Chapter 19
Charlie stared at Laura’s grandfather in disbelief. His hands were numb, and he felt like the guy who had his heart torn out in that Indiana Jones movie. He rubbed the spot where it used to be and fell into the chair that was thankfully behind him.
“She’s not my wife?”
Rogelio looked sheepish, as though he’d never lied before in his life. “Even if she had been your wife, you wouldn’t have been married after I filed these papers.”
“You mean the fake papers dissolving my fake marriage.” Saying that his marriage had been fake out loud made it hard to breathe. He bent over and placed his elbows on his knees, just trying to get air.
“It wasn’t my idea.”
His head popped up. “Not your idea? You committed fraud.” Threatening the man with criminal charges was probably not the way to get straight answers from him, but he had limited options here. He felt as though that string of hope that he’d tried to strangle was unraveling all on its own.
He’d come here to convince Laura’s grandfather to delay filing the divorce papers. If only he had a little more time—time to do something big to show her that they belonged together—that they could make things work. He’d wanted to be able to tell her that he’d stopped everything.
“Even if it had been real, I represent Laura, not you.” The old man shook his head. “I couldn’t have halted the proceedings at your request.”
“Since it was never real, then I guess that won’t be a problem, will it?”
“Well, no.”
Charlie put his head between his knees. She was never his, never belonged to him. He hadn’t realized until that very moment that he’d built up the idea of a family with Laura inside his head. Unlike the man standing in front of him, his marriage vows, both sets of them, had meant something. They meant that he was sworn to protect his wife from everyone and everything, including himself.
Still, even though he’d resolved to let Laura go, again and again, he’d had that piece of paper saying that they were man and wife in the back of his head. But it had all been a lie. Heat spread over his skin as anger took over his body.
“This was Lola, wasn’t it?”
The old man blanched. “No, don’t you get mad at her. I went along with it.”
“But why?”
He shrugged. “I’m still in love with my wife.”
“The one you had a real marriage with, real children?” Charlie stood up and prowled the office, wanting to knock things off shelves and putting his hands deep in his pockets to protect all the framed photos and awards lining the room. “The marriage that ended in divorce and destroyed your daughter?”
Charlie knew it wasn’t fair. The man sitting on the other side of the desk had made mistakes. But this particular mistake hadn’t been his idea. “I know all that, but Lola thought it was best.”
“Since when do you listen to her?” Charlie had heard enough stories to know that listening hadn’t ever been Laura’s grandfather’s strong suit. No wonder her mother had found a carbon copy in her husband. No wonder Laura was so stingy with her heart. No one had ever given her the space to share it before. “She thought lying was the answer to Laura’s problems?”
“She thought it was a nudge in the right direction.” The old man stood up. “I told her that I was worried about Laura, concerned that she would lose herself if she wasn’t able to return to the ballet. Then, Lola got this look in her eyes—one I recognized could not be dissuaded. She saw the two of you dancing together at the reception, it was like an avalanche or a rock rolling down a mountain.” He made a locomotive motion with his arms. If Charlie weren’t so angry, he would have laughed. “I knew I couldn’t stop her, so I at least wanted to give her a good cover story.”
“Were you ever going to tell her?” Charlie’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again, thinking of Laura getting the news he’d just gotten all alone in New York.
No one in her family knew his woman the way he did. They all tried to manipulate her and maneuver her, never asking her about what she really wanted. They didn’t see her the way that he did, and he couldn’t fucking stand it. Laura Delgado was glorious, and she deserved for the world to see that. Even more, she deserved to have the love of someone—him—who’d seen that from the start.
“Yes. Eventually. I would have had to tell her. It would have been unethical.”
“I should really fucking report this to the bar.” Charlie stopped, and the old man got even whiter, if that were possible. Laura had told him that his work as a lawyer was important to him, that he hadn’t been able to practice in Cuba because he’d been a dissident, and Charlie wanted to threaten something important to him. Even though he was enraged, he wouldn’t follow through on his threat because it would upset Laura. “But I’m not going to. I am going to need you to help me get her back, though.”
* * * *
Charlie wanted Laura to shine in her final performance with the New York City Ballet because he wanted that for her. And he wanted her to get a permanent place with them. Then, he would stay in New York and convince her to be with him. Or, if she didn’t get a spot, he wanted her to come back to Miami and date him. And then—when she was ready—he wanted her to retire and marry him. He needed to make her happy, and tell her she was loved at least a thousand times a day.
Other than that, he would place no demands on her.
He wasn’t surprised when her performance was even more transcendent than opening night. She had a confidence she hadn’t shown that night, and she glowed. The fact that it hollowed out his insides thinking that maybe she was better off without him didn’t rate. He loved her. The only thing he truly needed—regardless of what he wanted—was for her to know that he loved her and would do anything for her to be happy.
He was sitting fifty rows back since he didn’t have the same kind of pull in New York, and the show had technically been sold out. It bothered him that he couldn’t see her face. He wanted to hold her jaw in his hands and kiss her like he wished he had the last night.
Just seeing her move had him more keyed up than was polite. He shifted in his seat, probably disturbing everyone next to him. She had a different partner for this production, and it seemed that their chemistry was better than it had been with her partner in Miami. The little half-smiles she gave as she played at seducing him—Charlie was greedy for those smiles to belong to him.
He tried to reassure himself that he would be able to get her back. He couldn’t live with the uncertainty. But he had to learn to deal with it. Now that he was in the room with her—even far away—it was so much harder to think about walking away if she decided that she didn’t want him. Now that he could see her moving in front of him—the artistry and sensuality of her all tangled up—he didn’t know if he could keep his promise to himself. He wanted to rush the stage and bundle her away from him.
The show lasted approximately forever and fifteen minutes. As soon as the dancers took their final bows, after the third standing ovation, Charlie made his move. First, he tried bribing the guy guarding the stage door that led to the dancers’ dressing rooms.
With a New York accent, the man told him he was “shit out of luck.”
His next and only option if he didn’t want to camp out at her temporary apartment, was to wait next to the stage door. So that’s what he did. The New York air was chillier than he was used to. Living in Miami for more than one winter had thinned his blood so much that he couldn’t rightly call himself a Midwesterner anymore. But he would learn to live with the cold if this was where Laura wanted to be.
He pulled up the collar on his wool coat, his breath coming out as puffs of fog. There were a few other people waiting, mostly little girls and their parents, waiting to meet their idols. Most of the parents looked bored, but the little girls buzzed with energy. He was with them.
He tried and failed not to picture a little girl with Laura’s dark eyes and his light brown hair, bouncing up and down in anticipation. She’d be obsessed with ballet, and full of energy. She wouldn’t be able to help herself and she’d pirouette down the sidewalk in her patent leather shoes.
Charlie wanted that so much. He wanted whatever Laura would give him, and he only hoped it would be more than nothing at all.
The door opened, and he couldn’t breathe. When a man he recognized as Laura’s partner walked out and shared a romantic hug with the only other single man waiting outside the stage door, he could finally exhale.
Three or four other dancers came out before Laura’s dark head appeared in the door. She had her hair down, so he couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to see all of her to recognize her, for his whole body to thrum back to life.
He waited for her to look up, half convinced that she would walk right past him without a second glance. Maybe his time with her had been a dream and he had actually lost his mind.
When she did look up at him, she didn’t look happy. He was instantly afraid that he’d made a mistake by coming here. He should have called first, talked to her over the phone, texted her to make sure it was okay to come.
“You’re here.” She didn’t slap him, so that was something, but her face was still neutral. “What are you doing here?”
He hadn’t prepared a speech, thinking that he’d be able to tell her everything that he needed to tell her. Instead, silence stretched out between the two of them. But there was still a strong awareness along with the silence. The air was filled with something.
And then she shivered.
He had his coat off and around her too fast for her to say anything. Faster than he could ask whether it was still okay to touch her.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” But he would freeze his balls off for the chance to touch her, even if it was just embracing her so she stayed warm. “You need a warmer coat.”
“I’m fine.”
Silence stretched out between them as he stared at her. He wanted to drink her in, especially if she truly didn’t want him. This was as close as he would ever get to the heaven of her hands on him again. He inhaled her shampoo, and fought the urge to kiss her and forget talking.
But they needed to talk, and the way to do that was through talking. “Are you hungry?”
“Always trying to feed me.” She rolled her eyes. “Are you trying to fatten me up so I can’t dance anymore?”
That hit him in the solar plexus. Couldn’t she see that she was killing him? That the last thing he wanted was for her to lose out on her dream? “No, but I don’t want you keeling over on stage.”
“I have food where I’m staying.”
On the one hand, he was happy she was inviting him in to her temporary home. On the other, maybe she just didn’t want to dump him for good in public.
“Then, let’s go.”
* * * *
Sweet Jesus, she’d missed the way Charlie smelled. She’d missed the earnest way he always wanted to see to her needs, and the way he touched her as though she was precious made her weak in the knees. And in the heart.
Until she’d had him, she hadn’t realized how much her animal body needed to be touched by someone who cared. She was always having people touch her—dance partners, teachers, trainers—but none of that gave her the sensation of being truly cared for.
And she was glad he came to her. She’d considered leaving the show early, but she didn’t want to get a bad reputation. If she’d gone to Charlie in Miami, she would have blown her chance on dancing permanently with the NYCB. And if he’d turned her down, she would have been screwed.
They walked the few blocks to her sublet in silence. He held her hand, squeezed it so tight that it would have been painful if she hadn’t needed it that way.
She needed Charlie. And that was just the simple truth of it.
Once they got up to the studio she was renting from another dancer, he filled up the whole space. She put his coat on the chair, and walked over to the tiny kitchenette.
“Breakfast for dinner okay?”
“I’m not hungry.” She jumped because she hadn’t expected him to be so close to her. But it seemed he couldn’t even let a few hundred square feet separate them. “But you are.”
“I’m not. I just—” She closed the refrigerator, turned, and looked at him, this lethally handsome man who could have been permanently hers. And her heart just broke.
Immediately, he gathered her close, and her broken sobs soaked his undoubtedly expensive shirt. Luckily, she’d wiped off her stage makeup, otherwise it would have been a total loss. She needed to stop crying, but him hugging her almost made it worse. He was supporting her when she was the one who’d rejected him. It made no sense.
Finally, she pulled herself together and put some distance between them. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” He leaned down and looked into her gaze. She felt so much more exposed than she ever had. “I just want to know how I can fix it.”
By promising to be her husband again.
“I—I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Tell me what it is.” His grip on her biceps was so steady, so strong that she didn’t feel the need to hold back.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I should have given us a chance.”
“And I should have waited for you to be ready.” His voice was so solemn, as though he was the person who’d screwed this all up.
“You didn’t screw this up.” He moved them to the tiny couch and settled them both. He pulled her into his side as though she hadn’t chosen a career over him a month ago. “I screwed it up.”
“Well, technically, your grandparents screwed it up.”
She sat up so she could look him in the face. “What do you mean?”
His lips twitched as he wiped the remnants of a tear from her cheek. “We’re not married.”
Had he suffered a blow to the head since she left in Miami? “No, we’re divorced.”
“I’m divorced, but not from you.”
She shook her head to loosen some of the confusion caused by this conversation. Although she’d been working hard and not sleeping much, none of this made sense because of him, not her. “What do you mean?”
“We were never legally married.”
“But my grandfather?” She flattened her palm against his chest, needing his heartbeat to ground her. “And my taxes?”
“Lola.”
“The officiant?”
“He wasn’t in on it.” Charlie shrugged. “I managed to track him down through the hotel. Apparently, we just made him dance and do several shots of top shelf tequila. He blessed us for the free booze, but he didn’t perform an actual wedding ceremony.”
“But why would Lola want us to believe that we were married?” And why would her grandfather go along with it? She couldn’t contain the shrieking quality to her voice.
“She thought we’d be great together.” It was a flimsy excuse, but it sounded like her grandmother. They may not have known each other long, but the woman was, by turns, mercurial and overbearing. It made sense that she would decide that she and Charlie belonged to each other and scheme to let that happen.
“Wow.” She pressed her finger tips to Charlie’s smiling mouth, like she needed to touch it to ensure that it was real. “What was she going to do if we had just gone along with it?”
“Convince us to renew our vows and pull in a real priest.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “I thought you needed that.”
“I did.” She kissed him back on the mouth, expecting him to take it deeper, but he didn’t even allow her tongue through his lips. “So, we’re not married.”
“We’re not.”
Uncertainty wound its way through her guts. Maybe he was just here to tell her the news. It wasn’t the sort of thing that you told someone over the phone. The whole we-were-fake-married was the kind of thing you told your lover face-to-face. And that’s what he was, her lover? Or her former lover?
“What are we now?”
“That’s kind of what I’m here to figure out.”
She’d pushed him away so much that she wanted to hear from him on this issue first. Ever since her mom had gone to rehab, a bandage had been ripped off a festering wound she’d been trying to ignore for years. Her emotions were raw, and her nerves were frayed. But she felt alive to wanting something beyond getting through the next performance for the first time in a long time. She’d felt the first tingles of that with Charlie, but she’d convinced herself that being in a real marriage with him was off limits.
As it turned out, it had been. “What do you want?”
He answered her by pressing his mouth to hers, deeper this time. “I want you,” he said against her mouth. Leaving her frustrated again, he pulled away. “I want to date you.”
“That feels like a step back.” Part of her was afraid that if they were “just dating” it would be easy for her to push him away.
“What do you want us to be?”
She bit her bottom lip, and tried to sort through all the insane thoughts roaming through her brain. He wasn’t her husband, but she’d been thinking of him as her spouse for months. That was the truth that felt the most right when she articulated it to herself. Calling him her “boyfriend” or her “lover,” even her “partner” didn’t sound like who he was to her.
He’d opened the door to something more than her love of dance, and he’d let her walk through it by being himself—patient, kind, caring—everything her father wasn’t.
She kissed him again on the mouth, not being able to get enough of his lips against hers after so much time apart. She hoped that kissing him would quiet the doubts she was having about what she wanted to say—what she was dying to ask.
He pulled back when she splayed her fingers inside his shirt, hoping that the feel of his skin might dissuade her from saying the word, asking the equivalent of jumping off a bridge with nothing but a cord of elastic between her and certain death.
And then he did the worst thing; he looked at her. And she saw nothing but love there.
“I want you to be my husband.”
His grip on her tightened, but he froze. He hadn’t been expecting her to say it. “You want to be my wife?”
It surprised no one more than herself that she wanted to be tied to this man forever. She wanted their names to be said on the same breaths. And she needed him by her side for the rest of her career—and after. Loving him made her stronger, not weaker. He was not a perfect man, but he was perfect for her. He saw all the places she was broken, and he had confidence that she could fix them herself.
“I want to be your wife.” Her heart was beating so fast that she heard blood rushing through her ears. “I love you.”
“Gorgeous, I love you, too.”