Drew

Confused green eyes search mine, everything still as we stare at each other, probing, analyzing…hoping. It’s the first time I’ve been near Brooklyn since I was graciously kicked out of the hospital, then told by her father to stay away from her. The first time I’ve delighted in this electricity coursing through me from her proximity. The first time I’ve inhaled the familiar aroma that’s always comforted me, even when I didn’t know why.

Laughter and excited conversation filters over the music being piped into speakers on the terrace, the tension between us growing and mounting with every silent heartbeat. I take a cautious step toward her, my movement snapping her out of her trance. She spins around, about to run away, like she always does when she’s scared.

“Brooklyn, wait.” I grab her arm and she stills, inhaling a sharp breath at the contact. I know she feels it, this reaction her body has whenever I touch her. This sort of attraction doesn’t happen all the time. What we have is special, unique. I refuse to give up on this, on us, not after everything it took to finally get here. I don’t care if anyone sees us and I’m escorted out of here. At least I’ll know I showed her I was willing to fight for her.

She wrenches out of my hold, turning to face me. “I have nothing to say to you.” Her voice lacks the determination it needs, like she’s saying that because it’s what’s expected of her.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, making her cleavage even more pronounced. The slinky black dress she wears hugs her curves in just the right places, my eyes heating with hunger the longer I remain in her presence. I can faintly make out the bruising around her neck and scar on her forehead through the layers of makeup. Knowing Mrs. Bradford’s reputation as I do, she probably has a professional makeup artist on the payroll all weekend to ensure all evidence of Brooklyn’s assault is covered up so it doesn’t appear as if anything’s wrong.

“Then why did you come here? What do you want?”

My gaze remains locked on hers as I hold out a hand. “Just a dance.”

“A…dance?” she clarifies, skeptical, confused.

I nod, leisurely licking my lips. “Just one dance with you, Brooklyn. Then I’ll leave.”

“You’ll…leave?” She can’t mask the surprise in her voice.

Perhaps she’s hoping I’ll put up more of a fight. Most men in my position would probably grovel, desperation taking over. But I know Brooklyn. Begging isn’t the way to win her heart. I’ve already done that. This situation requires something different, something with more finesse, something much more personal. Something that touches her heart and infiltrates her soul. Something that reinvigorates this lifeless person she’s turned into these past few weeks. Something that reminds her how deep our connection goes.

“Yes.” My tone is even, my hand extended toward her.

“And if I say no?” She tilts her head, placing her hands on her hips.

I consider my response, assessing her. Then I smirk, laughing to myself. I may not know much, but I know Brooklyn. As stubborn as she is, she’s even more curious, as evidenced by the furrowed brow and narrowed eyes.

“You won’t.” As if on cue, the music changes to a slower tune, Roberta Flack’s voice singing the opening lines of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” setting the mood.

She closes her eyes, her chest expanding as she inhales a deep breath. “I should walk away right now.” I’m not sure if she says that for me or for her. I have a feeling it’s the latter.

“You probably should, but we’ve known each other our entire lives and have never danced together. I say it’s time that’s rectified.”

She releases a long sigh and meets my gaze. After a protracted moment, she extends her hand, her fingers intertwining with mine. My eyes unwavering, I bring her against me, one hand holding hers, the other placed on the small of her back. If this is the last time I’ll be lucky enough to feel her body against mine, I want to remember every little thing — every exhale of her sweet breath against my skin, every beat of her heart with mine, every sway of her hips.

When nearly a minute has passed and I still haven’t so much as uttered a single syllable, Brooklyn finally blurts out, “Aren’t you going to say something? Beg me to reconsider? Anything?”

My lips lift into a small smile, my demeanor calm despite her obvious agitation. “No. I’m not.”

“You’re…not?”

“Nope. I’ve wanted to dance with you for seventeen years, maybe even longer. I’d rather not ruin it.”

“So you’re not going to apologize?” There’s a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“Like I said, no.”

Her brows scrunch together, which is the most breathtaking thing I’ve seen in a long time. It takes all my resolve not to break into a wide grin at how much I adore that look on her. “Why?”

“Because I don’t need to.”

“You don’t think you need to attempt to make amends?”

“This isn’t about me trying to make amends. This is about you, Brooklyn. And I know you better than most people, except your father and maybe Molly. But the jury’s still out on that. While she’s been your best friend since you were playing with Barbie’s, I still know you damn well. So I don’t need to say anything to you.”

“You don’t?”

I shake my head, my grip on her tightening. I’d give anything to crush my lips to hers and kiss her the way I doubt Wes ever has. It’s what she needs, what she deserves.

“What we have… It’s more powerful than words. This isn’t about what either one of us did or didn’t do. It’s bigger than that. I can stand here and waste my breath, but nothing I say really matters.”

“It doesn’t?” She swallows hard as I close the distance between our mouths, every inch I erase making her more on edge.

“No. Because in your heart, you feel it, too.”

She cranes her head, her lips seeking mine, like they’re made for one another. “Feel what?”

“This. I’ve fought it for so long. We both have. Maybe there’s a reason for that. Maybe that’s why we’ve hurt each other, why we keep hurting each other. Then again, maybe that’s why we feel the pain when most people wouldn’t. Why Carla didn’t, why Wes didn’t. Because there was never this. I may not have graduated with honors. I may not be the smartest man. But I do know one thing…”

“And what’s that?” Her voice is husky as that beautiful blush blooms on her cheeks, prominent against her fair skin. Her chest heaves with her breaths as she subconsciously lifts her chin. Like a dancer who recalls choreography she’s done her entire life, she releases her hold on my hand, draping both arms over my shoulders as she arches into me, barely a whisper between us.

“You. I know you, Brooklyn. And that’s why all I need is one dance.”

“You think one dance will make me change my mind?”

“A wise woman once told me that sometimes it’s better to show someone our hearts, our feelings, with actions rather than words.”

She pushes out a laugh, the tension breaking. “That sounds like something Aunt Gigi would say.”

“Actually, it was Ana.”

She blinks, her jaw dropping. “Ana? How—”

“The time for talking is done.” My voice is firm, determined. “I’ve never been good with words anyway. I’ve always been more a man of action. I’m not going to waste my breath trying to convince you I had my reasons for not showing up all those years ago, just like I had my reasons I was late meeting you at the beach a few weeks ago.”

I brush a tendril of hair out of her eyes so she can see me as clearly as possible. “Despite what your brain is telling you to think, in your heart, you know I’ve spent the past seventeen years trying to do right by you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life doing the same thing.” We stop swaying as I move my hands to her face, cupping her cheeks. “I know you love me. And you always will. I know the only reason you’re marrying Wes is because I’ve hurt you more times than any person should have to suffer through in their life. I was your first heartbreak when I should have been your first and only love. The truth is…” I pause, licking my lips, unsure what to say, whether I should finally come clean.

“Yes?” she breathes, craning her head even more, her lips grazing mine.

“The truth is…”

“Yes,” she repeats, this time more as an affirmation that this is what she wants.

“The truth is, I—”

A loud throat clearing rips through the space, startling both of us. Brooklyn jumps away, inhaling a sharp breath when she sees her father standing there, his arms crossed in front of his intimidating physique. Ana stands behind him, offering an apologetic smile.

“We were just dancing,” Brooklyn explains urgently, her cheeks reddening in shame.

“Wes is looking for you.” He narrows his gaze on her, then me. “I suggest finding him before he finds you.”

Brooklyn lifts her eyes back to mine, hesitating. I remain silent, keeping my gaze locked on hers, wanting her to see my thoughts and feelings through our connection. It’s so deep I believe she can.

“Brooklyn?” Her father’s voice cuts through and she whips her gaze back to his. “Go. Now.”

Acting like a fifteen-year-old girl instead of the thirty-two-year-old woman she is, she lowers her head, hurrying inside. Ana follows, her gaze shifting between Brooklyn and me until the frivolity of the party swallows them.

The entire situation angers me and I storm after her, no longer caring about the scene I’ll make in front of Wes and his guests. A hand wraps around my arm, stopping me.

“Drew.”

I shake my head, my jaw clenching. Then I lift my fiery eyes to his, my lips turning into a sneer as I struggle to speak through the frustration building in my throat. “I get that you don’t like me. I get that you don’t think I’m good enough for your daughter.” My irate tone gives him pause, and he releases his hold on me. “I know I’m not. In my opinion, there isn’t a single human being walking this planet who is good enough for that woman in there.” I lift my arm, pointing in the direction Brooklyn just left. The pain that settled in my chest when I broke into her hospital room mounts, the burn turning to desperation as I plead my case like a man facing execution begging for a last-minute pardon.

“But I’m willing to promise you and her that I will make it my mission in life to try to be that man, to be worthy of even an ounce of her devotion.” My chest heaves as everything spills forward, my voice choked with emotion. Tears form in the corners of my eyes, my neck stiff, forearms strained as my hands ball into fists. “Has Wes ever made that promise to you?”

He remains speechless, swallowing hard. His lack of response is all the answer I need. Drawing in a deep breath, I lower my voice, stepping toward him, softening my expression.

“Do you think your wife would have wanted Brooklyn to marry someone who doesn’t make her happy just so you could save face?”

His lips part, but still no words come.

“Maybe you should think about that before you walk her down the aisle to a man she doesn’t love.”