A Christmas Night to Remember(31)

His face was expressionless. ‘And do you know yourself now?’

‘I’m beginning to.’ She moistened dry lips. ‘And I didn’t realise what a headcase I was.’

‘No, not a headcase.’ His voice was calm, level. ‘Merely vulnerable and afraid and unconfident. You have always been those things, Dee. This is no surprise to me. You are also courageous and sweet and generous, with the softest heart of anyone I have ever known. The positives outweigh the negatives big time. If you’re going to examine yourself, do it properly.’

She stiffened a little. ‘You think you know me so well?’

‘I know I do.’ His smile was almost pensive.

‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

‘I have to be,’ he said quietly. ‘For your sake as well as mine. The accident has brought to the surface issues which would have been dealt with slowly, over a matter of years, if it hadn’t happened. But it has happened. And maybe it’s for the best.’

She stared at him, hurt beyond measure. ‘How can you say that?’ she accused thickly, the physical and mental agony she’d suffered over the past months rising up in a bitter flood. ‘I’ve lost everything I’ve worked for all my life.’

His face tightened, but his voice was still calm and controlled when he said, ‘No, Dee. You have lost the ability to dance as you once did. That has been taken away from you. But that’s all. You can still see and hear and smell and touch. Your mind hasn’t been damaged, your intellect is still as sharp, and you can make decisions about where you want to go and what you want to do and carry them out without being dependent on others to enable you to move or walk. There are plenty of people—some of them in that hospital you’ve just left—who would give ten years of their lives for that alone. You have everything to live for.’

Anger replaced the hurt. ‘You’re accusing me of self-pity?’

He looked at her intently with those ebony-dark eyes. ‘Your words, not mine,’ he said quietly as the lights began to dim once more. He settled back in his seat, his face inscrutable.

Melody barely heard the orchestra strike up. She sat staring towards the stage, fighting hot, angry tears and telling herself she hated him. Hated him. How dared he say all that to her after all she had been through? Didn’t he understand how this had changed her life? Didn’t he care? She had been right to insist on a divorce—this proved it.

The curtain rose, but it was a few minutes before she focused on the drama being enacted on the stage. The drama in her own life was paramount. She could feel Zeke’s eyes on her now and then as the musical progressed, but she didn’t glance at him once.

The anger and outrage subsided after a while, and a quiet but insistent little voice deep inside was telling her that Zeke was right. Right, but cruel and hard and unfeeling, she told herself bitterly. How could he say he loved her and talk to her like that?

It was another twenty minutes before she could bring herself to acknowledge that Zeke had said what no one else would dare to say, because he felt she needed to hear it. In all the time she had known him she had never seen him be anything but ruthlessly honest and direct. It was just that the searing truthfulness had never been directed at her before—or not with such severity, anyway. Nevertheless, if this was tough love she didn’t want it.

By the time the last curtain call was finished, to rapturous applause from a very satisfied audience, Melody felt like a wet rag. If she had just endured twenty sessions with a therapist without a break she couldn’t have been more exhausted or emotionally drained, she thought, as the lights rose and people began to stand up. It was as though in the past few hours since leaving hospital the door in her mind where all her insecurities and issues had been under lock and key had been flung wide open, and she was having to deal with the resulting cans of worms in one fell swoop. Some Christmas Eve, she thought wretchedly.

She must have looked as spent as she felt, because Zeke’s voice was genuinely concerned when he said, ‘We can skip dinner out and order Room Service when we get back to the hotel, if you would prefer that? It’s probably more sensible with the weather.’

Melody nodded. The thought of an intimate twosome was scary, but she got clumsy when she was tired, and anything was preferable than falling flat on her face in every sense of the words. ‘If that’s okay?’

He kissed her, a slow, gentle kiss, and she didn’t have the energy to protest. ‘Come on,’ he said softly. ‘Let’s go home.’