One Last Dance (18 page)

Darren was still frowning when
she arrived at his apartment later that evening. He tried to smooth his blond
brows as he opened the door and ushered her inside, but there was still a small
fold just above his nose.

“Hey, Soph! It’s good to see you!
What made you turn right back around? I thought for sure you would stay with
your parents for at least a couple of days.” His smile was wide and full of white
teeth.

Sophie arched a brow at him. “I
think you know what brought me back.”

Darren’s smile grew even wider,
but Wayne, standing just behind Darren, compressed his lips into a thin white
line. Darren ignored his husband and looped an arm around Sophie’s shoulders.

“Of course I do, hun. But I still
think you should have stayed. You don’t need to be dealing with all this
nonsense right now. You need to be resting and enjoying a nice visit with your
folks. That’s the best thing for you.” His big hand squeezed her shoulder.

“I’m fine, Dar, really. The visit
helped, even brief as it was.” She pulled gently away from him and sank into
one of the plush chairs that were scattered around the living area. It was the
first time she’d been at their new place since they’d gotten everything
unpacked.

The place they were renting from
Henry. That was probably why Darren was as twitchy as a ballerina on coke.

“Oh?” Darren practically chirped
as he perched on the edge of the table in front of her. “Tell me all about it.
Did you run into an old flame? High school crush? Was the head cheerleader
fat?” He waggled his brows at her and extended his hand to Wayne. “Wayne,
honey, why don’t you pour us a teeny martini?”

Wayne tipped his head to the
side. “Why don’t you stop treating Sophie like a child with a brain injury?
It’s kind of creepy and I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate it. She knows
something’s up, Dar. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.”

Darren’s sunny expression
immediately melted into a scowl, aimed directly at his husband. “I’m not
treating her like a...” He trailed off, waving his hand, clearly unable to
remember exactly how Wayne had phrased it. “Whatever. I’m not. I’m just trying
to be upbeat!” His eyes narrowed.

“Try and be honest. I’ll go get
us all drinks.” Wayne touched Darren’s cheek briefly and then scooted into the
kitchen, his face grim. Sophie sighed.

“Honest about what, Dar? What
aren’t you telling me?”

He took both her hands in his and
squeezed her fingers. “I don’t want you to panic. I know this is terrible
timing what with the
news
and all.” He pronounced news like it was the
name of a disease she had. Sophie rolled her eyes.

“Spit it out. I can take it.” She
felt like she could take anything. Darren could open his mouth right now and
tell her Christian was back and was slandering her all over town and Sophie
thought she could take it in stride. Her talk with her dad had energized her
determination, and the feeling had only increased during the car ride back to
the city.

Neither of her parents had been
surprised when she’d come downstairs with her bags before dinner and repacked
her car. Her mother had tried to cajole her into staying to eat, but Sophie had
wanted to get back as soon as possible and put her plan into play. She used the
time in the car not only to think and iron out the details of her scheme, but
to make a few calls as well.

“Well, it’s just... there may
have been a few more membership cancellations than I let on.” He grimaced, his
eyes intent on her face.

Sophie blew out a long breath.
She’d suspected as much. Nicole was leaking stories to the tabloids still, so
any progress she and Henry had made by appearing together in public was shaky
at best.

“How many more?”

Wayne returned then, balancing a
carved wooden tray of martinis. Sophie lifted hers free and sipped. Given what
she had planned for tonight, a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt. Darren took
his drink and gulped it.

“Like, fifteen.” His eyes slid
away from her face. Sophie’s stomach fell. Fifteen memberships was a fair chunk
of change. It wouldn’t break them, but it would certainly put a strain on the
month to month running of the studio.

“What else, Dar? Is that it?”
Surprisingly, her fingers felt steady around the thin stem of her glass. She
shifted on the soft cushion of the chair, some of the tension easing out from
between her shoulders. She could do this.

Darren’s lips turned down as he
took another sip of his martini. “Some of our clients—our most loyal
clients—the professionals who bring in all the other professionals... They’re
starting to waver. There have been a lot of calls asking what’s going on. They
all want some reassurances.”

“I don’t see why it’s any of
their business,” Wayne grumbled into his glass. Sophie touched his knee in
thanks.

“It’s their careers, Wayne. I understand
that better than just about anyone.” She turned back to Darren and patted his
knee in turn. “It’s okay. We’ll be back on top... or as close to as my little
studio is ever going to get... in no time at all.”

“Wow.” Darren blinked at her over
the rim of his martini glass. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought
you would. After the whole thing with Henry and his skanky no-longer-ex with
the bad hair...” he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder. Wayne muttered under
his breath, but it was too low for Sophie to hear. It sounded like something
derogatory about Nicole though, which made her smile.

She took another healthy sip of
her martini and let the alcohol bloom warmly in her chest and belly before she
spoke. “Whether she’s his ex or his ex-ex is still up for debate. But it’s
pretty much an established fact that she’s behind the stories in the paper, and
the cancellations too, I would wager. Nicole really has it out for me.”

“That bitch!” Color flared in
Darren’s cheeks and he leapt to his feet, pacing. “I’ll scratch her eyes out!”

It was nice to have such good
friends. Sophie chuckled. “I appreciate the thought, Dar, but I’ve got other
ideas.”

“Your plan?” Darren asked with a
sly grin. Sophie nodded.

“Nicole thinks I’m just a weepy
pushover—”

“The hell you are!” Darren’s
brows snapped down again.

Sophie reached out, grabbed his
elbow, and squeezed. “Thanks, Dar. But she thinks that because I’ve allowed her
to intimidate me and insult me. Not anymore. I’m going to show her the real
Sophie Becker, the Sophie Becker that sambaed to a first place trophy,
in
Brazil
, with a dislocated shoulder.”

Darren punched the air. “Yeah,
Soph!” Wayne snorted. Sophie smiled.

“I know where she’s going to be
tonight. Her, and Henry.” And more than likely Jorge too, though that didn’t
really matter. The elderly man was surely egging the icy blonde on, but he
could do little to Sophie himself. “And after tonight, we’ll see what’s what.”

A slow heat burned through her
veins. Excitement, apprehension. She was going to see Henry again. The thought
tingled in her brain. Sophie shivered. She was going to see Henry and she was
going to show Nicole that she was no sad sack, easily pushed aside. And then?

Well, and then they’d go from
there. It all depended on Henry’s reaction. She knew how her words to him
during their last conversation couldn’t just be brushed aside. She’d been hurt,
and trying to hurt him too. If he did care, if he hadn’t just been playing her,
than Sophie had a lot of ground to make up.

“What exactly are you planning to
do, Sophie?” Wayne had relaxed back against the cream-colored sofa, but his
eyes were troubled, wary. For a moment, she wasn’t sure why. And then she
realized he was worried for her. It was sweet. She had never thought of herself
as being as close to Wayne as she was to Darren. She’d known Darren longer, for
one. And the dark-haired accountant kept his feelings to himself a lot. She’d
always known he liked her, but hadn’t realized, until now, that he actually
cared as deeply for her as Darren did.

“I’m just going to a party.
That’s all.” She winked at him.

Wayne frowned. Darren’s eyes went
wide and his mouth opened, but before he could utter a word, there was a short
rap at the door. Sophie popped to her feet and set aside her empty martini
glass. When had she finished it? She didn’t know, but it was a warm glow in her
belly now.

“That will be my third
musketeer.” She practically skipped to the apartment door and pulled it open.

Carl stood on the other side,
tall and lean and grinning wider than the Cheshire cat.

“My lady.” He sketched her a
quick bow. “Do you know who owns this building?” He cocked a brow at her as he
straightened.

“I do.” She tugged him inside.
“Darren, Wayne, this is Carl. Carl, Darren and Wayne.” Sophie pushed the door
shut and stared up into Carl’s grinning face. “Did you bring it?”

The comedian winked and lifted
the garment bag he held at his side. “You’d better believe it.”

Sophie clapped her hands.
“Great!” She turned her dazzling smile on the other two men in the room, who
both looked slightly stunned. “Well, don’t just stand there! We’ve got work to
do!”

The gallery was dripping with
softly glittering lights, purposefully arranged to highlight the works of art.
Both the stuff on the walls, and what people wore. Not to mention the glint at
throats, wrists and fingers. All the glitterati were here tonight, to see and
be seen, and had dressed their plumage to best advantage.

Sophie didn’t feel a bit out of
place on Carl’s arm as they glided into the front room. Her dress was every bit
as fabulous as any of the other women’s. Perhaps more so. Carl had outdone
himself. Sophie didn’t even want to know how much it cost. It was merely a
loaner, anyway.

It was a Monique Lhuillier in
shocking red with a demure illusion neckline and a deep V in the back. But the
hem was going to draw the most attention, Sophie knew. That was the point. In
back, the tulle brushed her heels, but in front it barely brushed the tops of
her knees, and the heavier pleating of the embroidered overskirt didn’t even
reach mid-thigh.

The dress showed off the entire
length of her legs all the way down to the strappy black heels and her cherry
painted toenails. The pale pitting and thick twist of her scar was visible for
everyone to see for the very first time since her surgeries, and Sophie didn’t
care.

Okay, she cared a
little
.
But it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as she’d always feared. She held her head
high, her hair in soft, dark waves around her shoulders, with only the front
held back simply by a couple of jeweled pins. Her heart thumped against her
ribcage and her hand shook a bit where she clutched Carl’s elbow, but there was
more excitement in it than shame or fear.

“You ready for this, Ms. Becker?”
He smiled down at her, eyes glittering with amusement. She squeezed his bicep a
little. On the ride over in his limo, Carl had kept up a steady stream of
hilarious banter, not giving her the time to worry about how tonight was going
to go.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Mr.
Barrett.”

“We’re already drawing some
attention. It must be you. No one ever notices when I arrive.” He winked,
patting her hand.

Sophie chuckled. “I find that
hard to believe. And it’s the dress, I’m sure. You have impeccable taste.
Remind me to call you the next time I plan to walk a red carpet.”

Carl snatched two champagne
glasses from a passing waiter and handed her one. “Is that something you’re
planning on doing a lot of?” He drew her further into the crowd. Sophie did her
best to ignore the murmurs of people around them. She heard the whispered hiss
of her name several times and knew what speculation was going on. They probably
thought that now that Henry had gone back to his real girlfriend, the cast-off
harlot had moved on to his best friend. She straightened her shoulders and toasted
Carl.

“I don’t know, maybe. If it
doesn’t work out tonight, maybe I can convince you to take a chance on another
dancer.” She only said it because she knew for a fact Carl wouldn’t take her
seriously.

He didn’t, he threw back his head
and laughed the raucous, braying laugh she’d become used to in the short time
she’d known him. Sophie’s mouth curved in an answering smile.

“You just might be able to, if
anyone could.” He clinked his glass against hers. “But I think it won’t be
necessary. There’s no way anyone could resist you in that dress.”

Sophie caught the wink of light
on metal and glanced to her left, not entirely surprised to find the scowling
visage of Jorge Medina. He sat straight in his wheelchair near a steel
sculpture of half a man carrying a javelin. His white hair was loose around his
shoulders too, his wide mouth a thin white line as he stared daggers at her.

“I think I’ve found the exception
to that rule.” She tilted her head in Jorge’s direction. Carl’s gaze followed
the movement and his own lips thinned.

“Well, they say it’s the
exception that proves the rule, don’t they?”

Sophie snorted. “Come on. I’m not
going to run scared from a grumpy, bitter old man.” Carl strolled in Jorge’s
direction, spine stiff. Sophie knew he didn’t like Henry’s father any more than
she did, but Carl was part of Henry’s life, and so was Jorge, so they had to
deal with each other.

“Jorge.” Carl wasn’t about to
concede power by addressing the elder man as ‘Mr. Medina’. She saw the flare in
his dark eyes and knew he’d noted the slight.

“Barrett, isn’t it?” Jorge
barked, as if Carl hadn’t been Henry’s best friend for the last decade. He cut
his black gaze to Sophie. “I see you brought the whore. Picking up my son’s
cast-offs now?” He chortled.

Beside her, Carl jerked at the
insult, nostrils flaring. Sophie squeezed his arm again. He blinked and shook
himself, his easy smile sliding back into place. “Technically speaking, Henry
didn’t do any casting off at all, actually. But Sophie is here only as my
friend
tonight.” The hand that wasn’t wrapped around his wineglass clenched into a
fist.

If Jorge saw it, it didn’t faze
him. In fact, it was probably responsible for the upward tick of his lips. A
muscle in Carl’s jaw jumped. Sophie handed him her half full glass of champagne.
“Would you mind going to get me a glass of Riesling? Champagne always gives me
such a headache.”

Carl studied her face for a
moment, obviously unsure if he should leave her with Jorge, but Sophie shook
her head the tiniest bit. He gave a curt nod and excused himself.

Sophie turned back to Jorge as if
they’d been having a pleasant conversation. “You were saying?”

“Henry’s here tonight with the
right woman. Finally. No more trash.” His eyes flicked down Sophie’s dress
contemptuously.

“Henry’s here tonight with you,
Jorge. We both know
you’re
the one who brought Nicole along.”

Color flared in his wan, wrinkled
cheeks. “Listen, you little harlot –”

“What I don’t understand,” Sophie
continued, smiling as if Jorge hadn’t begun to spit venomous words at her, “is
why you don’t just marry Nicole, if she’s such quality stock? Why foist her on
Henry, who is
so
clearly unwilling?”

She’d seen them as Carl strode
away into the crowd, but forced herself to keep her attention on Jorge. She let
herself look now, though. Nicole’s arms were wrapped around Henry’s neck as if
she were drowning, her slender body pressed to his as they moved through the
steps of the dance. It was a rumba, a little spicy but not too fast. With
Nicole’s arms around his neck instead of in proper position, Henry was forced
to rest his hands lightly on her hips.

Sophie couldn’t miss the slight
grimace twitching the corners of Henry’s mouth as Nicole moved slightly out of
rhythm with the count, the sway of her hips vastly exaggerated. Nicole wasn’t a
terrible dancer. She had a nice, fluid movement to her steps, but her rhythm
was off and her stance sloppy. As they watched, Nicole kicked her leg up in an
embellishment that was completely out of place with the music. Henry almost
visibly flinched.

His form, of course, was perfect
and elegant and sexy as hell. Sophie swallowed and turned her attention back to
Jorge’s glower. “Well?”

“I considered it.” Jorge fiddled
with his oxygen mask and took a long pull, as if the thought of Nicole’s ass
required fortification. “But it was the difference between having a hot young
wife spreading her thighs for me for a few years, or securing my legacy long
after I’m dead. And no pussy is better than immortality, Miss Becker. Not even
yours.”

He meant to shock her with his
words, but it didn’t work. She was more amazed that he sounded as if he was
proud of his decision. As if giving up the chance to have sex with a woman who
only wanted him for his money and passing her off to his son was a
noble
gesture.

Sophie’s eyes slid back to Henry.
This was the man who had raised him. She marveled that there was any decency in
him at all that Jorge hadn’t ground down. And there was. Whatever mistakes he’d
made, and he had made some, even if they weren’t all the ones that she’d thought
him guilty of, he was a decent man. Sophie smiled.

“Enjoy your immortality, Mr.
Medina.”

He sputtered as she walked away
from him, but she knew he wouldn’t call after her. Jorge Medina was too
concerned with appearances to create a scene.

Unfortunately, her retreat was
blocked after only a few steps by Carl, returning with her wine in hand and a
bevy of tuxedo-wearing gentlemen at his back. He handed her the glass of
Riesling and swept a hand at the men with a wink in her direction.

“Sophie, this is James Gannt.
He’s the CEO of Gryphon Worldwide. That fellow in the bow tie there is
Armbruster McCullough, but everyone just calls him Army. And these chaps are
Michael and Phillip White. They’re all with Pan-Global Homes. Fellas, this
vision of loveliness is my friend, Miss Sophie Becker.”

Sophie blinked, shaking each
man’s hand in turn. James Gannt kissed her knuckles. “Ah yes, I remember, you
were with Henry at The Garden last week.”

“A pleasure to meet you all. Are
you friends of Carl’s as well?”

Carl chuckled. “Hard not to get
to know each other with Henry dragging me to all his real estate functions over
the years. These guys really know how to party at least, for developers.”

These men were real estate
developers. Like Jorge. Like Henry.

“Have to find some way to liven
up some of those conferences, eh, Barrett? Deadly dull.” Phillip set his empty
glass on a passing black clad waiter’s tray and smiled again. “Would you like
to dance, Miss Becker?”

She blinked in surprise at his
sudden shift of topic. Her eyes flitted to the dance floor, where Nicole still
draped over Henry like a scarf. A scarf with bad rhythm. Then her gaze slid to
Carl, unsure. This hadn’t been part of her plan.

He gave her a little nod of
encouragement and reached for her wineglass. “Go on,” he murmured under his
breath. “Let him see
you
in someone else’s arms.” He winked.

“I thought you were his friend,”
she whispered back with a little smile. Carl pressed her gently toward Phillip.

“I am. Which is why I’m doing
this.”

Sophie turned to Phillip and
extended her hand to his. “I’d love to.”

He drew her out onto the dance
floor with a sure step, but Sophie still began cautiously, feeling him out. She
almost sighed in relief as he moved with grace and precision. He wasn’t
competition good, but he was very good.

Phillip rested his right hand
politely on her shoulder blade as they moved to the music. She flicked a
microscopic look at Henry from the corner of her eye. He’d definitely noticed
her. His dark brows were angled down toward his nose. Nicole’s eyes were
narrowed to razor slits. Sophie turned her attention back to Army and smiled.
He chuckled.

“Henry doesn’t look very pleased
to see you dancing with me.”

Another flush stole into her
cheeks. “He might not be pleased to see me, period. We had a bit of a
disagreement yesterday.”

“Ahh.” It was just the one word,
and yet, from it Sophie got the impression that Phillip White understood her
situation. Or at least the basics of it. The twinkle in his eyes was
understanding now. “And you came tonight to try and smooth things over?”

“No. Yes. Or... well, not
exactly.” She’d come here to prove something to herself. And to Nicole. And to
give herself and Henry the chance to possibly fix things.

Phillip executed a rather
dramatic turn, spinning her with him, making her skirt flare around her thighs.
“I see. Taking a risk, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

“He’s watching us pretty
intently.” Phillip swept her around again so she could see for herself.

Sure enough, Henry was watching
them, brow furrowed. Sophie saw his gaze drift to Carl, obviously guessing who
she’d come with. Carl toasted his friend. Henry’s scowl deepened. The music
ended with a sweet flourish. Nicole tugged on his arm, trying to draw him off
the dance floor, back to Jorge’s side.

Phillip released his hold on her,
stepping back. “It was a pleasure, Miss Becker. Best of luck with Henry.”

“Thank you, Phillip.” She touched
his wrist gently in thanks. He was a nice guy. He gave her that cheeky grin
again.

Sophie forced herself not to
hurry to Henry’s side. Instead, she strode purposefully toward the orchestra as
they shifted between songs. A word in the ear of the band leader and he nodded
with a smile.

Now it was time to face Henry.
Her heart performed an extended batterie as she moved across the floor to him.
Despite Nicole’s tugging and hissed words—Sophie could see the other woman
speaking with clenched teeth, though she couldn’t hear what she was
saying—Henry was still standing on the dance floor, watching Sophie approach
him.

“Henry.” Sophie’s stomach joined
the internal dance recital with a rapid flip, but she deserved straight tens
for how calm her voice was. It didn’t even shake, though it was slightly
breathy with her nerves.

“Sophie.” The word held so many
different shades of emotion that she couldn’t identify any of them. Was he
happy to see her? Angry? Sad? His eyes were dark and unreadable. But his lips
curved upward the tiniest bit. That made Sophie’s mouth respond in kind.

Very deliberately, Sophie extend
her hand, palm up. “Dance with me.” Her words echoed his, that first day he’d
walked into her studio and told her he’d been compelled to ask her to dance.
Would he remember?

“We were just...” Nicole began,
eyes spitting sparks, but her venomous voice trailed off as Henry slipped his
big hand into Sophie’s.

The timing couldn’t have been any
more perfect. The first notes of the music swelled as she stepped backward,
drawing Henry toward her. The rhythm was slow, but she recognized the song. It
wouldn’t stay that way long. She bit her lip to keep from gasping as his arm
slid around her waist.