The only bad moment had come when her cell phone rang. There was a lull in conversation as they all finished the last of their spaghetti. Sophie winced visibly when she heard the musical jangle of her ringer from her purse in the foyer. Was that him? He was supposed to call her tonight and set up their next date. The spaghetti she’d just eaten did a lazy roll in her stomach.
Sophie swallowed heavily. Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Gonna get that?”
“No.” Sophie shook her head for emphasis, but forced her lips to curve upward. “I have a no phones at the dinner table policy.”
“Good idea,” her dad rumbled. “All these young kids on the job, they barely put down their phones to use a nail gun, I swear. It’s a damn hazard.”
She could have kissed her father. Instead, she urged him along as he launched into a story of a young guy at his last job who’d nearly sawed his own hand off because he was updating Twitter. Her mother didn’t say anything, but Sophie felt her eyes on her all through the rest of dinner and dessert - angel food cake with strawberries.
By the time they’d cleared away the dishes and gone up to bed, Sophie’s nerves were stretched taut as bailing wire. Any second, she felt like she was going to snap. She slid her cell phone from her purse and glanced at it. Two missed calls. The first was from Darren, who she’d forgot to call when she’d gotten here.
The other was from Henry. She deleted the message without even listening to it. Whatever he said, it was only going to make her feel worse. Sophie sent Darren a quick text to let him know she wasn’t dead in a ditch, and then slid beneath her covers. Her whole body ached, as if she’d been dancing all day. Or she’d been beaten. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see the trophies lined up on top of her bookshelf, and waited for sleep to come.
It was a long time before she sank into dreamless nothingness. Every moment until then was filled with thoughts of Henry.
Chapter Seventeen
Main Street hardly ever changed. For as long as Sophie could remember, Chuck’s Corner Store and the pharmacy were at one end, and the hardware store and Robin’s Nest were at the other. A few of the storefronts in between got makeovers or changed hands from time to time, but overall the feel of her hometown’s one main drag had altered little from when she was a child.
Her mother had suggested they have a girl’s day. She had to work at the library (which was also on Main) until noon, but made plans to meet Sophie for lunch at the Bistro afterward. Sophie couldn’t spend another minute alone at the house with all those pictures and trophies. So here she was, an hour early, perusing the shops. She’d gotten her first after school job at Robin’s Nest, the tiny little general store. They had still sold penny candy back then, the kind that was set out in jars on the counter.
Little tchotchkes and curios had lined every other available surface. Small ceramic ducks and beavers, Hummel figurines, polished stones. The cramped, overstuffed space had seemed somehow magical to her as a teenager. As if, if she just found the right object, her whole world would change. When it was slow, which it almost always ways except in the summer time when tourists flooded the mountains, Sophie had roamed the oddly proportioned room, stirring her hand through bins of corn cob pipes and vats of marbles.
She’d randomly pluck things from shelves and baskets and study them intently for their hidden properties. She’d imagined herself as someone in a ballet like The Nutcracker, suddenly discovering the secret lives of the figurines in the shop. Not that she hadn’t had any friends at all. But she’d always been so dedicated to her dancing, it had left little time for socializing.
“Poor little Sophie,” one of the other dancers used to sing-song as she and the other dancers tripped out of the studio to go to bars and hook up with men. Sophie almost always stayed back and practiced by herself.
She’d never needed a bunch of friends and boyfriends and parties. She’d had the dance, and that had always been enough. And then she’d lost it. Her knee twanged, as if confirming the unhappy thought. Sophie paused outside Mademoiselle de Maison and pretended to contemplate the shin length floral dress in the window. She bent and rubbed at her leg.
“A gross hole,” Nicole had said. The words still felt like a punch to the gut. That’s how Christian had reacted, when he’d seen her leg after the accident as well. Before she’d been hurt, he would spend long minutes when they made love kissing her ankles and calves and knees and thighs, caressing her smooth skin and murmuring sensual words about her beauty before moving up to tease her cleft with his tongue.
Afterward he couldn’t bear to touch her injured leg. The few times they’d slept together once she was out of the hospital, he had come into her from behind every single time. She hadn’t even realized it until the one time she’d initiated sex. Sophie had felt him slipping away from her, distancing himself, and had desperately tried to cling to him, hating the way her body no longer responded to her on the dance floor.
She’d dressed in some of Christian’s favorite lingerie and approached him where he sat in the living room of their apartment. There had been heat in his eyes at first, but when she dropped the silk robe, she’d seen him recoil. He’d flinched at the sight of her scarred leg. Christian had recovered, of course. He was not the type of man to turn a willing woman away. He’d pulled her down into his lap and they’d made love there in the chair. But he’d never touched her left leg.
“Is it so horrible?” she’d asked him. Of course, she knew it was. But she’d so wanted his reassurance.
Christian’s eyes had been hard when he answered. “I just can’t look at it, Soph. It ruins you.”
It ruined her. He was right. That’s how Sophie felt about it. Had felt. But Henry had acted like it made no difference. “You have lovely legs,” he’d said, touching her scarred knee. But Nicole’s words tolled over and over in her head like a bell. “A gross hole.” The other woman had never seen her leg. Henry must had told her. And that cut to Sophie’s heart still bled. She clenched her teeth. It didn’t matter anymore. She was done with Henry Medina, once and for all.
The trill of her cell jerked Sophie out of her reverie. In the reflection of the shop window, her cheeks were pale. She snatched the phone from her pocket and pressed it to her ear, turning away from Mademoiselle de Maison.
“Hello?”
“You’re so lucky you’re there. Piper Strickland threw up all over the floor in the front room.” Darren’s voice held a smile. Hearing his soft tones, some of the tension eased from Sophie’s neck.
“You put on Rhythms on Parade, didn’t you? She gets really excited with that tambourine.” Sophie chuckled a little. Piper Strickland was four.
Darren made a gagging noise. “I don’t know what her parents feed her but it’s foul. Anyway, I was just calling to check up because you said you were going to call, but all I got was a text.”
“I know, Dar. I’m sorry I’m leaving you in the lurch. But—”
“Oh trust me, I know ‘but’ what.” His voice took on a sudden edge. Sophie could picture his blond brows knitting together. “And when I get my hands on that snake...” Darren growled.
“What are you talking about, Darren?” How did he know about Henry? Icy fingers tickled Sophie’s spine. Had Darren spoken to him? Darren would never tell him where she was. Would he?
There was a silent moment on the other end of the line, and then Darren continued as if he’d never stopped talking. “Nothing, Soph. You’ve been stressed, that’s all. What with all the...” This pause was microscopic, but she still heard it. “You know. Take as many days as you need.”
“Really? What about the cancellations?” She knew there were important things they needed to decide.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got everything under control. Even Piper’s puke. Sawdusted and swept while the tykes were bouncing with their bean shakers.” He shook one of the small, homemade maracas into the phone. Sophie’s lips twitched. As much as she loved her classes—all of them, not just t
he kids or the professionals, but everything in between—she really did need this time to get her head back on straight. Ever since she’d met Henry, she felt like she’d been spinning.
Sophie plucked at her lower lip. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. You have fun. Wallow in the small town delights. Tell your mom and pops I said hi.”
“I will. Thanks Darren. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He gave a dramatic sigh. “Probably die. Aren’t you glad you don’t have to find out?”
She actually chuckled. “Very glad.”
They said their goodbyes and Sophie tucked her phone back into her pants. She was lucky to have a friend like Darren. Someone who not only loved and supported her, but helped her achieve her goals and was always looking out for her best interests. She knew there were things that needed to be dealt with, business decisions that needed to be made, but Darren was doing his best to hold down the fort and give her the space that she needed. He was a real, true friend.
It was nearly time to meet her mother for lunch. Sophie’s belly grumbled at the thought. She’d had a light breakfast, and strolling along the street in the spring sunshine had gone a long way toward building up her appetite. Her phone rang again, just as she reached the gas station with it’s line of newspaper dispensers. She glanced at the display, frowning at the unknown number, and then froze.
Henry was on the cover of one of the papers. The photo was slightly grainy, obviously taken with a telephoto lens, but she recognized the strong line of his jaw and the wavy dark hair. She fished out a handful of change and snatched a paper from the stack. Bile rose in the back of her throat. She didn’t even read the headline. She didn’t need to. The blonde head inclined up toward Henry was Nicole Rossi, without a doubt.
Her hand was on his arm, pale and delicate. His big hand covered hers. His head was angled downward, tilted slightly. Like a man going in for a kiss. Her fingers tore at the pages, turning to “More photos inside!”
They were strolling down the street. Nicole’s arm was linked through Henry’s. His hands were in his pockets, but he didn’t seem at all unhappy about how close Nicole was pressing to him. According to “an anonymous source,” wealthy CEO Henry Medina and his ex, tech heiress Nicole Rossi, were back together after nearly a year apart.
Henry was “very happy,” according to the source, and “finally ready to settle down.” “He realized what he wanted,” a close family friend reported. The article went on to say that recent rumors of an affair with a young dancer were blown out of proportion. They didn’t come right out and say Sophie was a call-girl. At least not in this article. But the subtext that Henry was drowning his sorrows over his lost love with fast women was heavy in every word. But oh, the reporter rejoiced, the two lovebirds had finally found their way back to each other. How romantic.
He hadn’t wasted any time when she’d blown him off. A few ignored calls—she’d deleted two messages from him without listening this morning when she woke up—and he was back in Nicole’s arms. In fact, these pictures were probably taken before that. Maybe the messages she’d skipped were brush offs. She’d never know now. That was probably best.
Sophie tossed the paper in the trash and glanced down at her phone. Who was the unknown number? A reporter, looking for a quote from the rebound screw? Nicole, calling to rub her face in the reunion. She dialed her voicemail and listened with a clenched jaw.
It was neither. Instead, Carl’s usually jovial voice informed her that they needed to talk. “I know what you think, Sophie. Or, at least, I know what I’d think if I were you. But at least hear me out.”
She deleted the message, not about to let Carl sweet talk her into... whatever it was he wanted to sweet talk her into. The comedian had a way with words and could be persuasive. Hadn’t he been the one to convince her to give Henry a second chance? Well, she wasn’t about to give him a third.
Speak of the devil. Her phone rang again, and the number that popped up was none other than Henry’s. What could he possibly have to say for himself? Heat burned high in her cheeks. Her hands clenched into fists. She jerked the phone to her ear.
“Save it.”
“Sophie! I’ve been trying to get hold of you since last night. Listen—” There was an edge of panic in his voice. He’d clearly been caught out by the article. Sophie barked a rough laugh.
“I think I’ve listened to you enough, Henry. There’s nothing you could possibly say now.”
He cursed. “It’s not what you think.” If her throat hadn’t closed up, she would have laughed again. Isn’t that what someone who’d been caught doing something wrong said?
“Oh? Nicole isn’t your ex-girlfriend? Or, excuse me, ex-ex-girlfriend.”
“She isn’t. I mean, she was. Damn it. Can we not do this over the phone? Where are you? I went by your apartment but you weren’t there and every time I call the studio, Darren hangs up on me.”
And when I get my hands on that snake, Darren had said, in tones dripping venom. He’d seen the news already. No wonder he was behind her little vacation all of the sudden.
“Don’t go to the studio. Stay away from my apartment. Stay away from me, Henry.” Her voice was thick with anger. But it was better than the tears that were prickling at her eyes. She blinked rapidly to keep them at bay.
“Sophie—”
“I know it was all about the charade and the scandal, but I thought we were at least being honest with each other, Henry. I told you things...” She swallowed audibly. “And then you went and told her?”
“What are you talking about? Told who what?” He sounded genuinely puzzled. But she was babbling a little.
Her thoughts were churning and her mouth couldn’t keep up. “You told Nicole about my accident. About my scars. You might as well have shoved a knife right into my heart. It would hurt less.”
“I don’t know where you’re getting this. I never told Nicole anything about you, Sophie. If one of the papers is saying I did then—”
“How’d she know then?” People on the street were starting to look at her. Sophie knew her voice was getting louder, but couldn’t help it. She tried to reign in the volume a little. “How’d she know what my leg looks like, Henry? I think you know how few people have seen it since the accident.”
“Sophie, I swear. Look, please just come meet me. Or tell me where you are and I’ll come there. We can talk this out.” A car door closed with a thunk. She recalled the buttery leather seats of his Maybach beneath her thighs the morning Henry had taken her to the building site.
Her heart turned itself inside out. “No, Henry. We can’t. There’s nothing more to say. I’m done being the pawn in whatever game it is you’re playing. Just... leave me alone.” She was shaking, the last few words a desperate plea.
“Sophie.” Henry’s voice was soft, low, coaxing. She squeezed her eyes shut, alternating waves of rage and anguish pouring through her.
“You’re killing me, Henry.”
There’s was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, followed by a moment of silence. “Don’t say that Sophie, you don’t know how much those words hurt me.”
“I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is that my life was fine before you came into it and ruined everything!”
When Henry spoke again, his tone was flat and distant. “If that’s how you feel—”
“I want you to leave me the fuck alone. Is that clear enough for you?” Sophie snapped. Her voice was harsh. Her throat ached with anger, and with the sobs she was holding back. She was done with Henry Medina. Done.
“Crystal. Goodbye, Sophie.” He hung up. Her hands were shaking so bad it took her three attempts to shove her phone back into her jeans.
She had no idea how long she stood out in front of Bistro pretending to stare at the menu. She was pretty sure her mother called her name multiple times though, because she looked at Sophie with wrinkled brows and took her arm.
“You ready to have some
lunch?”
Actually, Sophie’s stomach had shriveled to the size of a walnut. Whatever hunger pangs she’d had previously were totally gone. “Um... mom? I was thinking... Maybe...”
Her mom squeezed her arm. “Not in the mood for lunch, huh?” Sophie gave her mother a wan smile. That was one of the good things about home. That was why she came here when she was at her lowest. Her parents always knew what she needed even when she couldn’t say it out loud.
“Not really, no.” Her mom patted her hand and began leading her toward the library and her car.
“That’s alright. We’ll take my car back home and have us a girl’s night in. Maybe watch Pretty Woman or something and pop some popcorn. How’s that sound?”
Sophie thought of her night at Wayne and Darren’s and their discussion about Pretty Woman. The hooker and the billionaire. Her and Henry. Her stomach tightened even more. “Um, maybe not Pretty Woman. But the rest sounds nice.” She covered her mom’s hand with her own and squeezed.
“No,” her mom said, shaking her head. “I guess you wouldn’t want to watch that one. Sorry, honey, I didn’t think.”
They had made it as far as the Bait & Tackle when her mother spoke. Sophie stiffened beside an outdoor display of fly wheels. “What do you mean?”
Her mother sighed. “Oh, Sophie. I saw the news. I know we’re backwoods out here, but we have the internet. And, unfortunately, the tabloids.”
“It’s... I’m not...” Her throat clogged with tears. She blinked away the sting in her eyes. Rennie reached up and touched her cheek.
“Of course you’re not. I never thought it for a single second. Those papers always turn something into nothing.” She tugged Sophie’s arm, getting her walking again. “Not that I wouldn’t love you, even if you were, of course.”
“Mom!” Sophie gasped. Her mother snorted. Sophie bit her lip. “Does... does Dad know?” She’d thought neither of her parents had any idea what was going on in the City. After all, it’s not like they cared who some real estate mogul they’d never met was sleeping with, or what all five boroughs thought of her.
One Last Dance Page 15
