Chapter Six
Sophie
By the time dinner rolls around, I'm nervous in a way I've never been before. I know what this date signifies, and I'm very well aware of how it might end. But…I think I'm ready for it.
I'm ready for Harlan.
At least, that's what I tell myself until I descend the stairs and find him waiting at the bottom in a tux that looks like it was designed perfectly for him.
God, he's the kind of beautiful that makes me stupid.
His denim eyes run up and down my body, his expression heating. "Jesus," he mutters, reaching for my hand before his lips touch the corner of my mouth. "Just when I think you can't get any more beautiful, you prove me wrong, baby. You look ravishing."
I smile, my heart fluttering. "Not a bad opener, Captain."
He just grins before yanking me up against his chest. "I brought you something."
"Not flowers," I groan.
"Of course not. You hate them."
"You remembered," I say, a little surprised. Most guys think I'm joking about that, but I'm really not. A girl can only have so many flowers thrown at her feet before they lose their charm.
His eyes meet mine. "I remember everything you've told me about you, Sophie." The way he says it makes it impossible to doubt him. He reaches into his pocket and then holds out his hand.
A shocked laugh burbles from my lips when I see the plastic medallion dangling from his fingers on a blue and white ribbon. "Are you serious? You got me a gold medal?"
"You won the race," he says, smirking at me. "Thought you deserved an award for your efforts."
I take it from his hand, only to laugh even harder when I see that he scratched out 1st Place Ski Champion and scrawled 1st Place Cheater in its place in black Sharpie.
"Where did you find this?" I ask, grinning like a madwoman as I slip the ribbon over my head so the medallion settles between my breasts.
"At the sports store in town." He scratches the scruff on his jaw. "They didn't know what the fuck to think when I asked for a leotard big enough to fit me."
I clap a hand over my mouth, choking on laughter.
"Hope you like hot pink, ballerina," he mutters. "Because that's what I got."
"Seriously?"
"Yep, a Drag Queen helped me out."
I stare at him with wide eyes, but he's completely serious. "Your afternoon of shopping was far more interesting than mine, Harlan," I finally sputter through laughter. "All I bought was a new pair of panties."
His expression turns feral, his hands tightening on my hips. "Are you wearing them right now?"
"Maybe."
He groans so loud, my whole body vibrates with the sound.
"Jesus." His lips press against mine in a hard kiss, his tongue flicking at the seam of my lips before he backs off, like he's afraid to trust himself right now.
"Come on. Dinner, before I forget that I'm supposed to be a gentleman and bend you over the nearest flat surface to see these new panties for myself. "
I just hum, looping my arm through his.
We move to the elevator, but instead of pushing the button to take me down to the restaurant, he hits the button to take us up.
I shoot him a questioning look, but he just ignores it.
When the elevator shudders to a stop on the roof, we step out into a private enclosed dining area, flickering with candles.
The walls are glass, overlooking the mountains and valleys.
It must be heated because it's nice and warm.
"Harlan," I gasp, spinning in a circle. "It's gorgeous."
He just grins at me, his hand a heavy weight on the small of my back as he leads me to the table set up in the center. "Thought you might appreciate a view while I appreciate mine."
From anyone else, that line would be ridiculous. The way he says it—in that deep rumble—makes it something else altogether. He's sweet in a way that's still so damn unexpected. It always hits me right in the chest, like a shot right to my heart.
He helps me sit, his hand trailing down my bare shoulder before he circles the small table to his own seat, his eyes locked on me. A waitress materializes from nowhere with a bottle of wine, leaving it on the table.
"This is truly beautiful," I murmur when she vanishes again, leaving us alone on top of the world.
"I thought about taking you to the restaurant on top of the mountain, but I figured you'd seen enough of the mountain for one day."
"Uh, definitely," I grumble. "It took all the hot water in this place to unfreeze my ass."
A ghost of a smile plays at his lips while he pours wine for us. "All of it, huh?"
"Yes, all of it. Their water heaters will never recover."
He chuckles, nudging my glass toward me. "Drink your wine before I kiss you again."
"You have an unhealthy obsession with my mouth, Captain."
"No," he disagrees, his voice firm as his eyes meet mine. "I have an unhealthy obsession with every part of you, Sophie." His hot gaze rakes down my body. "Every part."
I shiver, quickly taking a sip of wine before I do something wild like throw myself over the table into his arms. I love the way he looks at me like he's looking at something he wants to devour. I'm not a problem to him, a commodity, or something out of place, or dollar signs. I'm just…his.
"What else did you do today?" I ask, trying to steer my mind away from how much I like that thought. But…I've thought about little else all day. Knowing what he really said to that interviewer, how he really sees me, threw me for a loop.
I told him I wouldn't run, but I spent all day running through a list of reasons why I should. The way he makes me feel was at the top of that list. He's dangerous to me, and I don't think he even realizes it.
"Called the police on my mother," he says, his tone casual.
I blink, not sure I heard him correctly. But judging by the tense look on his face, I definitely didn't mishear, and he isn't nearly as cool about it as he sounds. My heart sinks. "She showed up?"
"Not here," he mutters. "But Sidney got a camera notification from Hattie's place. She was out front, beating on the door." He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering a curse. "I sent the police to run her off. They trespassed her from the property. If she shows up again, she'll go to jail."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, reaching across the table for his hand.
"I'm not," he growls, his expression hard as he clings to my fingers. "It's what she deserves for the hell she's put Hattie through. I'll never forgive her for it."
Sidney has told me a little about it—enough for me to agree with him.
Hattie is one of the sweetest people alive.
I can't even imagine living with a mother like theirs, one who took every opportunity to cut her down.
It's hard enough when it's complete strangers.
Hattie had to endure it from her own mother. That's devastating.
And I'm guessing it's been equally as devastating for her brothers, who had to watch it happen over and over again. I know they tried to cut her out more than once over the years because of the way she treated Hattie, but Hattie always talked them out of it because she felt guilty.
I don't think that'll happen this time. I think they're all done with her for good this time.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask him.
He hesitates and then blows out a breath.
"There isn't much to say, baby. She was never a great mother, especially not to Hattie.
It's like she hated that we doted on Hattie the way we did, so she made her life hell for it.
It wasn't as bad when Dad was alive, but once he realized it was happening at all, he decided to leave her.
She lost her damn mind after that." He ruffles a hand through his hair, his expression bleak.
"We did everything we could to keep her happy so she wouldn't fuck with Hattie until she was old enough to get the hell out of there.
It was never enough," he mutters, regret and guilt heavy in his voice.
"I have no idea what you guys have been through," I say quietly, "but I know how much it sucks to realize you can't count on the people you should be able to count on. I'm so sorry your mom is that person for you, Harlan. No one deserves that."
I wouldn't have survived without my parents. They've always been my biggest supporters, the two people I could count on no matter what. It kills me that Harlan and Hattie lost their dad, only for their mother to spend all these years being an evil bitch.
"You're right," he says, scrubbing his hand over his face before he pins me with a look. "No one deserves what you've gone through, either, baby."
"I'm fine." I mean, it sucks, but when you want to dance, you learn to deal with it.
And it's not like I'm the only one. Even ballerinas half my size deal with similar shit.
There is a whole world of thin dancers out there with eating disorders and PTSD, simply because existing in the dance world is fucking hard.
"Doesn't change the fact that you've dealt with a lot of shit you don't deserve," he says, and then pauses when the waitress reappears with our food under silver domes.
She sets it in front of us—steak, asparagus, and loaded potatoes—and then vanishes again.
"Your dance partner is a fucking asshole who doesn't deserve the honor of dancing at your side," he says as soon as she's gone. "I'd love to introduce my fist to his face."
"He is a dick," I mutter. "But it's not like he's the only one who has something snarky or shitty to say about me. Half the dancers in our company don't think I deserve to be there."
"Why do you stay?" Harlan asks, cutting into his steak.
"No one else wanted me. I auditioned for damn near every major ballet company in the United States, and they all turned me down.
" I roll my eyes. "I didn't fit the image, and God forbid a ballerina doesn't look the part.
" To them, I'll never be anything but a threat to a tradition so old it's basically holy at this point.