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Even if he didn’t come... even if she’d burned that bridge too badly with her harsh indictments and refusal to listen... she would never forget that dance. That feeling had been why she’d fallen in love with dance to begin with, and she vowed never to let it get away from her again.
Whatever else Henry had or hadn’t done, he’d given that back to her. She would be forever grateful. She smiled at her invisible dance partner, picturing Henry’s strong jawed face, so handsome and stern with the daring glimmer in his dark eyes.
A sharp pain seized her heart. It had been more than half an hour since she’d left Carl and Henry at the gallery, and he still wasn’t here. Perhaps her violent rejection of his words on the phone had driven him into Nicole’s arms after all. Maybe he wasn’t willing to take another chance. Could she really blame him?
It had been little more than a day since she’d told him to leave her alone, and then she showed up at one of his fancy functions, danced with him as if he were the only man on Earth, and left. The plan had seemed like a good one in her head.
Words were one thing, but actions were another. She’d wanted to show Henry—and Nicole, too—that she wasn’t just going to go away. She wasn’t just going to react anymore. She’d been doing that for too long. Now, Sophie was acting. She couldn’t control Nicole’s actions, or Henry’s. Only hers.
Still, he couldn’t read her mind. Perhaps he hadn’t understood what she’d been trying to say.
Well, if he wanted to know, he would have come. She’d done what she’d come back to the city to do. That, at least, would be one less regret for her to carry around.
From the bench of the piano, her cell phone rang. She’d been surprised to see the small upright. Darren must have wheeled it out for one of the classes while she was away. Sophie couldn’t play, but he did.
“Hello?” She swiped a trickle of sweat from her neck, surprised by how hard she’d been pushing.
“You’re answering the phone, so things didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.” Darren’s tone was droll. She could hear the curved brow in it.
Sophie sat on the piano bench with a sigh and touched soft fingers to the keys. “Too little, too late, I’m afraid. I don’t know what I expected.” She heard Wayne murmuring in the background but couldn’t catch his words. Darren’s response was soft and sympathetic.
“Did he say anything?”
“I didn’t give him much of a chance. Maybe this was all a terrible idea. I just thought—”
The soft thunk of the door closing cut off Sophie’s words. She looked up from the piano keys and directly into Henry’s shadowed face. He wasn’t smiling. But he was here. He stood in the doorway, his tuxedo coat open, his bow tie loose at his throat, his hands in his pockets. The dark wave of his hair looked black as ink above his broad forehead.
“I have to go, Dar.” She hung up without hearing if he responded and set the phone on top of the piano.
Sophie got slowly to her feet, her gaze intent on Henry’s face. His eyes didn’t waver from her either, though he was too far away for her to read the expression in them.
“I wasn’t sure you would come.” She took a few steps toward him. Henry’s lips twitched slightly. A smile? A grimace? Sophie couldn’t say.
“I wasn’t sure I was coming either, to be honest. Things are... complicated, Sophie.”
A cold finger touched her heart, but Sophie squared her shoulders. “Then why did you? Why are you here, if you’re not sure you want to be?”
Now his lips did curve upward, though this close Sophie could see that the smile didn’t quite touch his eyes. He inclined his head.
“I saw you through the window, and I felt compelled.”
The first time he’d come into her studio, he’d said much the same thing. Sophie’s breath caught
. Hope flared in her chest. Did this mean he was willing to start over? That’s what she wanted, the chance to begin again, without the scandal looming over their heads, forcing their hands. She wanted to get to know Henry, see if what they had was as potent with potential as she’d felt that day before Nicole’s words had torn down all her carefully built sandcastles of hope.
Sophie took the final step to close the distance between them, lifting her hands to his lapels. “Henry —”
“Sophie, wait.” His hands came up to cover hers, gentle and warm. He cleared his throat, a pained expression tightening the skin around his eyes. “I need to say... I need to say I’m sorry.”
“No, you don’t! I know it wasn’t you who told Nicole about my accident. And that stuff in the tabloids... It’s just nonsense. Isn’t it?” She bit her lip. She believed Carl, and yet she wanted to hear it from Henry’s own lips.
His head dipped in a short nod. “Of course it is. Even if I was inclined to get back together with Nicole, which I am not, I would never do it that way. I...” He swallowed audibly, dropping her hands and turned to stalk the length of the classroom. He shoved on hand through his thick hair. “I care about you, Sophie.”
“Henry,” Sophie began, a smile warming her lips. But the flat, taut expression on his face as he lifted his gaze to hers stopped it from spreading.
“Let me finish, Sophie. I,” he cleared his throat. “I care about you too much to keep seeing you. This... thing between us, all it does it bring you pain. I can’t seem to help but hurt people... hurt you. And I can’t keep doing it. It would be best for everyone, I think, if this is the last time we speak.”
His lips were turned down into a rictus, dark eyes flat and bleak. Sophie shook her head. Ice flowed through Sophie’s veins at his words. She’d known, deep down, that there was a possibility she wouldn’t be seeing Henry again after this night. So much had happened between them in such a short time, there was always the chance that whatever they had was beyond salvage.
