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Sunday
The wedding day
12:02 a.m.
Once Sonia got Brendan to his hotel room, he became subdued.
“I don’t feel good,” he mumbled, sinking to the floor.
“I know.” She handed him a glass of water, but he staggered to the bathroom. Sonia winced when she heard him retching.
Joining him, she soaked a washcloth in cool water and pressed it to his forehead. He turned away, resting his head against the side of the tub. Long minutes passed until he spoke.
“I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Sonia stared at him. Then she eased off his stained shirt, baring his shoulders, and dropped it on the floor.
Brendan had a beautiful back. Whatever his fears about getting soft, he was perfect as he was. She traced the planes of his muscles, the wings of his shoulder blades, the groove of his spine. When she dropped a light kiss between his shoulders, he shivered.
She pulled back. “You don’t have any tattoos.”
Brendan shook his head. “Ian and I never wanted our bodies to look different. So no ink. No piercings.” Turning with an effort, he smiled weakly. “I like yours, though.”
“You should drink.” Sonia offered him the glass of water. He took a sip.
“Why is there a hummingbird on your thigh?”
Sonia shrugged, but her fingers drifted to the tattoo. “It’s supposed to symbolize freedom. Lightness. Not getting too attached.”
“Oh.” Brendan slumped over the bathtub again, managing another sip of water. “How come you don’t drink?”
“Because I grew up with a couple of drunks.”
Brendan’s back stiffened. “Who?”
Sonia sighed. “My parents. They’re very charming people. Successful, high functioning. But unreliable.”
Brendan seemed to wake up a little, his head rising.
“I’m listening,” he said softly.
“We don’t need to go into it.”
“I want to hear whatever you’ll tell me.”
Sonia stroked Brendan’s shoulders. He sucked in a breath, leaning back into her hands. Something about the trust in that gesture allowed her to keep talking.
“Spending the summers with Grandma Adrienne — she’s my dad’s mom — was heaven. I wanted to live with her during the year, but it wasn’t possible. So I learned to rely on myself, because that worked a hell of a lot better than relying on them. I love my parents, but I can’t depend on them for much.”
Sonia looked down at the floor, counting the white tiles. Brendan was quiet. He didn’t ask, or push for details. He simply waited.
“I told you that they’d throw these big parties when I was a kid. They always started out well. My parents, sparkling like diamonds, charming the pants off everyone. Probably literally. Eventually, they’d call me out of my room. ‘Sonia, dance for us! Look at our daughter, the genius dancer.’”
“Ugh,” Brendan muttered.
“Exactly. I hated those parties. Being ignored except when I was on display. Only getting love when I danced. All those drunk adults staring at me.” Sonia shrugged. “Honestly, that’s the main reason I started the dance company. I want to dance on my terms. No one else’s.”
Brendan swiveled his head toward her. The movement seemed to cost him, but his hazel eyes were more focused. He ran his palm gently along her calf, stretched out beside him.
