One Last Dance

by Angela Stephens

  “We’d better get going.” Her voice came out wispy, but he jumped to his feet. “The limo is waiting.” He motioned her to precede him out the door. Sophie went, hoping he wouldn’t try to touch her. She was hanging on by a thread—one brush of his hand could set her off and Sophie didn’t know if she’d laugh, or cry, hit him, or throw herself at him.

  He didn’t touch her. Sophie breathed a small sigh of relief, and disappointment, as they climbed into the elevator in silence. This was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sophie tried not to twist her hands into the lovely fabric of her dress. She stared out the window, willing the traffic to move faster. But they were nearly at a standstill. Neither one of them had spoken since they had left her apartment and the silence was growing unwieldy. There was no way they could go out in public like this. No one would believe they were a couple.

  Perhaps, if she could get them both feeling more relaxed, things would go more smoothly. “Do you go to this type of thing often?”

  “It’s part of the job.” His eyes cut quickly to her and then away.

  “Which is what, exactly? If we’re supposed to be a couple, shouldn’t I know what Medina Properties does?”

  Henry shifted in his seat, finally looking at her. “We buy and sell land, mostly. Develop real estate. It’s not very interesting and most of the people there won’t want to talk about business anyway.”

  She swallowed hard. “Ok. Do we have a story?”

  “I think it’s best we stick as close to the truth as possible.”

  “Minus the part where you pay me for dance lessons and all five boroughs think I’m a prostitute?”

  “Minus that.”

  Sophie bit her lip. “Do you want to give me anything to work with?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “We’re supposed to be a couple and I know nothing about you. Give me something. Lies, if it has to be. So long as I have some story to go with when I walk into that party.”

  “Fine. I grew up here in the States. My father made a fortune before I was born, so always attended private school. Exeter. Harvard. I started working for his company the minute I graduated.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine.”

  She slumped back against the creamy leather seat. Henry shifted suddenly beside her and held out a flat jewelry box. “By the way, this goes with the dress.” He opened the box, revealing a gleaming strand of lustrous pearls. They glimmered like small, round mirrors. Sophie gasped, touching tentative fingertips to the cool spheres. Henry drew it out and held up the opera length strand. “They were my mother’s.”

  Sophie’s eyes went wide as he slipped them around her throat and her anger dissipated. He turned her slightly away from him so he could fix the clasp. Why would he give her something to wear that had belonged to his mother? He had been so cold and now this?

  “She always said pearls proved to her there was a God, because nothing so perfect and beautiful could be an accident,” he said.

  “She sounds like a lovely woman,” she murmured, stroking the strand of pearls as it warmed against her skin. He finished hooking the clasp and stroked the nape of her neck briefly.

  “She was.” Sophie felt the brief brush of his fingers against her nape and shivered. He turned her back toward him. “They look lovely on you.”

  “Thank you, Henry.” She meant it for more than just the loan of the pearls. For the first time, she felt as if he was really talking to her, not trying to hide behind evasive language. She stared into his dark eyes and wondered what it might have been like if the scandal had never happened. Would Henry have gotten through to her? Carl had said he’d called the studio the day after their... encounter. What would he have said if he’d gotten a hold of her?

  She didn’t know if she’d be here with him now. A small part of her was a little glad her hand was being forced. The rest of her was terrified.

  The limo drew to a stop in front of the Four Seasons Hotel. Sophie’s breath caught in her throat as the driver came around to open the door. This was it. When they walked through that door, she and Henry would officially be a ‘couple’ to all of New York.

  Chapter Twelve

  She wanted to flee the minute they climbed the steps into The Garden. Though the affair was probably considered “intimate” at less than a hundred people, Sophie felt immediately surrounded. Only Henry’s light touch on the small of her back kept her from turning and running for the limo.

  He bent slightly to whisper in her ear. “Relax. This will be painless, I promise.” His warm breath on her neck and the slight brush of his mouth against her earlobe sent heat blazing through her chest. The tinkle of the metallic beads on her dress gave her away.

  “I wish I had your confidence.”

  Henry stopped a passing waiter and took two glasses of champagne from his silver tray. He handed one to Sophie and toasted her. “To our first outing as a couple.”

  She returned the gesture, but reminded him, “It’s just for show.” Maybe she was trying to remind herself as well. Being this close to Henry, having him touch her and joke with her and open up to her, it was heady. He was making her forget she was still angry with him.

  “Henry!”

  Sophie stiffened immediately at the woman’s shrill voice. Henry’s hand pressed her closer to his side in reassurance. They were approached by a reed thin woman with silver hair arranged in an elaborate pile on top of her head.

  “Muriel, how lovely to see you.” Henry bent to brush a brief kiss on the woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Where’s Golan tonight?”

  She waved a jewel encrusted hand. “Around. Foolish boy is having something of a tantrum. You should go find him and talk him out of his sulk. But first, introduce me to your lovely guest.”

  “Muriel Trenway, this is Sophie Becker. Sophie, Muriel is the CFO of Trenway Global.”

  Sophie swallowed. Trenway Global owned resorts and hotels all over the world. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Trenway.”

  “Pleasure, pleasure. And what do you do, dear?”

  “I—” Was she supposed to tell the Chief Financial Officer of one of the largest hotel conglomerates that she taught children how to tap dance?

  “Sophie’s a dancer.” Henry flashed her a dark look. She stiffened further. She wasn’t a dancer. Not anymore.

  Muriel’s ice blue eyes flicked down Sophie’s body and then lit on Henry with a mischievous twinkle. “That makes more sense.”

  Henry cleared his throat. Was that a flush of red on his high cheekbones? That was intriguing. But of course, once Muriel had approached them people began to swarm, and Henry was introducing her left and right. She shook hands and smiled, trying to memorize faces and names, but it was hopeless. There were too many, too fast.

  “I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding me, Ms. Becker,” Carl Barrett said as he sidled up beside her.

  Sophie gazed up into his face. A genuine smile spread across her mouth. “I would never.”

  “You’ve been here for almost half an hour and not come over to say hello. What else am I supposed to think?” His blue eyes twinkled down at her.

  Sophie tapped Henry on the shoulder and cocked her head at Carl. He smiled in approval as she tugged Carl away from the knot of people toward one of the more secluded corners.

  “You looked like your brain was whirring so fast it was about to lift off.”

  “That’s about how I felt.” She gulped some of the champagne.

  Carl snagged a passing waitress and requested a gin and tonic. “You’re not the only one who feels out of place in this crowd. How many other comedians have you seen here tonight?”

  She opened her mouth, glanced around, and shut it again. He was right. “So what are you doing here?”

  “Moral support. For you and Henry. And to help legitimize your relationship. Even if someone is dumb enough to think Henry would bring an escort to an affair like this, I wouldn
’t be talking to you, right?” He took the drink from the returned waitress, tipped her generously, and winked. The waitress glided away with a smile.

  Sophie sipped more of her champagne and scanned the room. Several people were munching on the pizzette of smoked Catskill salmon with wasabi caviar that was being served. Everyone had a drink in hand. Several fortunes worth of jewelry glinted on fingers, wrists, and throats. She touched the strand of pearls around her neck. They were more modest than most of the other jewels, but she thought they were more beautiful than any of the garish baubles the other women wore.

  From across the room, Henry met her eye. She saw his gaze drop to the hand at her throat and even from this distance she could see the heat in it. She bit her lip. Could she risk giving the gorgeous yet reserved man another chance? He had opened up to her a little bit. The conversation in the limo was clearly him making an effort. And his mother’s pearls.

  “Well, that look made it pretty clear to anyone watching that you’re not being paid to be here,” Carl said.

  Sophie felt the heat burning in her cheeks at Carl’s words and tore her gaze from Henry.

  “By tomorrow,” Carl continued, “the media will be buzzing with your unlikely love story. He saw you dancing through a window, how romantic, blah, blah, blah. Pretty soon something else will come along and bump you off the page. Romance only sells so many papers. Unless you’re royals.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  They were both silent for a moment as they watched Henry weaving through the crowd, slapping backs, shaking hands, nodding. Carl drained the rest of the his drink. “Sophie, listen. People think his life has been so easy, raised in wealth, set to inherit the family business. But that’s bullshit. That baggage I mentioned? It’s heavy. Just be careful, okay? I’d hate to see either one of you hurt.”

  Who had planned out Henry’s life? His father? He never mentioned him, except in relation to the business. “Thank you, Carl. That means a lot.”

  “You’re getting along well, I see.” Henry slid an arm around her waist. Sophie leaned into him.

  “We are.”

  Carl raised his empty glass. “And now I need another drink. I’ll be back.”

  “I can’t stop looking at you,” Henry said, once Carl was out of earshot.

  Sophie touched trembling fingers to her temple. “I appreciate that, but I’d appreciate being pointed in the direction of the ladies’ room more.” The combination of the champagne, her anxiety, the crowd, and Henry’s nearness was making her light-headed. She needed a bit of cool water on her cheeks.

  Henry gestured toward the restrooms. “Just there. Everything alright?”

  “Fine. Just need to refresh. I’ll be right back.”

  Sophie moved as quickly through the crowd as she could, smiling politely. Inside the lavish ladies’ room she ran the water until it felt ice cold before wetting her hands and patting her flushed cheeks. How much longer would they have to stay here?

  The low sound of voices gossiping snapped her to attention. “And did you see her shoes? Louboutin’s. I’m so jealous.” The voice came from a stall behind her to the right. An answering voice replied from the one next to it.

  “Well, she is a dancer. Clearly, she has to take care of her feet. What better way than to pamper them? Anyway, I thought she seemed nice.”

  They were talking about her. Louboutin’s? Sophie glanced down at the crystal-studded heels. Louboutin’s? They could be worth a thousand dollars at least!

  “You’re such a soft touch, Jeanie,” the first woman sighed. “She’s obviously with him for his money.”

  Jeanie giggled. “I don’t know. Have you looked at Henry Medina lately?”

  Sophie quickly dried her hands and ducked out the door. While it was good to know that the faceless Jeanie thought she was nice, she really didn’t want to meet her under those conditions.

  When she finally found Henry in the crowd of the party, he was talking to Carl. The blond man begged off as she approached.

  Henry eyed her as she neared. “You still look a bit flushed.”

  “There were some women in the bathroom talking about me,” she blurted. Henry’s brows shot up.

  “Whatever they were saying, ignore it.”

  She extended her leg slightly, pointing the polished toe that peeped out of her crystal-studded heel. “So these aren’t Christian Louboutin’s?”

  Henry’s gaze dropped to her lip and he swallowed.

  “No, they are.”

  “How could you spend so much money on me?”

  “I wanted you to look nice.”

  “I can look nice in something less than thousand dollar shoes!”

  “Trust me, I know. Better than nice, as I remember.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. His tone was playful, but the heated intent in his dark eyes was anything but. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he was thinking about kissing her. And not just a brief brush of lips like she’d done before.

  “Pardon me, pardon me, so sorry to interrupt.” The tiny little man’s smile was wide. He was balding, with a bad combover. “Mr. Medina, can I get a picture of you and your lovely date?” He was clearly a reporter.

  She was pretty sure, from the twitch at the corner of his mouth, that Henry knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “Certainly, Alphonse. Try and get a better shot than last time, okay?”

  Alphonse tittered nasally. “No telephoto lens here, Mr. Medina! Though, you must admit, I caught the anger in the beauty’s eyes!”

  Realization slammed into her chest and Sophie drew in a long, slow breath. This little worm was the man that had taken the picture of her inside Henry’s building. The picture that had been splashed all over the front page and caused all this trouble. Her spine stiffened. “Why are we letting this—”

  Henry’s arm tightened around her waist. “Hush, dolce. Alphonse was just doing his job,” he whispered. He turned his attention back to the photographer. “You’ll have to forgive Ms. Becker, Al. She’s a little put out with you. She prefers her privacy these days.”

  Alphonse bobbed his pumpkin shaped head up and down. “Of course, of course. Romance is a private matter for most people. But you’re here tonight!” He beamed at her.

  Sophie stiffened, then relaxed. “I realized trying to keep our relationship private only made people more curious. So, here we are.”

  “So, it was your decision to stay private? Not Henry’s?”

  Sophie laughed. “Well, Henry, were you trying to keep me hidden?”

  “Would you want to share such a rare jewel, Al? No, Sophie wanted it private, but I didn’t mind at the time. It meant I got to keep her all to myself, too.” He winked at the man.

  Alphonse wheezed laughter, snapping a photo of them as he did. “How did you two meet?”

  “I was practicing the tango. Henry barged into the studio and demanded I dance with him.” Sophie shot Henry a look from beneath her lashes.

  “That’s how it was. She was a vision.”

  “Ah, and what was it that caused Ms. Becker to throw an envelope of cash in the lobby of Figleaf Terrace?”

  Damn. What was their cover for that again?

  Henry didn’t miss a beat. “That was completely my fault, it was a special date for us and I only realized last minute. I gave her a tactless gift and Ms. Becker was justifiably upset, but I’ve since made it up to her.” Henry smiled at her, the perfect actor.

  She giggled in relief at his story, hoping that Alphonse would buy it.

  Alphonse tittered and snapped a few more pictures before Henry waved him off. “Off with you and your story. Let us enjoy the night.”

  The man smiled, satisfied that he’d gotten his story, and scurried off into the crowd. Sophie sighed. “Is that the beginning or the end of that?”

  “The end. Which is why I allowed it. Now that Al has the pictures and the scoop the rest will all move on.”

  She pressed back into Henry’s touch. “Good.”

&nb
sp; He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of his name from across the room drew him up short. Scanning across the crowd, he grimaced.

  “I have to go deal with this. Wait here. I won’t be long.”

  ***

  “Well, at least the peasant knows how to dress. I suppose that’s something.” The heavily accented voice startled Sophie out of her people-watching. She glanced down at the frail man in the wheelchair.

  His skin was a deep nut-brown and creased with age, though he had kept his long white hair. It was tied back in a ponytail and his goatee was trimmed to a sharp point. She didn’t need to ask him his name. The dark eyes boring into her from the pockets of wrinkles looked exactly like Henry’s, except they were full of spite.

  She extended her hand. “Mr. Medina.”

  He took her hand in his leathery grip and flipped it, palm up. “See? Callouses. Told you she was a peasant.” He directed the statement to the woman behind him, wheezing in a long, thin breath. His bony chest rattled with the effort. The woman held out an oxygen mask for him, her mouth twitching the slightest bit upwards at the corners.

  “I see, Jorge,” she breathed. Her green eyes twinkled with amusement as she swept Sophie from head to foot. “It’s clear Henry chose the outfit. He has exquisite taste.”

  “Usually. Nicole, I need to speak to this woman alone for a moment.”

  She saw the muscle in Nicole’s jaw clench, but the slender blonde obeyed.

  “I have spent my life building Henry’s fortune,” he started. He wheezed into his oxygen mask and coughed. “I will not see it squandered on some harlot dancer.”

  “Excuse me?” Sophie practically choked on the words.

  Jorge gestured with a jut of his lips toward Sophie’s shoes and dress. “These clothes, shoes, his mother’s pearls. You like to play dress-up, dancer? Never leave the stage? I’ve seen dozens of you and I’ll see dozens more. The best thing you can do now is get away from my son as fast as you can.”