Authors: Calista Fox
Exasperation tinged his voice. “I’m confused. I thought that
was what most women wanted. To be noticed. Not be a wallflower.”
“I’ll take the wallflower.”
“Well, you’re going to have to get over it, love. Because
that’s never going to happen.”
She stared at him a moment, recalling that last night, she’d
actually found it fortuitous she was so sturdily built. She hadn’t felt like an
Amazon walking next to him and she’d been able to enjoy his aggressive
lovemaking. Jane never would have been able to take what he had to give if she
weren’t a vampire.
When it came to Drake, there was definitely an advantage to
Shana’s body type. Surprise, surprise.
As she mulled all this over, he asked in a soft tone, “What
happened to you, specifically? There had to have been something that affected
you so deeply when you were younger, you couldn’t get over it. And it made you
feel as though you don’t belong, that you’re not normal.”
Shana wasn’t ready to divulge something so personal without
hearing something personal in return. Jane’s vulnerability had helped her to
open up, and now she wanted to know Drake’s.
So she countered by asking, “How’d you feel when you were
turned into a vampire? Was it by choice, like Jane? Or did it happen to you
unexpectedly—against your will and power—and you weren’t quite sure how to
adjust?”
He seemed to process her diversionary tactic to see where
she was headed, but didn’t skirt the question. “I was fighting for the British
Army during the American Revolutionary War. I’d been selected for a small,
specialized regiment because of my skills. Our focus was the American
militiamen. They were tricky bastards,” he said, though a hint of respect touched
his eyes. “They were due ample credit for their strategic tactics. But I was
under the command of a vampire, unbeknownst to me. It was the reason we
attacked at night. Villages and backwoods cottages. We were quite good at
leaving no stone unturned as we sought our enemy.”
“That must have been a difficult time for you.” She couldn’t
picture him as a ruthless killer.
Indeed, he turned away as he said, “I did what was expected
of me. But no, I didn’t like it. And because of my disdain for war, I made a
few mistakes. One of which got me shot. But before I died, my commanding
officer bit me and I became a vampire.”
“Wow. That had to be a shock to the system.”
He turned back to her. “I was livid, but what could I do? I
suffered through the first stage of vampirism and I suppose the only thing that
eased my conscience around that time was that we were at war, and people get
killed during wars. But then, I met a woman, and that changed everything.”
“Oh.” Her gaze wavered.
He reached a hand out to her and grazed her cheek with the
tips of his fingers. “It wasn’t like that. She was older and a widow. She’d
lost her husband and her sons to British soldiers, and yet, she was so
compassionate, she felt it was her mission to help anyone whose path she
crossed, even if they were the enemy. She lived close to one of the forts in
Kentucky and she’d put the injured up in her house or bring them medicine or
care for them. She didn’t see them as soldiers. They were people, and she
couldn’t turn her back on them, no matter what uniform they wore.”
“That’s admirable.”
“And courageous. It was extremely dangerous. And not
everyone agreed with her reasoning of treating human beings, not soldiers.”
A flash of pain in his eyes prompted Shana to ask, “What
happened to her?”
“Hanged for treason, of course. I couldn’t get to her in
order to save her, because I’d been elsewhere at the time. I never quite
forgave myself for that and it changed me a bit. I took up where she left off,
as best as I could at any rate.”
“You went AWOL?”
He nodded. “No one ever found me, of course. I was able to
avert attention. Unlike you, obviously,” he added. “You’ve always been the
center of it.”
“Not willingly.”
“So what was it?” he asked again, not even needing to remind
her he’d posed a specific question.
Shana shook her head. “You’ll think it’s absurd, but… It was
a white dress.
No
,” she corrected as her heart constricted. “It was
the
dress. The only one I’ve ever wanted.”
“I’m guessing this is anything but absurd.”
She loved that he got her. How could she not have seen that
last night?
Ignoring that thought, she continued.
“I saw it in the window of a Paris boutique. It was the most
beautiful gown I’ve ever laid eyes on—then or now. The sleeves were made of the
most delicate lace and they were so long, they covered half of the mannequin’s
dainty hands. Beads and crystals were sewn into the intricate design, making
the lace sparkle under the twinkling lights from the chandelier overhead. It
was an off-the-shoulder dress with a slight dip at the breasts. The bodice was
all lace and it covered the breasts and cut away at the top of the rib cage,
like butterfly wings, then wrapped around to the back, where there was a long
line of buttons. The lace gave way to the smoothest, softest, most luxurious
satin I’ve ever touched. It was positively breathtaking.”
He propped a hip against the table and said, “Don’t tell me
you couldn’t afford it?”
She smiled, despite the painful memory creeping around the
edges of her mind. “Of course I could. I was only fourteen at the time, but I
had plenty of money. A lot of it got sent to my family, even though I never saw
them, but I had more than my fair share.” Her smile faded at the thought of a
family she didn’t even know and the recollection of the dress that had
perpetuated her damaged self-image.
“What happened, Shana? With the gown?”
“I told the saleswoman I wanted it and handed over my credit
card. In a very cold tone, she informed me it was a one-of-a-kind creation from
an up-and-coming designer named Phillipe LaVallier and that it wouldn’t fit
me.”
This seemed to strike a sour note with Drake, as he scowled.
“It was just a dress, Shana. How could you have let something like that make
you feel inferior?”
She lifted her hands in the air. “If you’d ever been a
fourteen-year-old girl who wasn’t a size two, you’d understand.”
He had to concede that point. “I have no delusions about the
pressures your society and species places on girls and women to look a certain
way. It’s all over the Internet. But it’s also something you denounce on your
website. You take the stance that everyone has to find their own way and be
true to themselves. Why can’t you take your own advice?”
She let out a long breath as her hands dropped to her sides.
Deflated, she said, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because it was engrained on my
brain that I was different. I was constantly reminded of it when designers
created the gowns the women performed in or when we were all photographed
together or when we sat in front of thousands of people and I looked at the semi-circle
of other female violinists and saw how small and feminine they looked. They all
sort of blended together. And then there was me.”
He seemed to consider this, taking her self-consciousness
seriously. Finally, he asked, “So about the dress?”
“I bought it, of course. My own gift to myself. Though…” Her
brow furrowed. “I’d always considered it was the sincerest gift I’d ever
received—even though I’d been the one to buy it—but in hindsight, it was the
most insulting one.”
“How so?”
“I took it with me everywhere. I’d hang it in plain view in
my hotel suites, and every time I passed by it, I’d touch the satin skirt or a
lace sleeve. I had room butlers steam it as soon as it was unpacked or if I saw
the tiniest wrinkle. And sometimes, I’d try it on. Of course, I could never get
the buttons to fasten at my hips. They’d hook at my waist, because it was small
enough. But my hips and breasts… Not a chance.”
“Good Lord.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Those hips
and breasts are the stuff fantasies are made of.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you.” She never would have
believed his words had it not been for last night. “But dresses like that one
were made for women with zero curves and no boobs. So it would never fit me, no
matter what I did. Yet I hadn’t quite accepted that reality when I was
fourteen.”
He groaned.
“Yeah, I know. But again, it all comes down to being thrust
into a limelight I never wanted to stand in, and all the attention created a
lot of anxiety. So much so, one night before a performance, I fainted.
Collapsed backstage.”
She hated to tell him this part of the story. It was
painful, yes. But as she thought of it, she could see how detrimental she’d
been to herself.
She said, “They rushed me to the hospital and hooked me up
to an IV. I realized I hadn’t eaten much in weeks, and even less over the past
few days. When a nurse told me they were feeding me intravenously, I got
hysterical. I ripped the IV out of my arm and tried to leave the hospital. They
had to restrain me.”
Drake’s fingers smoothed back strands of hair from her face.
“Shana. You are so beautiful.”
“You make me feel that way,” she told him without thinking
twice about it. “I’ve struggled with this for so long, but last night…
Everything changed. I just didn’t know how to let go of all that baggage. I’ve
carried it for so long, it became a huge part of who I was. Even leaving music
behind and changing my name couldn’t cure me of how out of place I’ve always
felt. I purposely Americanized myself when I turned eighteen. I never felt comfortable
with European culture and I had no experience with my own heritage. I moved to
New York and tried to fit in with the rest of the eclectic group that populates
this city.”
“Didn’t work either, though, did it?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No. I just keep denying who I
am, and that’s no one’s fault but my own. I thought I could be happy as just
another face in the Manhattan crowd and hide behind my computer. But that’s not
really living, is it?”
His brow furrowed. “What is it that you want?”
“To salsa dance,” she told him.
He let out an unchecked laugh, clearly taken aback. “I don’t
think I understand.”
“I’ve never done it. I don’t speak a word of Spanish. I’ve
never been to Mexico. I can’t even recall ever eating a taco, because I was
terrified of the calorie count. But mostly… I never got the chance to know my
own culture because I was thrust into someone else’s and I believed I had to
fit into it. I didn’t want to be different. But the fact is, I am. I’m not
French or Swedish or Italian. I’m Hispanic. I should know something about my
own culture, don’t you think?”
The way her body had responded to Drake and Jane the
previous evening helped to trigger this revelation. She’d always been so
self-conscious that she didn’t have slim hips and straight lines that she’d
fought to keep them stiff and in place, so they wouldn’t sway too much. But
last night… It’d been wonderful to fall into a natural rhythm with Drake that
involved undulating and rolling her hips. And this morning, the soreness she’d
felt had been because she’d never worked that part of her body in that way.
“The bottom line is,” she continued as he remained
perplexed, “I realized this evening that I could bury my head in the sand and
assume you didn’t want me or I could come here and force you to admit it. So
I’d know for sure. Or hear that, in fact, you
do
want me. So. Which is
it?”
One dark brow lifted. “
Force
me?”
She nodded. “You can’t lie to me.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“First, I don’t believe it’s in your nature. Second, you
felt horrible for hurting me and you wouldn’t do it again. Telling me no, you
don’t want me, cuts me loose and you won’t have the chance to ever hurt me
again, thereby honoring your vow.”
“I see. And telling you I do want you…?”
She grinned. She couldn’t say where all the bravado came
from, but like last night, when all the pieces fell into place, it just felt
right. “Then you’ll be grateful I’m helping you unpack.”
His smirk was damn sexy. “Do you realize you make my head
spin?”
“Answer the question, please.”
“You already know the answer.” He scooped her up in his
arms, effortlessly as usual. Cradling her body close to his, he said, “Change
of plan, love. Europe is out. Mexico is in.”
Epilogue
Drake and Shana watched the sun set over the ocean. The
shadows of twilight wove through the tall palm trees and crept over the
Saltillo-tiled patio. They stood in the shade just inside the opened
floor-to-ceiling doors in the spacious living room-kitchen area of the
two-story casita Drake had bought Shana on the gorgeous and secluded Maroma
Beach in the Riviera Maya.
When the glowing colors of the setting sun dissipated and
twilight turned to dusk, Drake took Shana’s empty margarita glass and said,
“Time for a refill.”
“That was stunning,” she said on a sigh.
They’d caught every sunset since they’d arrived two weeks
ago, after the sale was final. Prior to that, they’d spent nearly a month in
Playa Del Carmen, where Shana was finally reunited with her family and was able
to get to know her siblings for the first time.
As Drake strolled over to the refrigerator and retrieved the
margarita mix to whip up another batch of cocktails on the rocks, Shana salsa’d
her way over to the large island where he worked.
He watched her with a grin on his face. “Those hips were
made for shaking, love.”
“That’s what Miguel said.”
Drake’s grin vanished and he scowled at the mention of her
dance instructor. An attractive man who liked to help Shana find the rhythm
with his hands on her waist and his body a little too close to hers for Drake’s
comfort. “I do wish you’d hire a woman to teach you to dance.”