THE MAN IS PERSISTENT, I’ll give him that.
He still shows up at the theatre night after night, if not sitting out in the audience, then he’s at least waiting for me after it’s over. I don’t take the tube home any longer. I allow him to drive me home, never inviting him up to my flat, though I know he’s dying for me to do so. I can see it in his eyes, read it in his body language, and while I would love to invite him up, I know I’m not ready.
It’s best to make the man wait.
But it’s been a week since the night he took me to dinner and gave me a too expensive ring, and my resolve is starting to waver. I blame it on the way he looks at me, as if he’s thinking of all the ways he can get me naked, and I wish I could confess that my imagination is running away from me too.
He’s stopped sending a daily flower arrangement. Instead, they appear every two days, and Cressida finally got me to admit who they’re from, and who West is to me. She’s a bone-deep romantic and thinks this is the most adorable thing she’s ever witnessed while I keep blowing the situation off by saying he’s not that serious.
I’m starting not to believe myself though. Weston Fontaine is dead serious in his pursuit of me and I’m loving every minute of it. And while I can’t wear the ring he gave me while I practice and perform, I make sure and bring it with me to the theatre every single day, slipping it on before I leave at night, greeting him with a subtle wave of my middle finger upon first sight of him.
He laughs at my greeting every single time, that rich, deep chuckle making my insides quiver. I want him badly. I want his hands and his mouth on me. I want to hear him whisper dirty words in my ear and tell me what to do. I want to give in to his demands willingly and allow him to use me in any way he wants, because I know he’ll take care of me.
Once upon a time, for a very brief moment, he did exactly that, and I know he would do it again.
When he doesn’t attend the nightly performance, he dresses much more casually when he picks me up, but he always looks devastatingly handsome. Last night he greeted me while wearing a pair of black joggers and a white hoodie sweatshirt, then took me to a pub where he watched me eat way too much food, protesting the entire time. Just like he told me watching me perform makes him ravenous, spending so much time with him leaves me feeling ravenous as well.
Hungry for him.
Tonight he came to watch, wearing that damn gray suit again, the one that I find so sexy, his white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest like he’s trying to purposely distract me. Once everything’s over, I hurry to wipe off my makeup until my face is scrubbed shiny and clean, Cressida watching me with a careful eye from her perch right next to me.
“I want to meet him,” she declares.
I send her a look in her mirror’s reflection. “Absolutely not.”
“I have witnessed this entire thing unfold. The very least I deserve is to meet this man who sends you every pink rose that must exist in all of Covent Garden. I want to hear his voice. I want to see what’s so dreamy about him,” Cressida explains.
“He’s not dreamy,” I protest. The look she sends me calls me on my bullshit. “He’s not, I swear.”
“I have eyes, Carolina. I see him sitting out there night after night, watching you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Of course, he’s dreamy. And he’s completely in love with you.”
“There is no love involved.”
Another stern look from Cressida. “Who are you trying to convince of that? Me? Or yourself?”
Her words linger as I change into yet another dress. This one pale pink with a flowy skirt and thin straps that tie on my shoulders. My shoulders are mostly bare as is my collarbone and I can’t help but wonder if I could tempt him into kissing me there. I can imagine him tugging the top of my dress down and my breasts coming free. He would touch them. Kiss them. Hopefully suck …
“I’m walking out with you when it’s time to leave. You’re going to introduce me to your new boyfriend,” Cressida says, her firm voice interrupting my lurid thoughts.
Once I’m dressed and ready to go, I find that Cressida is as well, her bag slung over her shoulder, her expression bright and friendly. Her gaze drops to the ring on my finger—she never sees the ring on my finger. I don’t normally slip it on until she’s completely out of sight—and her eyes widen the slightest bit.
“He gave that to you.”
I nod.
She laughs. “He’s so in love with you. That ring is gargantuan.”
“It’s not a diamond so it doesn’t count.”
When I draw closer, she grabs at my hand, bringing it up to her face so she can examine the ring closely. “I see diamonds. That’s close enough.”
Seconds later we’re exiting through the back door of the theatre, West in his normal spot leaning against the back of the Aston Martin, his arms crossed and a smile on his face. It goes up a notch when he spots Cressida, and I see two bright spots of color on her cheeks, as if she too is entranced with his handsome looks and undeniable charm.
“You’re bringing a friend?” His gaze shifts to Cressida. “I recognize you. You’re a dancer.”
Her blush deepens. “Cressida. I’ve been dying to meet you.”
His grin widens. “Lovely to meet you. I’m West.”
He takes her hand and she giggles. She can barely look at him, as if she’s afraid he might try to wield some sort of power over her, and I stand there awkwardly, listening to their small talk as she rambles on about the beautiful flowers that he sends me. How he attends so many of our performances and isn’t he sick of it yet?
“I could never be sick of watching Carolina perform.” His gaze finds mine, his smile different when it’s aimed in my direction. Much more intimate. “I love watching her.”
Cressida literally clutches her hands in front of her chest as if she might swoon. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You are far too much of a romantic for me,” I tell her, shifting her out of my way so I can approach West and stake my claim on him. Not that I’m afraid of Cressida trying to take my man—heck, is he even my man to take? “Should we go?”
“Of course.” West slips his hand behind me so it’s resting on my lower back, standing by my side as if we’re an established couple. I can’t deny that it feels good, being with him like this. Like I belong with him. To him. “Cressida, it was wonderful to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you too, West!” She’s also far too cheery for me tonight. Well, pretty much all the time. I appreciate her enthusiasm but it’s just … not me.
“I hope our paths cross again soon,” West continues, so very polite.
That’s one thing I’ve noticed about him since we’ve reunited. He seems so much more grown up and handles almost every situation with such quiet control. He’s polite and respectful and acts like he knows what he’s doing, while I’m awkward, sometimes unintentionally rude and really, I have no idea what I’m doing.
“Oh, I’m sure our paths will cross again very soon.” The cheeky grin she flashes our way is almost infuriating. “See you tomorrow, Carolina.”
“Bye.” I wave at her, wishing I could give her the finger and let her get a good, long look at my ring, but I don’t mean it. Cressida is harmless. I like her.
More than anything, I appreciate her.
“She’s nice,” West says once she’s gone.
“Mmm, hmm.” His hand still rests on my back and I wish it would drop even lower.
“She knew a lot about the flowers.” He glances down at me. “Are you talking about them? Talking about me?”
Always fishing for more information. Always hoping I’m telling everyone I know about him.
“Her table is next to mine. We get ready together before every performance. She sees the flower deliveries and always asks about them,” I explain.
“I like her. She doesn’t seem like someone you would want to hang out with, but I like that you spend time with her. She seems sweet.”
“Don’t get any crazy ideas,” I warn him. “I doubt her sweetness wore off on me.”
“I don’t think I’d want you too sweet.” He leans down and drops the briefest kiss on my forehead. “I like you just the way you are.”
His words go straight to my head, leaving me dizzy. Has anyone ever said that to me before? I don’t think so. Not even my parents. They always wanted me striving for more. Do more, be better. You’re a Lancaster, you can do it.
That was always my father’s angle. Encouraging me by saying my name alone could get me what I wanted in life, and I suppose he’s right in some cases, but not everything.
Living up to the family name is intimidating. This is why I’m grateful for dance. It gives me something to focus on outside of the family and the money, rather than be worried over what I might accomplish as a Lancaster.
It’s a blessing and a curse.
“What do you want to do tonight?” he asks. Normally we go out for dinner and talk while we eat. That first night we drank a little too much, but we haven’t done it since, which is better. I prefer to keep my wits about me and it’s difficult enough, trying to be logical when in West’s presence.
“I’m tired.”
“You are?”
I nod, lying as per usual to get what I want. But is it wrong when I’m thinking this might be what West wants too?
“I want to do something different,” I suggest.
“Like what?”
“Like maybe … grab something to eat to-go and hang out at my place?”
That is the first time I’ve made the offer, and I can see the impact my suggestion has on West. His brows shoot up and hope flickers in his brown gaze.
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“You’re finally going to let me into your palace?” Those beautiful eyes are now dancing with mischief. He does enjoy giving me a hard time. Much more lighthearted than before, when he was a morose, broody teenager who hated everyone.
I roll my eyes. “It’s not a palace. It’s quite small, and I don’t have a lot of furniture.”
“I’m sure it’s nice.”
“It’s okay. There’s a couch and a bed. The important things, right?” My question is suggestive.
I’m tired of waiting. We keep dancing around the subject, without coming right out and saying it—or even better, doing it.
Having sex. He’s barely even kissed me. It’s almost like he’s afraid of me, afraid of what might happen if we take it to the next level.
Well, I want to make something happen between us. I’ve spent so much time with West this last week getting to know him all over again, and I want more.
I want to be with him.
“The important things,” West repeats, his smile slow. “I agree. What should we order for dinner?”
We end up grabbing sushi at a restaurant not too far from my building. West carries the bag of to-go containers up the stairs, following behind me as I race up them, not even bothered by running up three stories. By the time we’re at my front door, I’m not even out of breath and impressed that he isn’t either.
I like that he’s in shape. I wonder if he still runs. I’d guess, yes.
As he looms behind me while I unlock my door, I swear he’s taller than he was when we were in high school. And he’s most definitely broader. I guarantee his chest is more defined and I’m curious to know what he looks like naked.
Because of course I am.
“Here we are,” I announce as I hit the wall switch and the single lamp that sits on the rickety end table next to the couch flickers on. “Like I said, it’s not much.”
He enters my little sanctuary and I close and lock the door, leaning against it while I watch him survey my flat. It’s tiny and a little drab but it’s in a safe, quiet building and it’s close to the theatre and the dance studio. The location is what sold me, but I’ve come to like it here. I don’t need a lot of fancy trappings like what I’ve grown up with.
None of that is really me. I just want to dance. And retreat somewhere quiet and calm so I can just … be.
“I like it,” West announces, moving into my tiny kitchen and turning on the light before he sets the to-go bag on the counter. “Where are your plates?”
I walk into the kitchen, stopping right beside him. “I don’t really have any.”
“You don’t?”
“I’m not much of a cook.”
“Me neither.” He tears open the bag and pulls out the containers. “We’ll just eat out of these then.”
I check the fridge to see what I have to drink and find a couple bottles of beer that someone from the dance company left behind a long time ago, when I had them over after the final night of the previous production we worked on. “I have beer.”
“That will work.”
We sip beer and eat sushi at the old dining table that was left behind by the previous tenants. The landlord said it would be gone once I moved in, and I immediately told him I’d keep it. I could’ve bought anything I wanted and had it delivered but I didn’t even want to think about it.
Much easier to use what was left behind.
“This is good,” West says before he shoves another red dragon roll into his mouth. He uses the chopsticks with ease, uses far too much wasabi for my tastes, and he’s already finished off more than half of his beer. Is he nervous?
“It’s delicious. My favorite sushi place in all of London, and I just happen to live close to it.” I set my chopsticks on the edge of the container and wipe at my mouth with my napkin, realizing West is watching my every move. “Do I have rice on my nose or something?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m just—glad to be here with you. In your flat. Eating sushi.”
“Just another typical night then.” I’m trying to make light of this. He is far too serious right now.
“Not even close. My nights the last two years were spent pouring over the Fontaine books. Going over the assets and liabilities. Looking for ways to cut costs and increase revenue. It was fucking awful, but I had to learn it. I had to figure it out to ensure my and my mother’s future,” he explains, letting his chopsticks drop into his mostly empty container. “The best thing about tonight is I’m not looking at a spreadsheet.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m better to look at than a spreadsheet?”
“You don’t even know how much.” He’s not smiling. Just staring at me intently, his arms propped on the edge of the table, his upper body leaning toward mine. Like he wants to be close.
Actually, he appears ready to pounce.
“What are we doing, West?” I ask softly, my heart starting to race. I want the answer, yet I don’t. The mystery of this, the anticipation, is excruciating.
“What do you want to do, Carolina?”
I decide to be truthful. “Everything.”
