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“Yeah, I know. But again, it all comes down to being thrust into a limelight I never wanted to stand in, and all the attention created a lot of anxiety. So much so, one night before a performance, I fainted. Collapsed backstage.”
She hated to tell him this part of the story. It was painful, yes. But as she thought of it, she could see how detrimental she’d been to herself.
She said, “They rushed me to the hospital and hooked me up to an IV. I realized I hadn’t eaten much in weeks, and even less over the past few days. When a nurse told me they were feeding me intravenously, I got hysterical. I ripped the IV out of my arm and tried to leave the hospital. They had to restrain me.”
Drake’s fingers smoothed back strands of hair from her face. “Shana. You are so beautiful.”
“You make me feel that way,” she told him without thinking twice about it. “I’ve struggled with this for so long, but last night… Everything changed. I just didn’t know how to let go of all that baggage. I’ve carried it for so long, it became a huge part of who I was. Even leaving music behind and changing my name couldn’t cure me of how out of place I’ve always felt. I purposely Americanized myself when I turned eighteen. I never felt comfortable with European culture and I had no experience with my own heritage. I moved to New York and tried to fit in with the rest of the eclectic group that populates this city.”
“Didn’t work either, though, did it?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No. I just keep denying who I am, and that’s no one’s fault but my own. I thought I could be happy as just another face in the Manhattan crowd and hide behind my computer. But that’s not really living, is it?”
His brow furrowed. “What is it that you want?”
“To salsa dance,” she told him.
He let out an unchecked laugh, clearly taken aback. “I don’t think I understand.”
“I’ve never done it. I don’t speak a word of Spanish. I’ve never been to Mexico. I can’t even recall ever eating a taco, because I was terrified of the calorie count. But mostly… I never got the chance to know my own culture because I was thrust into someone else’s and I believed I had to fit into it. I didn’t want to be different. But the fact is, I am. I’m not French or Swedish or Italian. I’m Hispanic. I should know something about my own culture, don’t you think?”
The way her body had responded to Drake and Jane the previous evening helped to trigger this revelation. She’d always been so self-conscious that she didn’t have slim hips and straight lines that she’d fought to keep them stiff and in place, so they wouldn’t sway too much. But last night… It’d been wonderful to fall into a natural rhythm with Drake that involved undulating and rolling her hips. And this morning, the soreness she’d felt had been because she’d never worked that part of her body in that way.
“The bottom line is,” she continued as he remained perplexed, “I realized this evening that I could bury my head in the sand and assume you didn’t want me or I could come here and force you to admit it. So I’d know for sure. Or hear that, in fact, you do want me. So. Which is it?”
One dark brow lifted. “Force me?”
She nodded. “You can’t lie to me.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“First, I don’t believe it’s in your nature. Second, you felt horrible for hurting me and you wouldn’t do it again. Telling me no, you don’t want me, cuts me loose and you won’t have the chance to ever hurt me again, thereby honoring your vow.”
“I see. And telling you I do want you…?”
She grinned. She couldn’t say where all the bravado came from, but like last night, when all the pieces fell into place, it just felt right. “Then you’ll be grateful I’m helping you unpack.”
His smirk was damn sexy. “Do you realize you make my head spin?”
“Answer the question, please.”
“You already know the answer.” He scooped her up in his arms, effortlessly as usual. Cradling her body close to his, he said, “Change of plan, love. Europe is out. Mexico is in.”
Epilogue
Drake and Shana watched the sun set over the ocean. The shadows of twilight wove through the tall palm trees and crept over the Saltillo-tiled patio. They stood in the shade just inside the opened floor-to-ceiling doors in the spacious living room-kitchen area of the two-story casita Drake had bought Shana on the gorgeous and secluded Maroma Beach in the Riviera Maya.
When the glowing colors of the setting sun dissipated and twilight turned to dusk, Drake took Shana’s empty margarita glass and said, “Time for a refill.”
“That was stunning,” she said on a sigh.
They’d caught every sunset since they’d arrived two weeks ago, after the sale was final. Prior to that, they’d spent nearly a month in Playa Del Carmen, where Shana was finally reunited with her family and was able to get to know her siblings for the first time.
As Drake strolled over to the refrigerator and retrieved the margarita mix to whip up another batch of cocktails on the rocks, Shana salsa’d her way over to the large island where he worked.
He watched her with a grin on his face. “Those hips were made for shaking, love.”
“That’s what Miguel said.”
