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“I know I need to stop. If he’s not willing to risk it, then I need to move on.” She exhaled a short breath at the pain that clutched at her heart.
“I wouldn’t be in quite such a hurry.” Darren’s eyes twinkled as they flicked over her shoulder, and then he drew them both to a halt.
“Darren, what—”
Henry’s fingers brushed her shoulder. She’d know the electricity in that touch anywhere. “May I cut in?”
Darren clapped his hands. “Class, let’s all direct our attention to Sophie and our special guest for the day, Mr. Henry Medina.”
Sophie shot Darren a glare, but he just grinned wider. Henry extended his hand. “I’d hate to disappoint your class,” he said softly out of the corner of his mouth.
His dimple flashed at her and Sophie relented with a sigh, slipping her hand into his. And just like last night at the party, they moved together with a passion and grace that she had never felt before. When Henry lifted her against him, she didn’t tense, and when he tilted her suddenly backwards, she didn’t worry about falling.
Here, he had never let her down.
He spun her out, brought her back. She kicked up her leg and he caught it, bending her back. Once again, the hoots and hollers surrounded them. Henry grinned down at her. Sophie couldn’t stop the smile that curved her lips in reply.
“Will you come with me? Now?” His voice was low as he righted her. Sophie’s heart jumped into her mouth and refused to return to its place in her chest no matter how many times to swallowed.
“Go,” Darren shooed them both with a flick of his fingers. “I can handle the studio today.”
Electric anxiety burned in her belly. “Okay.” It came out as a croak. They were finally going to have the talk, the one that could spell the end of their relationship.
She was glad when Henry tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm and led her out the front door. Pinned between his arm and his body, he wouldn’t be able to tell how badly she was trembling.
***
She’d thought—dreaded—that he would begin talking the minute he got her in the car. But they drove in silence for what felt like an hour. In reality, it was little more than ten minutes.
They didn’t head toward his apartment, which would have given her hope. Instead, he headed to the Upper West Side. There, among the upscale buildings, he pulled up beside a tall, blank metal security fence. Sophie couldn’t see over it to what was on the other side.
“Where are we?”
Henry didn’t answer. He merely got out of the car and went around to open her door. His face was hard and grim, dark eyes flat, mouth a thin line. Sophie’s heart beat hard in her chest.
“Henry?”
He led her to the fence without a word, his hand on the small of her back. Several padlocks secured the gate. Henry bent over them, a ring of keys jingling musically in his hands.
Sophie stared at the back of his neck, the dark hair curling there. Her fingers knotted into a ball. She was anxious and, frankly, a little afraid. She wanted to reach out and touch him, feel the connection that she always felt when they were skin to skin. But his face was so bleak. He would just shrug her off, and she wasn’t sure her poor, pirouetting heart could take that.
When the last padlock was undone, he pushed open the gate and ushered her inside, closing it behind them. Sophie jerked to a halt, frowning at the sight before her.
There was nothing. Just an empty dirty lot. This was a prime location on the Upper West Side. A building here could bring Medina Properties a lot of money. But it was empty, and clearly had been for awhile. There was no sign of impending construction. The dirt was packed down, and grass had grown in uneven patches.
No graffiti or other signs of vandalism or homeless inhabitants littered the lot, surprisingly. Though, she supposed Henry’s company paid for top notch security.
“Why did you bring me here, Henry?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze intent on the empty lot. “This is where I grew up,” he said finally, his voice a harsh whisper.
Sophie stumbled back a step in surprise, her wide eyes scanning the barren plot. She hadn’t expected anything like that to come out of Henry’s mouth. “W-what?”
“When my father moved my mother from Argentina, he brought her here.” He poked at the straggly grass with the toe of his polished Oxford. “It was a very nice building, and a very nice apartment. We lived here until I was six.”
“That’s when your mother died.” It wasn’t a question. Sophie only had to look at the nearly tortured expression on Henry’s face to guess that whatever he was struggling with, it had something to do with the mother he obviously still mourned, all these years later.
He turned, his dark eyes meeting hers, and the anguish there took her breath away. “That’s when my mother committed suicide.”
