Chapter 9 Dancing in the Moonlight
Dancing in the Moonlight
Henry
Ijoin my brother where he stands with a glass of seltzer in his hand. String lights crisscross above the cliffside terrazzo, turning what was recently the golden glow of a late afternoon dinner to a shadowy, twinkling dance floor.
The air is an assault of sensory stimulation, from the sound of cicadas chirping their own music beneath the string quartet, to a hundred scents on the salty breeze—lemons, herbs, florals, clashing perfumes and foods. Being outside, rather than in, helps.
“My plan to spend an hour at this wedding reception, then bail with my wife was misguided,” I say.
“Dinner took more than an hour all by itself,” Gabriel says.
Franki’s idea to resolve The Great Menu Debacle worked perfectly. As the chef who created the menu, though she didn’t prepare it, Phyllis announced each course as it was about to be served. That meant the wedding guests clapped for Phyllis every time a course was served.
She preened through the applause. Unfortunately, it also meant dinner took longer to get through.
“I mistakenly assumed Franki and I could skip the dancing and cake cutting events. We’ve done it before,” I say.
“Everyone knows you’ve done it before,” Gabriel says with dry humor. “You’re notorious for it.”
“Yes. Well, it turns out a couple guests disappearing from a huge society wedding or New Year’s Eve party is easier than the best man and maid of honor ditching a crowd of fewer than one hundred people.”
“Why do you want to leave? Franki is having fun.” He nods toward her, and I drink her in where she sits, laughing with Sydney and Bronwyn.
“Why do you know exactly where my wife is sitting?” The question is pure harassment to get a rise out of him, but he needs it.
A hint of color tinges his face. “I happened to notice her there.”
“Nothing at all to do with the fact that she’s sitting next to Sydney Walsh? The two of you flew here together. I hear you have connecting rooms.”
“It was a matter of convenience when booking—”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. You’re in love with each other.”
His attention sharpens on Sydney. “Why do you say she’s in love with me?”
“Because I have eyes and a brain.”
He nods and rubs his chest. “I hope you’re right.”
“I’m almost always right,” I say.
“Not even you believe your bullshit,” he says.
I laugh, then look back at Franki. Her attention cuts to Gabriel, then back to me, the question in her eyes clear.
I give a small shake of my head.
Dante and Spencer slow dance as the guests mingle and gather around.
Gabriel, tux jacket long abandoned, tie loose, and sleeves rolled back to reveal his tattoos, rocks on his heels beside me. “Did you see Dean’s face when he looked at that menu?”
Elliot’s prank was too funny to let those menus go to waste completely. “He almost laughed.”
No sooner do I say the words than my brother-in-law, his youngest son in one arm, salutes me with his beer bottle. It’s not that Dean never smiles, but you have to look for it in the corner of his eyes.
My little sister could have chosen any man, but, for some reason, she wanted a gruff and scarred ex-Army Ranger security specialist.
I couldn’t have chosen better for her myself.
Gabriel sighs. “I’m glad we didn’t have to try to kill him.”
A laugh barks out of me. “Took a while to be sure.”
Gabriel snorts.
“Speaking of taking a while . . .” I trail off, uncertain how to proceed. I’m notoriously blunt. It ought to be easy.
But I’m the oldest. I take care of this family. Stepping back feels selfish. He may need me to maintain the status quo.
Gabriel frowns, lowering his glass. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. Franki and I are going to have a child, assuming all goes as planned.” It feels necessary to add the last part, as if overconfidence could somehow tempt fate.
If he asks why I said it, I’ll cite statistics.
But the truth is, I’ll do anything to hedge our bets, including acting as superstitious as it takes.
There are still plenty of mysteries in this universe.
Gabriel’s eyes flare, a grin breaking out across his face. “Franki’s pregnant?”
“Not yet. We decided during the cocktail hour.”
He shakes his head like he needs to dislodge something. “Okay.”
“I want to leave corporate life,” I say in a rush. “I want to take my wife somewhere quiet where we can both get teaching jobs and breathe fresh air and have a kid.”
Gabriel freezes.
At his silence, I continue. “But, if you’re afraid taking over will test your sobriety, I can stay in New York and maintain the status quo. Whatever you need to stay steady. I don’t have to leave my job to become a father.”
Gabriel throws up a hand to halt my words. “Don’t put this on me. I told you I was ready more than two years ago. It’s about whether you trust me to take the wheel. That’s it, Henry.”
“If you say you’re not worried about the stress, I’ll believe you. But you have to be honest.”
“I’m not worried about it.” He pauses and seems to reach for the right words. “I love this work. It gives me purpose. Meanwhile, you’ve been ignoring your purpose to do something you hate. See the difference? We should get the fuck out of each other’s way.”
Relief blooms inside so fast, I feel emotionally dizzy from it, years of pent-up frustration circling down a gurgling drain.
When a fist forms in my throat, I fight not to choke the fuck up. I’ve been carrying a heavy weight for so long that I forgot what it feels like to put it down.
For years, I’d convinced myself enduring my job for the good of the McRae family was a necessary part of life. Hoping to leave the CEO label behind wasn’t the same thing as believing I could.
The stern look Gabriel sends me is so different from what I’m used to from him that I almost do a double take.
“You can still manage logistics remotely on our alternative projects, but you should move to a behind-the-scenes position there too. The team and I don’t need you on site.” His suggestion stuns me.
“I don’t have to do that.” Does he hear in my voice how much I want to? “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“I can see the guilt in your eyes. Knock it off. You’ve already invested more than your fair share of blood, sweat, and tears.
Our work will go on without you risking your neck to do it.
You need to be safe and alive to raise a kid.
Stay behind the scenes. Use that big brain of yours for logistics. We need you there more.”
For a moment, I can’t pull in a single breath. I nod. And, with my acceptance, weight falls from my shoulders in a nearly audible crash.
Across the dance floor, Franki watches me, her whiskey eyes intent, her posture leaning in my direction. My guess is that whatever she sees on my face has her worried about me.
“I need to talk to—”
Franki rises from her chair and heads my way.
I leave Gabriel and meet her halfway across the dance floor. A new slow song begins. Tugging her against me, I bend down and bury my face against her neck. “Hello, Franki.”
She holds her cane in one hand and sifts her fingers through my hair with the other, the motion comforting and arousing in equal measure. “Hello, Henry.”
I always crave feeling close to her, but tonight the urge is voracious. I need to be part of her, sink into her, feel her surround me. “I’m out, love,” I choke. “There’ll be a transition period, but Gabriel is taking over.”
She turns utterly motionless in my arms, then her breath brushes my ear, her voice tentative with the fear of hoping for too much. “Taking over what?”
“Everything.” Laughing, but with burning eyes and a tight chest, I raise my head to bask in the look on her face.
“We can find a university where we can both teach after all. Buy a house with a back porch where we hear crickets in the summer instead of traffic and a field with an open view of the night sky.”
She screws her eyes closed, her long lashes fanning over her cheeks. When she opens them, they shine with unshed tears. “Good.” She rests her forehead against my chest, and she lets go, her body shaking with sobs of relief. “Good.”
Tunneling my hand into her hair, I cup the back of her head. “I should’ve found a way to make it happen sooner.”
“No. Everything happened the way it needed to.” She steps out of my arms and brushes the moisture from her cheeks. “Come with me.”
I follow, but when she motions to her bodyguard who reaches behind himself and produces her sneakers with the orthotic lift inside, I watch in confusion as she swaps out her strappy sandals for comfortable shoes.
Dante and Spencer arrive. Dante’s brown eyes sparkle as Spencer holds his hand out. “I’ll take care of those. You two shoo.”
Franki passes the sandals off to Spencer.
“Go get him,” Dante says.
Franki grins, then tugs me after her, her cane tapping and her guard trailing slightly behind us.
When we step onto the walkway leading toward the village, I stop moving. “We’re not going to our room?”
She grins. “Nope. Elliot was a little misguided about my invitation to your parents’ yacht.”
“Don’t remind me.” I scowl.
She leads me by the hand. “But it gave me an idea.”
“Their yacht isn’t here until tomorrow.”
“I know. Come with me.”
We make our way through narrow streets.
“Are you okay to walk this far?” I ask.
“I could probably ditch the cane entirely today. I’m feeling much better.”
“We have nothing to wear in the morning.”
She smiles, warm light spilling from nearby homes and businesses and playing over the crests and hollows of her face. She knows I’m not objecting. I just need to know the details.
“I took care of everything. Our things are waiting for us. Ryan is already there,” she says.
“Where is there?”
“Not much farther.”
We continue through the quiet shadows until we reach a charming slate-roofed flower shop with a bright blue door and overflowing window boxes beneath large paned windows.