A Husband for Beauty

by Lindsey Hart

  “No? Well, then why don’t you play it then? I read through the entire thing today.” Her voice dropped, gentled. “It’s the piece I wrote for you, isn’t it? The piece we finished? How long have we waited to let the world have it?”

  Don’t answer her. “Almost ten years.”

  “Ten years?” Disbelief bled into her words. “Why? Why so long?”

  He leaned back so that her hand dropped away. He didn’t like what her touch was doing to him, burning right through him. His head swam, the blackness closing in. She reached out again, but he pulled away. He stood sharply and pushed back the piano bench, which screamed in protest.

  The words he’d meant to hurl at her died in his throat as the room shifted violently. The threatening blackness closed in. He put his hand out as he pitched forward, unable to keep himself from falling, falling…

  He thought maybe he’d get lucky and hit the floor and that would be that. He’d pick himself up and get on with it. He realized how hopeless that thought was when his chin and jaw connected with the edge of the piano, followed by the sharp crack of his forehead. He rebounded off of it, a screen of black over his eyes. He hit the floor hard. He landed on his side and rolled to his back, clutching at his head. Pain bloomed everywhere. It was so strong, so violent, it made him want to retch. His stomach heaved, and he gagged, but nothing came up. His mouth was filled with saliva and that was about it, reminding him he didn’t even have enough calories in him to vomit.

  “Dallas! Oh my god!” Leena’s hands were on his face again, warm and tender. The blackness slowly dissipated, the spots and dots dancing, smudging until at last his vision swam back into focus. Leena’s worried face peered down at him. She was on her knees next to him. She shifted around, lifting and cradling his head in her lap. She brushed back his hair, ran her hands over the massive welt he could already feel forming. His jaw ached like someone had given up the uppercut of a lifetime. “Are you alright? I don’t see any blood. Jesus, Dallas! You have nothing left! You’ve probably been out here since I last told you to eat and get some rest. You didn’t do it did you? How many days has it been? How many?”

  He shook his head then winced at the sharp sting of pain grinding through his brain. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re going to kill yourself in here. Is that what you want?” Leena’s voice was growing shrill, uncontrolled, her fear evident in every single word.”

  “No,” he ground out. “I- just want the music out. It’s always in my head. Always. I can’t make it stop. It needs to get out and then I can rest.”

  “You’re making it worse. If you don’t eat and you don’t take care of yourself, you’re only going to get more anxious. Your thoughts are going to get away from you.” Leena blinked rapidly, and he didn’t understand why until the first tears trickled out from honeyed thick lashes and ran down her cheeks. His stomach cramped again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Seeing her cry did something to him, something he couldn’t express.

  “You shouldn’t be wasting your time here, with me.”

  “No? Where should I be wasting it then? I’m here for a reason. I… I just can’t- I don’t- I… I don’t know what it is yet.”

  He didn’t laugh at her. Not with the way she was looking at him. It must really be bad this time.

  “Do you have- do you have some medication you’re supposed to be taking? Pills that help with- help you manage whatever this is?”

  He blinked. “No.”

  Leena’s cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t stand to see you like this. You have no idea how bad you look. God, Dallas, I don’t want something to happen to you. I want to help you, but I don’t know how and that makes me feel completely useless. You have a gift-”

  “A curse.”

  “It’s a gift, to create beauty like you do.”

  “I would give anything for it to stop.” Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks in silvery streaks. They hurt something inside his chest almost as badly as his head throbbed.

  “Like I said,” Leena whispered, not at all sure. Her voice was tiny and small. “Since you got rid of Howard, you’re going to take his place.”

  “You’re insane?” His mouth gaped open, reminding him just how badly his jaw was wounded.

  “Maybe.” She laughed softly, a pretty sound that didn’t hurt his pounding skull. “No one has ever heard you sing, have they? They sing your music, play it, pay you for it, but no one has heard you sing.”

  “No,” he admitted. He wished he could just go from there straight into his bed and close his eyes. They felt gritty. His mouth tasted sour and his head pulsed with agony. “Only you.”

  “And it’s incredible.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe you’re not remembering correctly.” She frowned again, but she shook her head. Her hand moved over his cheek, so very gently that the throbbing in his chest started again.

  “You need to get out of here. Out of this room.”

  “I do. I watch. From above. From a box in the empty seats. I do watch.”

  “And that’s why you fired Howard?”

  “I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t seen him.”

  “You gave him the scare of his life, seeing you like that. He said you looked like a man possessed.”

  Because he dared lay a finger on you. It wasn’t that Howard had done it out of character. He was playing a role which was quite… intimate with Leena’s character. It was the gentleness behind his touch, the look in his eyes. He meant it, he meant it out of character, which drove Dallas mad with a sensation he hadn’t experienced before. Jealousy. He didn’t understand it, didn’t know what possessed him to find Howard backstage, grab the front of his shirt and tell him to get out.

  “No. You know I could never do anything like that.”

  Leena shrugged. “I don’t know it. I don’t remember anything, remember?” Her brow arched sardonically. She was throwing back the sarcasm and disbelief he’d used with her earlier, days ago. “Anyway, I’m done talking about that. You need to sleep. And eat something. What do I even give to you if you haven’t had food for days? You’ll go into shock…”

  “I don’t want anything. Just rest,” he admitted, ashamed of his own weakness.

  “I’m going to be beside you, to make sure you stay there.”

  “What?” Everything inside of him was instantly aware.

  “That’s right. I can’t trust you not to get up and work yourself to death so I’m going to be there. For the rest of the night. I’ve been up since four this morning and I’m tired anyway.”

  “What time is it now?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe six. It doesn’t matter. I’m tired and so are you. Can you get up?”

  He was even more ashamed to try and find no strength in his limbs. He was a tall man, impressively built. He stayed fit, had an exercise regime he put himself through in the morning and the evening, on better days. It helped center his mind, ground him, still the endless racing thoughts. At the moment, none of his height or muscle helped. It was all slack, dead weight.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Somehow, though Leena was a good half a foot shorter than him at least, and slender, she managed to get him into a sitting position. It was all he could do to keep the blackness at bay. She wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him up, up to standing. She didn’t let him go. He leaned heavily on her and she supported him. She was stronger than she looked.

  He should have known she would be. She’d done this for him before. Picked him off the damn floor. Put him in bed. God, he was ashamed to admit she’d helped him into the damn shower before, washed his hair for him, shaved him when he couldn’t even do that.

  “I don’t want to be like this forever…” he whispered brokenly. “I don’t want to be lost…”

  The blackness closed in and when Dallas was again able to open his eyes he blinked into the darkness of his room. He hit the bed hard, the stiff mattress supporting his weight in the most bit
tersweet way.

  He felt himself being arranged, like a child, limbs laid out. His shoes were removed, one by one and then the covers were pulled up, up to his chin. Like his mother used to do before she died. Everyone died. That was the curse of life. That those he loved always left him behind.

  The bed dipped beside him and he sensed, more than he felt Leena’s presence. His eyes remained closed and though the music was still there, pounding through his brain, ripping him to shreds, pulling, pulling, summoning him upright, he had nothing left to give. He surrendered at last, to the blackness that shrouded him in its welcoming arms.

  CHAPTER 8

  Leena

  Next to Dallas. It was where she truly wanted to be. It was where she always wanted to be. She wasn’t sure where the realization came from. It stole into her brain as her body relaxed on the king size mattress that was far too hard. The quilt was white. The resemblance it bore to a hotel line of linens was stark. The sheets matched.

  She didn’t dare crawl beneath that thin comforter. She didn’t dare even so much as touch Dallas. Her hand, her arm, her entire body, still burned with the contact she’d made at the piano. His scent lingered with her, swimming through her blood. Her heart hammered wildly. She stared up at the ceiling until Dallas’ breaths were long and even. It was only a matter of minutes until she knew he was asleep.

  I shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want me here. That might have been true, but he hadn’t told her to leave either. Because he was in no shape to. She knew she was kidding herself. If Dallas had truly wanted her gone, he would have expressed his desire in no uncertain terms.

  Tenderness, now as familiar as her own heartbeat, rose in her chest. Her stomach turned over, flopping painfully the same way it had when she’d walked back on stage for the first time since the accident. She felt it, the rush, the born ability within herself, the years of experience and training and natural talent. It was a gift like her voice and she was able to fall back on it though she couldn’t remember how she’d come to have it.

  Because she knew he was out cold, Leena turned on her side to study Dallas’ face. Her hand ached and her fingers itched. She carefully rotated so that she was on top of her arm, trapping it below her. The other hand she tucked under the too flat pillow.

  In the darkness, when the shadows of fatigue and utter exhaustion were hidden, the bruised blackness under his eyes softened, his lips pulled into a relaxed line, his body at ease, he was utterly beautiful.

  He was an incredible man. Tall, broad, muscular. He had that powerful build that made her feel so very small next to him. His long blonde lashes rested on his cheek. His breaths were deep and even, his chest rising and falling with every gentle inhale and exhale. His cheekbones were prominent, the shadow of a beard covered the lower half of his face. It was longer than before, betraying the fact he hadn’t bothered to shave even after their last meeting, but not long enough to indicate that he wanted to grow a beard or wore one regularly.

  It took every ounce of her willpower not to roll closer. Dallas was on his back and she longed to press herself into his side, to throw an arm over his chest, to hold him as he slept, to give him the elusive peace that he obviously so desperately sought. Half of her urge was to care for him, the other half something that she couldn’t even fully consider at the moment when she was so close. She longed to inhale, to breathe in the scent of his skin once more, to run her fingers over the bruised spot on his forehead and jaw, to trail her hand lower, down his neck, over his chest, below the buttons of his rumpled plaid shirt.

  Lord, she longed to touch his skin. She wanted to trace the pattern of him- crisp hair, warm, velvet skin over rock hard, rigid muscle. She wanted it so badly that her body trembled. It was a violent shiver, one that started at her toes and ripped up her back. Her stomach curled in on itself, the air trapped in her chest, burning in her lungs.

  This isn’t just because he’s attractive or because I’m attracted at the moment. No, what she felt in that moment, the depth of her desire, though she could remember none of their histories, could only be explained by a deep and abiding want. An unsated want. Or was it more than that? Do I love him? Really love him?

  She was so shocked at the thought that her entire body went rigid. She slowly swept her eyes over Dallas’ face, waiting for the soft spot in her chest. It came instantly, along with a hard rush of heat.

  Why? Why do I care? Why not? What was there about Dallas that was really so off-putting? What was there not to love?

  When Leena asked herself the question, turned it around, she had no answer. Dallas could obviously be difficult, but she sensed what people saw was just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. Dallas was incredibly talented. A genius even. She felt a stab in her chest, a sense of almost envy that she could only define as hero worship. She was amazed at the work he did. She’d read through the score they’d written together and was completely dazed that she’d ever been talented enough to reach his level, that he’d appreciated her work enough to keep it next to his. Her name was even on it, right there on the paper beside his.

  He obviously had something going on. Had she ever known what it was? Was Dallas sick or was he just… a little manic? What did it mean to truly be a genius? He obviously had racing thoughts, but what other demons did he tackle? Was he really so anxious that he never went outside? Was he afraid? She was sure that wasn’t all anxiety was. It wasn’t just fear.

  There was something about me. In some way, I was able to help him. I’ve been there when no one else would have been.

  She knew she shouldn’t have done it. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. Leena pushed up on her elbow. She gently reached out, her hand shaking so badly she was afraid she’d wake Dallas when she ever so lightly traced the outline of his bottom lip.

  His skin was so soft. Even chapped it was still the most wondrous thing she’d ever felt in her life. Stop. I have to stop. But she didn’t. She caressed his top lip so gently it was like she wasn’t touching him at all. It was fire. It was white hot heat that soared through her veins, that wrecked her and ignited her and breathed back the most amazing life into her heart and soul.

  I’ve loved him for half my life. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew it was true even though she couldn’t remember meeting him or there being a beginning.

  She should have pulled away. She couldn’t. She did remove her hand, but she curled into him. She threw an arm over his broad chest and snuggled against his back. She felt safe there, pressed against him, the man she’d waited almost a decade and a half to truly touch, to be this close to. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the scent that was his. The scent of music and passion and the fear of his own mind. She felt her body relaxing, the fear and frustration of the past week draining away. She couldn’t remember a damn thing, but she knew that she was his.

  CHAPTER 9

  Dallas

  Hannah. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Long, flowing dark hair. Huge, luminous eyes. Full lips, sweetly rounded face and jawline, high cheekbones, the body any man would kill for.

  “Hannah!” He saw her at a distance and called out to her. He realized he was outside, in a field, but he felt none of the usual crippling anxiety or panic.

  She turned slowly, her lips parting. She opened her mouth and sang and her voice was so pure, so sweet, he was sure she was an angel. She smiled at him and her eyes glistened with life. She was so radiant it hurt to look at her. She walked on ahead, parting the sea of green grass that made up the field. The wildflowers around them swayed softly and a gentle breeze ruffled the white sundress Hannah wore.

  “Hannah!” He called again. “Hannah, wait!”

  She stopped and extended a hand. “Dallas.” The way she said his name sent a stab of pain racing straight to his heart. His chest compressed, and his voice caught in his throat. She started walking away, turned and began running. He ran after her, but he couldn’t keep up. He stumbled and fell, but got up and ext
ended his hand, pleading.

  “Hannah! Stop! I love you!”

  That time, she did stop. They stood and stared at each other from a distance. Her smile was soft and sad. “Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” Dallas felt hot, stinging moisture on his cheeks. Tears, he realized.

  “You used to love me,” Hannah said gently. “But not anymore. Not for years. Open your eyes, Dallas. It’s not me you need to see.”

  “Hannah!” He called to her, stumbled forward, but she turned and ran, dark hair streaking out behind her and then she was gone. He stood alone in the field, the grass rustling around him. His heart ached.

  Suddenly a black cloud rose overhead, blotting out the sun. The wind picked up. It blew particles from the field around him, dust and grass. They whipped by his face, stinging his cheeks. He tried to run, to find shelter, but he tripped and fell again and then he was falling, falling into blackness.

  Dallas woke with a start. There was a weight on top of his legs, over his chest. He panicked and pushed it off. The blanket went next and then he stood, chest heaving, sweat pouring from his forehead and rolling down his face. His stomach rolled and his legs shook. He remembered that he hadn’t eaten in days. He was weak, far too weak even to stand.

  He slowly sunk down on the edge of the bed and as his eyes focused and the vestiges of the dream faded, he faced Leena, who was slowly sitting up. She ran her hands over her face, as though she could clear away a sleep cut so rudely short. He realized that she had been the weight on top of him. Their legs had been tangled together, her arms wrapped around him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” She blinked at him, confused. Her hair was tousled about her shoulders, her cheeks flushed, and her eyelashes were stuck together in little starry clumps. “It’s probably the middle of the night…”