I search through the crowd of restaurant patrons for a tall, scowling silhouette. My feet haven’t even crossed the threshold to Bissara, and I’m already violently shaking in my high-heeled booties.
Around me, slot machines ding and clang. Cigarette smoke tinges the air, and servers bustle by carrying plates of Moroccan food.
I told myself to take it slow. I took it slow. I’ve been in St. Louis for a month. I survived the holidays with my sister, reconnected with Nikolai, my dance partner, and started volunteering at the homeless shelter again.
There’s been no contact with Cole. No job hunting. No Trace.
If Cole and Trace still talk, Trace knows I’m back. Yet he hasn’t called. Hasn’t shown up.
He moved on.
I’m sweating, nauseous, wracked with ungodly nerves. But I have to do this. I have to know if there’s a chance my heart will beat again.
Running a hand over my cute gray shirt dress, I tug on the mid-thigh hem and dry my palms on the soft fabric. Where is he?
“Danni?”
I turn toward the feminine voice and find the sweet face of a hostess I knew when I danced here.
“Crystal!” I hug her.
She was here the night Trace proposed to me. I can only imagine the rumors that circulated after our break up.
“You’re back?” She returns the hug, grinning. “Are you dancing here again?”
“Just stopping by.” I stare at the empty stage with an ache that burns in my bones. “Is the position open?”
“Mr. Savoy hasn’t found the right dancer. I bet if you apply—”
“Is he here? I haven’t seen…”
Then I see him. Sitting at a table in the far corner, cloaked in shadows, he’s angled away from me. The dining room is so packed I can barely make out his profile behind the crowded tables of people.
“Excuse me.” I leave Crystal standing there and float toward him, thoroughly hypnotized by his presence.
Black suit and tie, starched white shirt, arresting facial features, and not a sexy blond hair out of place, he’s a paragon of masculine beauty.
I crane my neck, trying to make out his expression. Is he heartbroken? Reconciled? He’s too far away. The lighting’s too dim, and those ice blue eyes haven’t shifted in my direction. Not once.
I pick up my pace, dodging servers, pushing through the crowd, grower more anxious with every step toward him.
Twenty paces away, his table comes into view. I stumble, breath hitching.
He’s not alone.
My heart sinks to the floor.
An elegant woman sits across from him. Long black hair, lean muscle, long limbs, she wears a classy black dress, smiling and talking with beautiful red lips. Everything about her is beautiful. Especially the man she’s with.
He’s not looking at her and instead stares at the dark stage like he’s watching a ghost dance to the soft background music. It gives me courage. Hope. He might be trying to move on, but he hasn’t. Not yet.
I change course, veering toward the platform and stepping into his line of sight. My hands slick with sweat as he blinks, looks directly at me, and blinks again.
Time stands still. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react in any way. There isn’t a hint of emotion etching his face. The man is a master at putting up a smoke screen.
If I found him gazing longingly at the woman across the table, maybe I’d turn heel and walk out. But he’s not. If the roles were reversed… Scratch that. The roles were reversed. I loved two men, and Trace never gave up. He didn’t leave me until I made a bullshit decision.
I need to know if he moved on, if he found happiness. If he hasn’t, I don’t care who this woman is. It’s game on.
Pushing back my shoulders, I approach his table and fight like hell to keep my nerves out of my voice. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner.” I turn toward his date. “Hi. I’m—”
“Where’s Cole?” He scowls at me.
“I don’t know.” My entire body tries to curl in on itself.
“He hasn’t answered his phone in over a month.”
My pulse quickens. Cole hasn’t called him? That means Trace didn’t know I was back.
I straighten my spine and meet his cold, unwelcoming eyes. “It turns out I was right about one thing.”
“Just one?”
I’m sure there are other things, but I don’t recall them at the moment. “Yeah.”
He releases a haughty huff. “What were you right about?”
“Love isn’t a choice.”
A twitch tugs at his mouth, there and gone so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.
Then something shifts in his demeanor. The stiffness in his spine leaks away, slightly dropping his shoulders. His expression slackens. His eyes grow distant, empty, and that’s when I see it.
Deep sorrow.
My heart beats frantically, stabbing pain through my stomach. Maybe he’s trying to find happiness with the quiet beauty at his table. Maybe he’s too heartbroken to ever forgive me. But beneath his cool facade, he’s not okay. Not even close.
I bend toward him, holding his gaze until my mouth reaches his ear. “I’m going to fight for you.”
His hand flexes on his lap, and the intoxicating scent of his skin threatens to bring me to my knees.
“Enjoy your dinner.” I step back and force my feet to turn toward the door.
Then I go home.