She couldn’t explain exactly how she knew that David was planning on telling her that they didn’t have a future together, but she did. She would do her best to enjoy what was left of the evening then she’d take her guest home. No hot and sweaty sex in his tiny house. No detour to her place.
Disappointing? More regret than one date and a couple of conversations together should warrant, she told herself, but the pain was very real. She liked him. A lot. And strange as it sounded, something had happened during one of her dance numbers that told her her father would have liked David, too.
She hung up Maya’s and Grace’s dresses then turned to leave, but a sudden sadness stopped her. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her knees wobbled. Feeling unsteady and a bit overwhelmed, she sat on the end of the bed.
The door opened and her mother walked in. “There you are. I knew I’d find you here.”
Liz discreetly wiped her tears. “Those Gypsy mind-reader correspondence courses are finally paying off, huh?”
Yetta laughed lightly and sat down. “That sounds like something Grace would say. You’re supposed to ask me what’s wrong.”
Bringing Baby Home Page 11
