Take Two (The Jilted Bride #1)(49)

“No?”

She shook her head and looked away.

I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. I gently laid her across the bed and slowly unzipped the back of her dress.

She wriggled out of it and I draped it across a chair. I climbed in bed behind her and wrapped her in my arms. She didn’t say a word.

“What happened today?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Take your time,” I tightened my arms around her.

She sniffled. “I was late to work and everything went downhill from there… My assistant called in sick. I forgot to switch wallets so I had to beg Jen to bring me lunch and—”

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve had some brought to you.”

She rolled over. “I didn’t want to bother you at your book signing.”

“Don’t worry about me next time,” I kissed her cheek. “What else happened?”

“I forgot my umbrella so I got rained on when I got off work. When I finally got home, I realized I left my keys in my office. So once again, Jen had to come help me out since she has the spare key. And then…Never mind.”

“Go on.”

“This guy I’m dating—”

“What about him?”

“He didn’t call or text me all day today.”

“He sounds like the worst,” I pulled her on top of me.

“He really is.”

“Wake up,” I caressed her face.

“Huh? What do you want?” she groaned.

“You’re definitely not a morning person.”

“You woke me up to tell me that?”

“No,” I hit the light. “I want to take you somewhere.”

“Now? What time is it?”

“Yes. Now. It’s three o’ clock. I’m going to get my car okay? I’m going to call you when I’m outside and I need you to be ready to jump in the car.”

“The paparazzi saw you come here yesterday?”

“No,” I pulled her arms forward, forcing her to sit up. “And I want to keep it that way. That’s why we’re leaving early.”

“Let’s just stay in bed, Matt.”

I kissed her lips. “Get ready. You’ve got about eight minutes.”

I left her apartment with my shades and hat on, looking down at the ground, not taking any chances of a night walking stranger recognizing me. I located where Joan had parked my black BMW and revved up the engine. I drove around the block five times, giving Melody ample time to get dressed.

I called her once I was in front of her building again. “I’m outside. Come on out.”

She walked down the steps wearing a silk slip and a pair of jeans. She climbed into my car and after buckling her seat belt, she crossed her arms.

“Something wrong?” I sped off.

“It’s three in the morning and I’m not in bed.”

“But you’re with me. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Shut up Matt,” she sighed. “It’s still too early.”

“I know,” I put my hand on her thigh.

I sped through the empty city, running a couple of red lights, going the wrong way down a few one way streets.

“We’re here,” I parked the car. “This is my dance school.”

“What? What was so important that we had to come here now? Why are we—”

“I leaned over and kissed her to get her to be quiet. She wasn’t completely coherent yet and I didn’t want to argue.

I walked over to her side of the car and opened the door.

“Come on,” I took her hand and nearly dragged her into the school’s basement and up the auditorium’s stairs. I typed in the pass-code to my personal seating box, and picked her up and placed her in one of the chairs.

“You awake?” I sat next to her.

“What are we doing here?”

“My summer students are having a bunch of recitals next month. They always sneak into the auditorium on weekends to practice. I wanted us to watch a few pieces together.”

“They sneak in? You’re not upset about that?”

“Not at all. I’m glad they’re taking advantage of the space. I used to do the same thing at my high school.”

“Will they be able to see us?”

“No. They can’t see through the private boxes.”

“Okay,” she moved the armrest that was between us and laid her head on my chest.

Minutes later, the stage began to glow—first yellow, then red, then purple. A spotlight shifted to center stage and a ballerina held fourth position until the music began to play.

The piano riffs of John Mayer’s “Dreaming with a Broken Heart” filled the auditorium, and the ballerina gracefully danced around the boundaries of the spotlight, leaping across it, twisting and twirling her body to the notes. Her form and control were excellent.

When she was done, several of her classmates cheered from below: “Go Ashley!” “Yeah!” “Good job!”

“That was so pretty,” Melody whispered. “She did such a great job.”

“Are you crying?”

“No.”