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She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”
Sophie scrambled to her knees and began gathering up the spilled fruit and cheese. She spent way too much time organizing the bits of food as the silence spilled out between them. She pressed the tops of the containers on tight, watching out of the corner of her eye as Henry propped his head in one hand.
“Before I was born, she was an actress, but she gave it up when my father moved them to the States.”
An actress. Not very different from a dancer. A performer, someone whose job required passion. “She must have been very talented.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. “When I was little I thought I was very lucky to have a mother who could act out scenes from the books she read to me. She was better than any movie star.”
“And when you were older?”
“She wasn’t around.”
Sophie finished packing away the wine, fruit, and cheese and crawled across the blanket to kneel beside him. She trailed her fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his handsome face. “What was she like?”
He leaned back on his hands. “She was incredibly compassionate. She’d do anything she could to help someone out.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
A strange smiled played on his lips. “Come here.”
She walked over tentatively and sat down next to him. He drew her into his arms and rocked her down onto her back, his hand cradling the back of her head as he kissed her lips softly. Laying on the floor of an unfinished building hundreds of feet in the air, she had never felt safer.
Chapter Fifteen
Sophie inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh air; she wasn’t sure she could remember a more beautiful day. She’d already heard from Henry that morning, a suggestive text about their next date. They hadn’t seen each other in a few days, but he didn’t miss an opportunity to let her know that he was still thinking about their last dance.
The papers were already buzzing about Henry Medina’s “new romance.” He’d warned her there might still be reporters around, but now that her name was clear she was planning on reopening the studio. She couldn’t afford to be closed much longer, and now they’d be asking her entirely different questions.
But she let that slide off her shoulders for now. The warm sun was shining on her face and the scandal was as good as over. She could sit, enjoy the peace and quiet of Turtle Pond, and reflect on how drastically her life had changed in such a short period of time. A few weeks ago she didn’t even know Henry; all she’d known was her tragic and painful past and her dull and interminable present.
She knew she was exaggerating—her life hadn’t been terrible. She had friends like Darren and Wayne who cared about her, not to mention she was running her own business. Sure, her life was a far cry from a whirlwind of international travel, high octane competitions, and the intensity that was being in love with someone like Christian Navarro, but it was a good life nonetheless.
Although it had been lonely at times. Not just because she didn’t have a lover, someone to share the day-to-day with the way Wayne and Darren did. She’d been single before Christian and had never felt particularly lonely.
But back then she’d still been a dancer. She’d had her company and the hours of practice when she fell into the passionate embrace of the dance, partner or no. She’d lost that feeling when Christian gave up on her and she was forced to leave that world behind. She hadn’t been able to forget the look on his face when she’d fallen, the utter contempt and disgust.
Even when she taught her classes those memories were in the back of her mind, and the pain of them had robbed her of the joy she’d felt for dancing. And then Henry had walked into her studio and took her in his arms and that spark had been reignited. When she was with him she forgot the years of breaking her back for parts she didn’t really want, the competitions where politics held more sway than skill, the pain of her injury, and everything that had come after. She remembered the simple joy she’d always felt in the movement of her body and the rhythm of the music.
Henry had allowed her to feel alive and immersed in something greater than herself, something timeless and beautiful.
It occurred to her that his penthouse was only a few streets away, and although they were due for another public appearance soon she didn’t think he’d mind a surprise visit. She rose from the bench she’d been sitting on and turned toward the South exit of Central Park, her pace quick with anticipation.
The bustling traffic of 59th street seemed loud after the quiet of the pond but she paid it little mind—her heart was beating in her chest. Not just from her clipped stride but also from the prospect of seeing Henry again.
As she made her way east a display of flowers caught her eye; they were arranged in front of a shop along with a colorful and fragrant selection of roses, lilies, zinnias. And poppies. Sophie’s steps slowed. White poppies had been his mother’s favorite flower, he’d said. “A big fan of nature’s beauty, Catalina Flores.”
She approached a man watering a display of herbs and touched his shoulder lightly. “Excuse me, sir. I was wondering if you have any poppies? White ones, specifically.”
He grinned at her. “Absolutely, they’re right over here.” He pointed to a bouquet thick with bright white blooms. She slid the bundle from its basket and brushed her fingers over the soft cup of the petals.
“These are perfect.”
As she paid for the flowers she thought about Henry and how it had felt to dance with him on a dusty wood floor overlooking the Hudson; how it had felt to lay beneath him in that unfinished building, filling the empty space with their laughter.
“Thank you,” she murmured softly to the man as she paid for the
flowers and he handed her the bouquet.
