Chapter Thirteen
Dalton's Magic Rule #14:
Reveal all the cards in your deck and be willing to make a fool of yourself.
With the stage lights shining down on him, Rhys smiled and moved fluidly through the act's closing number. He didn't miss a beat, and the audience was right there with him, a sea of smiling faces that, at least for the night, wanted to believe that life was more than what could be rationally explained. On the inside, he was on autopilot. There was no kick. No rush of adrenaline. No pride that he'd invented over half the tricks in the show.
All he could think about was Melina. He winced inside every time he thought of that last night. She'd done exactly what he'd asked her to do—taken a risk and tried to please him. Yes, she'd gone too far, and she'd been motivated by fear more than desire, but he should have been more careful in pointing that out. Instead, he'd done exactly what her former boyfriends had done—made her feel inadequate. Granted, that hadn't been his intent, but he'd screwed up so bad it's no wonder she'd ignored his declaration of love and gotten on a plane the first chance she got.
Max signaled to him from the right wing, indicating it was time to call the final volunteer from the audience. Rhys nodded, grateful that the end was near. Once the crowd was gone, he'd tell Max what he'd decided. If Melina couldn't stomach living in his world, then he'd have to live in hers. It might be tough at first, but Max was a great magician. If he needed Rhys's help, he'd be there for him, but he was through with touring. He'd already told his parents, who'd offered only their support and well wishes.
He loved Melina. If he had any chance of winning her back, that's what he was going to do.
With Amanda and Tina backed into the shadows downstage, he moved upstage. “Now, for my final trick, I'm going to need the assistance of someone from the audience.” Half the audience raised their hands, and Rhys smiled naughtily. “Actually, I should have been specific. I'm going to need a volunteer who’s wearing a skirt.” Three-quarters of the hands went down. Rhys grinned. “Let's narrow that down even more. A female volunteer who’s wearing a skirt.”
Several men laughed and lowered their hands.
Max walked into the audience, approached a dark-haired woman, and began leading her toward the stage. “Ah, lovely. Please step right up here, ma'am.”
They moved closer, and Rhys narrowed his eyes, straining to see past the glare of the stage lights. He sucked in a startled breath when he recognized Melina. “Melina?” he said, forgetting he was wearing a mic. Her name echoed throughout the theater.
“Yes, it's Melina, everyone.” Max helped Melina up the stage steps, then used his own mic to introduce her. “Melina has volunteered to place herself in Rhys's capable hands, so let's give her a big round of applause.”
Rhys could only stare at her. Her eyes were like saucers, and her pale skin was flushed a splotchy red. Her legs were bare, and she wore the same high heels she'd worn with the corset, but her light, pale-green coat covered what she wore. With two hands, she gripped the coat closed, as if she feared he was going to rip it off her.
“Honey,” Rhys said, no longer caring who heard him. “You don't have to—”
Max led Melina to the center of the stage and, with a flourish, indicated Rhys should get started. When he hesitated, Max sidled up to him, covered his mic, and gritted, “The sooner you do the damn trick, the sooner you can get her off stage. You might want to do that before she passes out.”
“Why—”
But Max walked off, and Rhys stepped closer to Melina. She looked at him, her mouth trembling. Then she lifted her chin and smiled, a sweet, brave smile. He reached out and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. “Do it,” she whispered.
Snapping out of his daze, Rhys pulled out his scarves. They weren't the same ones they'd used in Lake Shasta—he'd retired those to his dresser drawer. He showed the audience two white scarves, then knotted them together. Then he turned to Melina. “Ma'am, can you tuck these under the edge of your skirt, please?”
Melina took the scarves with one hand, keeping a death grip on her coat with the other, and awkwardly tucked them under the bottom of her coat. Stooped over, she looked up at him questioningly. Rhys cleared his throat. “Good. Now, can you tell me what color underwear you're wearing?”
Melina's eyes got even wider. “W-why?” she stuttered.
Rhys smiled and turned to the audience. “Smart woman. Always ask questions before you tell a strange man anything about your panties.”
The audience laughed, and Melina just stared at him, frozen and silent. They'd never rehearsed this particular trick in front of her, so he told her so she wouldn't be nervous.
“If you tell me what color your underwear is, I'm going to make a scarf of that exact same color magically appear, tied between the two scarves you've got under your skirt.”
She smiled. “Really? You can do that? That's amazing.”
“I can do a lot of things with my hands that would amaze you.”
The audience laughed, but he barely heard them. He and Melina smiled at one another, and for the first time in days, the tension eased out of him.
Things were going to be okay.
Melina straightened, letting the tied scarves flutter to the floor. “Instead of telling you what color my underwear is, can I show you?”
Rhys's eyes rounded. He laughed nervously and jerked his head at the crowd that had suddenly gone quiet. “Honey, I know I tend to make a woman forget where she is, but we've still got an audience here.”
“I know,” she said. “But I'm making a point.” She grasped the edges of her coat.
Rhys reached out to stop her. “Melina, don't—”
She whipped her coat off and dropped it on the floor.
The audience went wild.
From downstage, Amanda and Tina whistled.
From stage right, Max whooped and pumped his fist.
Rhys just stared.
He knew that when he died, hopefully only after a long, full life with Melina, he'd picture her at this exact moment—scared out of her mind, but holding her own, her shoulders back, her chin up, and a challenge in her eyes daring him or anyone else to respond less than positively to her bikini-clad body.
Her smoking-hot, he-wished-they-were-alone-so-he-could-jump-her body.
Damn, he was good, he thought, noting that the black and red polka dot bikini hugged her curves in all the best places.
The audience quieted, and still Rhys didn't move or speak.
Melina narrowed her eyes and peered more closely at him. That's when he realized Melina wasn't wearing her glasses.
“Where are your glasses?”
She frowned. “In…in my coat.”
Rhys snatched up the coat and searched the pockets until he found her glasses. Carefully, he slipped them on her nose. She blinked at him. He grinned.
“When you want to make a point, you go all out, don't you?”
“Being in love with a professional magician isn't going to be easy. I have to upstage you every now and then.”
“So you're in love with me?”
Melina nodded. “For years.”
“Love, as in love, love?”
“Love, love,” she echoed.
He dipped his head and kissed her, a reverent meeting of lips that drew an “aww” from the audience. Throwing her arms around him, she buried her face in his chest. “Can we get off stage now?”
“You bet.” Rhys turned to Max. “Can you take over here?”
Max strode up to them, hugged them, then turned to the audience. “Talk about a tough act to follow. Now, ladies, who's wearing something that can compete with that bikini?”
The audience roared as Rhys helped her into her coat and off the stage. He ushered her into his dressing room before sweeping her off her feet and twirling her around. His hands immediately wandered inside her coat, and hers followed suit, tugging off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt faster than he thought possible. She was working the fly of his pants when she suddenly stopped. “Wait. I forgot something.”
Rhys groaned. “Can it wait? I'm right in the middle of a performance here.”
She giggled and stroked him through his pants, delighting in his groan of pleasure. “It'll just take a second, I promise.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay.”
“I'm ready to answer the pop quiz now,” she said.
Rhys laughed. “Okay,” he repeated.
“What would I do to have you?” she reminded him. “That's what you asked me.”
“I haven't forgotten. So what's your answer?”
Reaching into her bikini top, she pulled out the small booklet she'd tucked against her breast.
He stared at it. “It's your passport.”
“That's right. Now open it.”
He did. Stuck in between the blank pages was the paper lizard he'd given her so long ago. “You kept it.”
“I didn't answer you before, and I'm so sorry about that. I love you. If you still want me to, I want to be part of your life. I can't travel all the time because I know that won't make me happy. But I don't think that's what will make you happy either.”
“So what are you proposing?”
“I propose that we put our heads together and do what we do best.”
“Tell me,” he whispered.
“What else? We're going to make magic,” she whispered back.