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“Was Henry good in the play?” Why had she asked that? She didn’t care about Henry Medina or anything he did. Past or present.
Carl gave her a pointed look. “He didn’t do it. He dropped out the minute Mirielle asked me out. He’d only been going to practice to talk to her about me.”
Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, trying to relieve the pressure that had built in her head as Carl was talking. “So, what? He did you a solid by talking to your dancer paramour and you thought you’d return the favor? Is that it?”
“I’m trying to tell you that Henry is a decent guy,” he said, taking a serious tone for the first time.
She inhaled a slow breath through her nose. Carl Barrett’s touching story did nothing to negate what Henry had done to her. “Your decent guy slept with me and then handed me an envelope full of cash!” Hot blood throbbed in her cheeks.
“Henry told me what happened. He said he was paying you for dance lessons, not sexual favors.”
“They only reason he’s even bothering to apologize is because of that picture in the paper.” Sophie wanted to pace, or stretch, or dance. Something. Her muscles ached for movement.
Carl frowned at her. “He said he called you multiple times the next day and you didn’t answer.”
“He did not! I didn’t go anywhere all day.” She narrowed her eyes. Now Henry was lying to his friends to make himself sound better? How despicable.
“This phone?” Carl pointed at the one sitting on the front desk.
Sophie scowled, her forehead tightening with the force of the expression. “What? No. I was home.”
“He said he called you here. Does he have your home number?”
Her mouth fell open. Henry had called her to apologize? Before the scandal? Well, so Carl said. The phone in the studio didn’t have an answering machine, so she couldn’t verify it but clearly Carl would do anything for his friend. She snapped her mouth shut. “No. But we’re closed on Sundays. Henry knew that.”
“He called the only number he had for you, Sophie. Look, does Henry have baggage? Of course he does. Everyone does. Can you honestly tell me your past doesn’t occasionally inform your present?”
Her past, particularly the injury and the end of her relationship with Christian, had a lot to do with the way she reacted to things. She knew that. Was she being unfair to Henry? Carl seemed to think so.
“Henry knew what my baggage was before we were involved. I told him. He didn’t do me the same courtesy.” That was true. He’d hid from her. But hadn’t she known that? And she’d slept with him anyway. She really did only have herself to blame.
“Look, I came here—on my own, I might add—to ask you to give him a chance to fix this.”
Sophie slumped against the wall. Just the thought of making herself vulnerable to Henry again made her heart sink. “He’s just worried about his business,” she shot back. But it was a last ditch refusal.
“Sophie, I haven’t seen him like this since—since—well to be honest I’ve never seen him like this before. He hasn’t slept, he can’t eat, and forget about work. Why did you think I came here to ask a you to give him a chance? And no offense, but this scandal will hardly bring Henry down. He’s not worried about his business. It’s a nuisance, that’s all. But it’ll ruin you.”
Did Henry really care that much about her that he was that broken up about the scandal? It wasn’t just an act for her? Which was a bigger danger to her? Losing her business or spending a few uncomfortable hours with Henry?
Carl was right. She did have much more to lose than Henry and she didn’t have any better ideas, even after a night of watching rom-coms with Darren and Wayne. If she risked her last stake in the dance world just to prove a point she would never forgive herself.
“Fine, I’ll participate in Henry’s charade. But that’s all it will be.”
Carl clapped his hands. “That’s all he’s asking for.”
Sophie toed the makeshift tap shoes she’d been working on earlier. She never thought she’d be paying such a high price for just one dance.
***
Sophie stared into her closet and plucked at her lower lip. She’d pushed all the t-shirts and blouses aside, uncovering the second row of clothes. Her dresses. There was an entire rod full of bright hued creations in satin and silk adorned with ruffles, sequins and plunging necklines. Every single one of
them held a memory. A competition, a dance, a time when Christian was holding her in his arms. She fingered the dresses, determined not to think about any of those memories now. She had bigger things to worry about.
“Henry’s got a black tie event tonight. You guys can use it as your ‘coming out’,” Carl had said. And now here she was, standing in front of a closet full of dresses that she hadn’t worn in years.
She heard the apartment door shut and quick footsteps crossing to her bedroom door. “Stop worrying, I’m here!” Darren called out as he pushed into the room.
“I can’t wear any of this,” she said despondently as she eyed Darren.
