Slave to the Rhythm (28 page)

I was surprised to hear him mention his mother—he so rarely did.

“Are you close to her?”

“I was.” His voice hardened. “She died when I was 15.”

“Oh, Ash.”

He didn’t offer anything else and I didn’t want to push him, but it broke my heart a little.

“Hey, we’re not far from the theater,” he said, his voice lightening. “There’s a Dutch pancake house that looks good. Do you want to try it?”

“I thought all you dancers lived on water and bananas and ate super-healthy, protein-rich, sugar-free food.”

He bent low over the wheelchair so his warm breath washed over my cold cheeks.

“I’m craving pancakes and syrup and those chocolate sprinkles the Dutch put on bread. Come and be bad with me, Mrs. Novak.”

“You really shouldn’t call me that,” I said seriously. “Or you’ll get used to it and say it at the wrong time.”

“I like the sound of it,” he said, making my poor heart stutter.

I couldn’t help thinking about that kiss. It hadn’t just looked real, it had
felt
real as well. Was he really that good an actor?

The truth was, I’d liked it, which could lead me to very dangerous territory if I let it. I tried telling myself that the attraction was superficial, brought about by his undeniable exotic good looks. Then I told myself it was the intensity of our meeting, the shared danger, surviving together. And I told myself that even if I was attracted to him, it was a one-way street.

I’d changed my mind about Ash so often that I might as well be a weather vane. But that kiss had gotten me hotter than anything Collin had ever done, either in or out of the bedroom. At least now I knew how I felt about that relationship.

“Here we are,” said Ash, reaching down to squeeze my shoulder. “We should order champagne.”

“Um, Ash, I don’t know what sort of pancake houses you’re used to, but this one doesn’t have a license to sell alcohol.”

He looked shocked, as if he couldn’t imagine such a thing.

“If you want to have a drink, we’d be better off going to that Italian place next door.”

He sighed.

“No chocolate sprinkles?”

“How about a pound of pasta and tiramisu instead?”

“Deal!”

He maneuvered my wheelchair through the narrow doorway of the small Italian restaurant, ignoring the server’s forced smile as she contemplated having to ask a dozen diners to move their chairs so I could get through.

I hated this part, and almost asked Ash to go somewhere else, when I heard his name being called.

“Ash! Hey, over here!”

A group of skinny women were waving at him, their eyes bouncing back and forth between us.

Ash swore under his breath.

“They’re from the show,” he muttered.

“We should leave.”

Ash grunted his agreement, then said, “I should go say hi first.”

But one of the women was already on her feet, pushing her way through the Friday evening crowds.

“Ash, darling!” she said, her voice very loud and very English. “You’ve been a naughty boy, sloping off early, while we’ve all been sweating our bollocks off. Hello, I’m Sarah. You must be Ash’s girlfriend . . .”

Then she spotted the gold ring on my finger that I hadn’t had a chance to remove.

“Oh! Ash didn’t tell us he was married—sneaky sod!”

Shit! Shit! Shit!

For a moment I saw a flash of panic in Ash’s eyes, but then he shrugged.

“Yes, this is my beautiful wife Laney.”

“You lucky cow,” Sarah grinned, leaning down to press her cheek to mine. “We’ve all been lusting after your husband, but don’t worry, he hasn’t laid a finger on any of us, except when the Führer is barking orders at us. More’s the pity.”

Then she yelled at the top of her voice for everyone to move out of the way, grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and shoved her way back through the crowd.

Ash followed grinning.

“Everyone, this is the gorgeous bird who’s married to Ash. You can call her Laney; I’m going to call her lucky bitch.”

So much for being low key. I gave a limp wave while Ash squeezed a chair into the space next to me.

“How come you’re all dressed up and looking swanky?” the curious and loud Sarah asked, as everyone turned to stare at us.

Ash held my hand and smiled at me.

“It was a special occasion.”

“Oh God, he’s disgustingly romantic, too,” Sarah moaned. “I need another bottle of lager.”

I couldn’t help laughing. She reminded me of Vanessa, not giving a damn what people thought of her, taking my wheelchair in her stride.

“So, what do you do, Laney? I doubt you’re a dancer?”

I blinked, taken off guard, and Ash frowned at her, throwing his arm across my shoulders.

“Oh,” Sarah said, contrite. “That sounded rude. Sorry, Mum’s always saying that I’m too blunt. But, whatever, it saves time.”

“No, I’m definitely not a dancer—I’m a writer.”

“Yeah? Cool! So how did you two meet?”

We hadn’t had time to concoct a cover story, but Ash just smiled at her.

“We were in a club and I asked her to dance.”

“What?”

“I didn’t notice the wheelchair.”

“Aw, you were blinded by her beauty. Sigh. You can stop talking now, Ash. You’re too good to be true. No, wait! Laney, tell me something totally gross about him so I can sleep tonight.”

I laughed at her serious expression.

“Um, I don’t think . . . well, it’s not gross but it is annoying . . . he calls my boyf—my best friend Collin a prick,” I finished lamely.

“Is he a prick?” Sarah asked, stuffing an enormous forkful of pasta in her mouth.

“Yes,” said Ash as I said, “No.”

Sarah laughed, and pieces of pasta sprayed over the table, causing the other women to jerk back and throw disgusted looks.

“He probably doesn’t like competition,” Sarah said knowingly, giving Ash a sharp look. “Even from pricks. But yeah, that’s not gross.”

“The way you eat pasta is,” one of the women muttered.

Sarah ignored her, and the server arrived, smiling brightly at Ash.

“Does she want a menu?” she asked, not even glancing at me.

“Why don’t you ask her?” he said coldly.

The waitress looked flustered, so I quietly asked for a menu while she hurried away.

Everyone stared. They always did.

Ash’s new colleagues were friendly, talking excitedly about rehearsals. But I can’t pretend it wasn’t painful to be surrounded by women who were all tens. And able-bodied.

Ash

What a seriously weird day.

I was so certain I was going to get arrested and kicked out of the country that I nearly puked. Added to the fact I was getting fucking married.

To a woman who liked me but didn’t love me, so I could stay in a country that had sent me to Hell and back, to dance in a show that I was beginning to have serious doubts about. And now, my secret wife wasn’t a secret to the other dancers in the show.

That was enough to make anyone’s head spin. I had another drink, feeling the warm fingers of alcohol trickle through my bloodstream.

Laney’s face was flushed from the heat in the crowded restaurant and from the glass of champagne that she’d drunk.

She was laughing at something Sarah had said. Her head was thrown back and her eyes sparkling. She looked happy. Then she caught my eye and her smile softened as she leaned toward me.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered.

I wanted to kiss her again. Well, I wanted to do a lot more than kiss her, but I couldn’t. She wouldn’t want that. I’d taken a risk during the ceremony, but it had felt like the right thing to do. And then, when she’d responded, I wanted her. Badly.

She was my friend. The best friend I’d ever had.

Maybe I was reading it wrong, but it felt like there was something more between us.

It was confusing.

But then the memories slammed back, reminding me that she was too good for a man who would never feel clean again.

Laney

I’d nearly had a heart attack when Sarah saw my wedding ring. But it hadn’t turned out as badly as I’d expected.

Ash’s co-workers were really friendly and accepting. They admitted openly that they thought he was gorgeous, but none of them gave me a vibe that they wanted more than friendship.

Ash seemed to enjoy himself, but then his expression had darkened and I wondered what he was thinking. He’d made an effort to be light hearted again, but I could tell the difference between his real smile and the one he put on for a performance.

We stayed long enough to enjoy gorging on pannacotta, then Ash told the others we were leaving.

He’d wheeled me home, made some chamomile tea for me, and brought my meds.

And then he’d taken me into my room and left me there.

My wedding night was spent alone in my bed, wondering if Ash would open the door and walk inside, hoping he would.

I knew one thing for certain—I had to break things off with Collin. I wasn’t being fair to either of us.

Unfortunately, Collin had left for a two week business trip. I wasn’t going to end a ten year relationship over the phone. But it was frustrating.

So for the next two weeks, we continued on as roommates, our marriage certificate hidden in my bedroom drawer while various photocopies were sent off to facilitate Ash’s green card, my wedding ring unworn.

Ash didn’t try to kiss me again, but I saw him watching me sometimes. I knew that I wanted him to, but he had to want it as well, and right now, his expression was quizzical, uncertain. When our eyes met, he’d smile quickly and look away.

I heard him at night, almost every night. It would start with short, muttered sentences, always in Slovenian, the couch creaking as he moved restlessly. The whispers would get louder and suddenly he’d shout out. That woke him, and then I’d hear him padding into the kitchen to get a drink. Sometimes that would follow by music playing softly and I knew that he was dancing.

I wanted to go to him, to stop those nightmares, or at least let him know that he wasn’t alone, but uncertainty stopped me every time. And this dancing, this nighttime dancing, that was private.

He spent every day of the following two weeks at the theater, coming home too tired to do more than slump in front of the TV. Twice, he asked me to come out with the other dancers after work again, but I always said no.

And then the unthinkable happened.

Collin asked me to marry him.

The day he came back to Chicago, he surprised me by showing up at the apartment with a bunch of flowers.

And he made his proposal while I was laying on the couch watching TV and Ash was pretending to wrestle with the coffee machine in the kitchen.

My nerves were shredded and I wished Ash would take the hint and go out. But he ignored all my signals, staying stubbornly put.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him slamming drawers and doors in the kitchen, thinking that Collin would sense something was up, but he was so used to pretending Ash didn’t exist, that I don’t think he even noticed.

I kept wondering if I was doing the right thing, and whether my infatuation with Ash was pushing me to make a big mistake. I didn’t think so, but ten years is a lot to throw away.

When I say Collin asked me to marry him, it wasn’t a big romantic proposal—that wasn’t his style. First of all he asked me to move in with him.

“Collin, I need to talk to you about . . .”

“I know—me, too. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while I was away. We could save money if we live together,” he encouraged me. “And this apartment has never been practical for you, but you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

I gave him a sour look as he blundered on.

“My place is far more suitable, and it means we’ll be able to save to buy sooner rather than later.”

“Collin, I don’t think . . .”

“Then we’ll get married, Laney,” Collin said enthusiastically. “Well, we’ll get a specially adapted apartment, everything you’ll need. I know, I know, you don’t need one now, but you will. One of us needs to plan ahead. When we have kids we can . . .”

His words jolted me out of my shocked stupor.

“No.”

He looked irritated by the interruption.

“No? What do you mean no? No what?”

“I don’t want kids,” I said.

“I know you don’t now, but . . .”

“Not ever.”

Collin looked confused. “But you love kids?”

I swallowed and looked down. “I’m not ruling out adopting a child one day . . .”

Collin’s face turned red.

“Why the hell would we adopt?”

I met his angry gaze stoically. “Because of me.”

His expression smoothed out.

“Honey, if you get sick or you can’t manage, we’ll hire help. Get a nanny or a nurse—whatever you need.”

I closed my eyes. He could be so kind. So darned oblivious and so kind. But his kindness bulldozed through my own wants and needs. It always had and I’d always let him. Until now.

“No, Collin. I don’t want children of my own, because I don’t want to pass on my genes. I couldn’t bear to see a child of mine suffer, knowing that I’d caused it. There are plenty of children out there who need to be loved, who need a family. I can adopt.”

Collin’s face went very still.

“And what about what I want? Suppose I don’t want some other man’s child. I want our child. That’s the whole fucking point!”

Collin never swore. He said it showed a lack of vocabulary, so hearing him now, I realized how upset he was.

“This shouldn’t be a surprise to you,” I said gently. “You’ve known all along that I don’t want children.”

“I didn’t know you meant not ever!” he shouted.

“Then you should have listened better!” I yelled back, my own anger and frustration igniting. “I told you I didn’t want kids on our third date!”

“Every woman says that!” he roared. “Nobody ever thinks they mean it!”

I lowered my voice. “I meant it then and I still do.”

Collin rubbed his hands over his face.

“Laney, honey, they’re making great medical strides all the time. Your illness is kept in check.”

“Yes!” I interrupted angrily. “Because of the drugs I take—the toxic drugs that I’d have to give up before getting pregnant. I could lose the mobility that I have now. Permanently.”