Ethan knew what she was telling him. The drum beat louder in his ears. Yet he couldn’t. Mustn’t. Wouldn’t.
“I know that you’re torn inside...” Louise continued.
For all her health problems, when Louise Benton was clearheaded she was a shrewd and intelligent woman.
“It’s what I feared for you. That after so much loss you wouldn’t be able to love. When your mother went—”
“You were the only mother I ever had,” Ethan interrupted, taking her hand again. “Everything I have achieved is because of you.”
Louise’s eyes welled. “I must have done something right. You’re a rare man to go through all this trouble to get me to retire. When I said I wanted you to be married and settled before you took over, I never imagined you’d concoct such an elaborate scheme just because I’ve been too hardheaded to see that my time has come. And I had no idea I’d raised such a skilled imposter!”
She snickered, forcing a crack through Ethan’s tight lips.
“We Bentons do what we have to, do we not?” he joked in a hushed voice.
“My guess is that your playacting became real and you’ve fallen in love with Holly. Am I right, Ethan?”
He wanted to cover his ears, like a young child who didn’t want to hear what was being said. Love her? Those drumbeats inside him sped up like a jungle warrior charging toward his most threatening battle.
Yes, he loved Holly. He loved her completely—like nothing he’d ever loved before. He wanted to give her everything she’d never had. Wanted to have children with her. Wanted to spend every minute of his life with her. Wanted to hold her forever as both his wife and his best friend.
That invisible opponent marched toward him and pushed him back behind the battle lines.
He lashed out without thinking. “Holly deceived me about her past. She lied to me. Look at what she came from.”
“Oh, hogwash!” Louise dismissed. “How about what you came from? What I came from? Your father and Uncle Mel were brought up on the tough streets of South Boston without a dime or a university degree between them. I was a poor Southie girl whose father skinned fish for a living. It’s not shame about Holly’s past that you’re concerned with. The time has come for you to let go of shame about your own.”
Of course he wore shame—like a suit of armor. Who wouldn’t be ashamed that his own mother didn’t want him?
He studied his aunt’s face. Hard-earned wrinkles told the story of a life embraced. Could he let go of his pain and open up to the fullness the world had to offer?
Could he gamble again on trust?
Gamble on Holly?
On himself?
In an instant he knew that if he didn’t now, he never would.
He sprang to his feet. Leaned down to Louise and kissed both her cheeks. Moved to the office desk in the well-appointed suite. Wrote a quick note and then sent it through the fax machine.
“Wish me luck,” he said as he flew out the door, too impatient to wait for a response.
In his hotel room, he shaved and showered. Called Leonard to bring the car around. He placed a second call to George Alvarez, manager of the Miami office.
“What are your thoughts about the site supervisor position?” Ethan asked him.
Liz Washington, the previous supervisor, had transferred to the Houston office.
“I’ve had a young guy apprenticing with Liz for a couple of years now. Done a terrific job,” George pitched. “He’s ready for the step up. Name of Vince Motta.”
“Yes, Vince Motta,” Ethan approved with relief.
He valued George, and wouldn’t want to go against his expertise. But he knew that if he was able to help Vince it would mean a lot to Holly. That was the kind of sister she was. The kind of woman she was.
The kind of woman he was going to make his.
He raced down the hotel corridor to the elevators, and then out through the front entrance of the hotel. Because once Ethan Benton had made up his mind about something, it couldn’t happen fast enough.
“To the apartment,” he instructed Leonard as he got into the car.
After Holly had vanished from the gala last night Ethan had checked the hotel suites. She had been nowhere to be found. Even though there had been no answer on her cell phone, or at the apartment, that was where he figured she’d gone. A midnight phone call to the building’s doorman had confirmed that Holly had indeed arrived by taxi.
Yes, he had called the doorman to investigate her whereabouts! How could she blame him for an action like that? He oversaw a corporation with thousands of employees all over the world. He couldn’t possibly command that without being on top of all available knowledge. Information was power. Artistic Holly Motta might not understand that, but he relied on it. She’d have to get used to the way he thought.
Just as he’d have to get used to her freewheeling ways. How she slammed doors closed with one foot. Ordered pizza with everything but the kitchen sink on it. Said whatever came into her mind. Needed to devote hours of scrubbing to getting her hands clean of paint. Ethan thought he wouldn’t mind spending a lifetime looking at and holding those graceful fingers that brought art and beauty into the world. Seeing the ring on her finger that proclaimed her lo—
“Leonard! I need to make a stop first. Take me to Fifth and Fifty-Seventh.”
* * *
Holly winced when she heard the key in the door. If only she’d stuck to her original plan and left at the crack of dawn after her sleepless night. She’d known that Ethan would make his way back here to the apartment. It would have been easier to slink away than to say goodbye in person. What was it that had kept her from going?
Her heart dropped in freefall to the floor as he strode through the door. She wanted to run to him. To put her arms around him. To kiss him until all the problems of the world faded away and there was just the two of them.
“Why did you leave last night?”
His eyes looked weary. His cheeks were flushed.
That one perfect curl of hair that always fell forward on his forehead was dotted with snowflakes. So was his coat.
Holly shifted her gaze out the window to see that it had started to snow. The whole week she’d been in New York it had rained and been cold and dreary. But it hadn’t snowed.
She’d fantasized about walking the city streets during a snowfall. Seeing the soft powder billowing down as she crossed busy intersections and marveled at architectural landmarks that stood proudly dusted with white.
Instead she’d be returning to the sunny Florida winter. Snow—ha! That was what fantasy was. By definition not real.
“Answer my question,” he insisted.
Holly’s voice came out hoarse. “I’m truly embarrassed by my behavior. I know it was completely unprofessional.”
She cut her eyes toward the floor.
“Look at me. How about the fact that I was worried about you?”
“What do you care? Let’s be honest.”
He stepped in and took her chin in his hand, lifting her face to meet his. “Certainly you leaving the gala without a word was not good business...” he began.
“I’m so sorry.”
“But this is not business anymore, and if you want to be honest you know that.”
“Know what?”
He moved his hand to caress her cheek tenderly, sending warmth across her skin.
“I love you, Holly. I love you. And I suspect you love me, too.”
Tears pooled somewhere far behind her eyes. She fought them before saying what she needed to. “Now that you know the truth about me from your investigation, you’ve found out that I’m not who you want. I’m not a match for you. I’m damaged goods.”
“You think you are the only one?”
“What do you mean?�
��
He let the hand that was touching her face fall to his side. His mouth set in a straight line.
“After my father died...” he started, but then let the words dangle in the air for a minute.
Holly anxiously awaited what he was so hesitant to say.
“Within a few months of my father dying, my mother—who was not much of a mother to begin with—met a man. And together they came up with an idea.”
Bare pain burned in Ethan’s eyes. Holly knew he was going to tell her something he had to dig out from the rock bottom of his core, where he kept it submerged.
“My mother told Uncle Mel and Aunt Louise that she and this man were going to take me away. That they would never see or hear from me again unless...”
He swallowed hard, his breath rasping and broken.
He regained his voice, “Unless they wanted to keep me instead. Which she would allow them to do in exchange for five hundred thousand dollars. In cash. She specified cash.”
Agony poured from every cell in Holly’s body. Grief for the little boy Ethan. And for herself. For her brother, Vince. For all the children unlucky enough to be born to parents who didn’t give them the devotion they deserved.
“So, you see, my mother sold me to my aunt and uncle. I believe that means that you are not the only package of damaged goods around here.”
The spoken words swirled around the room.
Again Holly wanted to hug the man she loved.
And again she didn’t.
It was time for her to go.
He thought he loved her. He’d fallen for the drama they were starring in.
She’d have to have the cooler head. If she let him believe he loved her, one day he’d wake up and realize that he didn’t want something this raw. That instead he could stuff his hurt right back down and act in a different play, with another kind of woman. With someone who’d never have to know about the betrayed and discarded child. About the gashes that still bled, the sores that would never heal. In his next pantomime he could be with a woman who knew only the functional and successful adult he’d managed to become.
She averted her eyes to the diamond ring on the table. To the beer wrapper ring beside it. She bent down for them and handed both to Ethan.
“I am glad you’ve returned these rings,” he said. “They do not belong on your finger.”
His words confirmed what she already knew. That it was time to leave.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small turquoise box. Holly’s breath quickened.
He knelt down on one knee and held it out to her in the palm of his hand.
“Because an ordinary diamond ring does not fit the uniqueness of you. Like this, you are one of a kind.”
He opened the box. Inside was the blue topaz ring she had admired from the private gemstone collection they’d seen that day they had gone shopping.
Uncontainable tears rolled down Holly’s cheeks.
“I love you, Holly. I have loved you since you bounced through the door with that ridiculous blue paint on your face. I have never met anyone like you. Pretending to be engaged to you has shown me something I never thought I could see.”
“What?” Holly asked, her spirits soaring.
“That our pain does not have to define us. That a past and a future can coexist. That there is beauty to be had every day. I want to share those miracles with you. To walk through life together. Please. Please. Will you marry me? This time the ring will never leave your finger.”
She had to take the chance if he was willing to. To trust their authentic selves—scars and all. Together.
“I will.” She nodded as he fitted the ring onto her finger.
Ethan stood. Holly reached her arms up around his neck and drew him into a kiss that couldn’t wait a second longer.
Many minutes later he whispered, “Did you check the fax machine?”
“No.” She’d heard the sounds and beeps of the machine before he arrived, but she hadn’t looked to see what had come. She’d had quite enough of faxes already.
“Go,” he prodded.
The piece of paper contained a two-word question.
Will you?
Had she read it earlier, she’d have known he was coming to propose.
She flirted with her fiancé. “Will I...?”
The smile kicked at the corner of his mouth. “Will you teach me how to draw?”
“It’s a deal.” Her grin joined his.
They pressed their lips to each other’s in an ironclad merger, valid for eternity.
* * * * *
If you loved Andrea’s debut book and want to
indulge in more feel-good billionaire
romances, then make sure you try
THE BILLIONAIRE’S CLUB trilogy
by Rebecca Winters
RETURN OF HER ITALIAN DUKE
BOUND TO HER GREEK BILLIONAIRE
Available now!
The last book in the trilogy,
WHISKED AWAY BY HER SICILIAN BOSS,
is out next month!
Keep reading for an excerpt from A PROPOSAL FROM THE CROWN PRINCE by Jessica Gilmore.
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A Proposal from the Crown Prince
by Jessica Gilmore
CHAPTER ONE
POSY’S CHEEKS ACHED but her smile didn’t waver, nor did she flinch as a bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, another trickling slowly down her back. Her muscles screamed for release but she kept perfectly still, one leg bent, an arm outstretched, head high, eyes fixed on the cheering crowd. They were on their feet, shouts of ‘bravo!’ reverberating around the auditorium as bouquet after ravishing bouquet were carried onto the stage to be laid reverentially at her fellow dancer’s feet.
What must it feel like to be Daria, Posy wondered as Daria kissed her hand to the ecstatic audience, to know that all this rapture was for you? How did it feel to star in a brand-new ballet, choreographed just for you, and to have London at your feet? She and Daria had started ballet school together years before, had once stood side by side, the only two girls from their year to make it into the Company—but now Daria shone right in centre stage while Posy remained firmly in the heart of the Corps de Ballet.
But there was still hope, the promotions were yet to be announced. Maybe this yea
r she would finally make Artist and be given some of the smaller featured roles—and then First Artist to Soloist and on and on until she reached the exalted rank of Principal. Maybe...
But at twenty-four, five years after she’d graduated into the Company, it was getting harder and harder to keep hoping. Of course, she reminded herself as another bead of sweat trickled down her cheek, thousands of people would kill for the opportunity to be doing exactly what she was doing, would consider being able to dance in nearly every production of the most prestigious ballet company in the world enough in itself. But it wasn’t enough; she wanted more.
Posy stayed backstage longer than usual after the curtain finally fell, standing quietly to one side of the cavernous room as the rest of the dancers exited chattering excitedly and the stagehands began to move the scenery back into its designated space. There was always an extra buzz after a Saturday night’s performance, adrenaline mixing with the sweet knowledge there was no class on a Sunday so the dancers could flock to their favourite Covent Garden haunts, filling the tables vacated by the tourists as night drew in. But Posy couldn’t shake her flatness and so she waited until the backstage area had cleared before making her way out. When she finally reached the dressing room she shared with several other girls it was empty apart from the usual bottles of make-up and brushes scattered on the dressing tables, discarded tights and pointe shoes piled in the corner and costumes hanging on rails, waiting for the costume department to collect, clean and mend them before the next performance.
Posy sank into her chair with a sigh, avoiding her own gaze in the brightly lit mirror. She didn’t want to see the sweat-streaked stage make-up accenting her eyes, cheekbones and lips, the dark hair twisted into the bun she had worn every day for years, slim but muscled shoulders and arms, the clavicles at her neck clearly visible. Her make-up itched, felt too heavy, claggy on her skin, her shoulders ached and her ankles twinged. As for her feet, well, she knew all too well that it was her job to smile and look effortless while en pointe, that it took as much practice to smile through the pain as it did to perfect a pirouette, but tonight her shoes pinched more than usual, the ribbons too tight around her ankles. It took a few moments to undo the knots and slip them off, pulling off her toepads to reveal the bruised and blistered feet of a professional ballet dancer. She winced as she flexed her feet. Every twinge was worth it. Usually...
Her New York Billionaire Page 17
