Sylvie Kurtz - A Rose At Midnight

He grasped her elbow in one hand and turned her toward the cleared floor where a dozen couples waltzed. Talons would have been easier to dislodge.

“You don’t want to cause a scene,” he whispered in her ear. To anyone the gesture would have looked as if he were whispering sweet nothings.

His thumb caressed her elbow, gentling his insistence, short-circuiting the logical part of her brain. One dance, what could it hurt?

“Dance with me.” His harsh gaze softened for an instant, and she saw the awkward boy once more—the one who’d stumbled over his words when he’d asked if he could walk her home after her shift at the ice-cream parlor.

She wasn’t a teenager anymore; she could resist those eyes, that smile. Throat too dry to speak, she nodded and let him lead her onto the dance floor. One dance. She’d prove she was over him to them both.

The warmth of his hand on the small of her back penetrated the thin material of her dress and made her feel exposed. As he drew her closer, more potent heat radiated from him, making her trip over her own shadow. He’d once made a cold February night sizzle. As he steadied her, she closed her eyes, willing her body to forget the sensations her mind too easily remembered. Memories rippled up from their safe hiding place, and she braced against their assault.

“Relax,” Daniel whispered. The ruffle of his breath made her quiver. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk to you.”

“You played well tonight.”

“Do you know my work?” Daniel skillfully skirted around another couple.

“No, other than Céline Dion, I don’t know of any French Canadian stars who’ve made the news in Fort Worth.” I had no idea if you were dead or alive. “I’m glad you realized your dream.” God, she’d attended too many business affairs if she could talk to him that casually without falling apart.

“And you? Have your dreams come true?”

“Some.” She shrugged, keeping her gaze averted from the liquid amber that had drawn too much out of her already. She didn’t want to tell him about Rosane until she’d found firm footing again.

“Which ones?” His gaze measured her as they danced, making her wonder at the thoughts behind the rigid panes of his eyes.

To make matters worse, someone’s stare pierced her spine. When she turned to look, it wasn’t the envious ogling of another woman that caught her attention, but Armand’s dark gaze. It lifted to meet Daniel’s, then a satisfied smile curved his lips.

Daniel’s arm tightened around her in a protective gesture. With an unexpected twirl, he guided her deeper into the fray of dancers.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“Armand Langelier. I know him.” His mouth thinned into a grimace as if the name tasted bitter.

“How do you know Armand?” Speaking with Daniel had always been an art, a matter of asking the questions, then reading the body as well as listening to the nuances between the words. Discussing his emotions had appeared an impossible task. This trait hadn’t improved with age.

Without warning, Daniel stood still though the music hadn’t stopped. Dancing couples brushed against them. An unfathomable darkness crossed his face. His jaw tightened. He stared at Armand through the crowd. For an instant his expression was filled with a mixture of regret and pain so deep it weighed on her heart.

“He used to be a well-respected lawyer. It’s said he helped form many happy families.” Bitterness underlined his words. Abruptly, Daniel’s arms fell away from her body and his hand gripped hers. “Come, let me take you home.”

With long-legged strides, he started for the door. Her hand firmly trapped in his, she had no choice but to follow. What was Daniel’s connection to Armand? A total stranger didn’t warrant such a strong reaction.

“Slow down.” Christi tried to slip her hand from his. “I came with someone else.”

“We have to talk.”

“You had your chance while we were dancing.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion, Christiane. Your life is at stake.”

“My life?” She scoffed at his exaggeration. “Aren’t you being overdramatic?”

“We need to talk.”

She skidded to a halt, forcing Daniel to do the same. Her free hand tightened into a fist, her stomach clenched into a squirming knot and the rising heat of anger had sweat breaking out along her hairline. A glass from a passing waiter’s tray swayed, then fell, taking its neighbors with it like bowling pins. Champagne splashed down the side of her dress.

She stood tree still, staring first at the broken pieces of glass at her feet, then at the dark stain running down the side of her dress. As a glimmer of something forgotten sparked, then faded, the blood drained from her limbs, leaving her skin ice-cold and prickling.

With effluent apologies, the waiter dabbed at her dress with a linen napkin, picked up the broken pieces scattered around her satin pumps and retreated.

Christi looked at Daniel and surprised herself with her calmness. “I can’t leave without telling my escort and thanking our hostess.”

“I’ll get our coats while you make our goodbyes.”

“You’re the guest of honor. You have to stay.”

A sardonic twist crooked his smile. “Musicians are eccentric, don’t you know? Madame Bernier is a good friend. She’ll understand. I will thank her profusely tomorrow.”

His eyes held a warning, one that spoke of danger in refusal, surging question after question, the chief one being—what was going on?

“Marry you?”

The hard drum of Christi’s heart slapped against her ears, making her wonder for a moment if she’d hallucinated the words she’d heard. An hour ago she hadn’t known Daniel was alive, and now, here in her mother’s childhood home, he was asking her to spend the rest of her life with him? “Just like that?”

Only the fluorescent fixture over the sink lit the room. Its stark light stretched the shadows of the pine table and chairs to horror film proportions. The black window skewed its reflection of the kitchen out of shape. Only hours ago, she’d found comfort here, and Daniel was taking it all away.

He slung his midnight-colored coat, tuxedo jacket and bow tie onto the back of the nearest kitchen chair. “Yes. Just like that.”

Feeling every one of Quebec City’s twenty degrees below zero as if the room had no insulation, no walls, Christi buried her hands deep into her coat pockets to keep them warm.

Part of her had waited so long to hear those words. Yet a sense of disappointment, of confusion, rather than joy filled her. She’d wanted to hear the words, but not in this dispassionate way. That wasn’t the Daniel she knew and loved.

Had loved. She swallowed hard. Still loved. The truth hit hard. Her fist automatically sought the hard lump in her stomach, trying to soothe it with massaging pressure. As much as she’d like to hate him, as much as she’d like to pretend the love had melted along with the anger, she couldn’t. In spite of all that had happened, in spite of the fact they were hardly more than strangers, she still cared for him in a way that defied all logic.

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Daniel asked with the ease of someone who was at home. Ease he shouldn’t have felt in the house that belonged to her mother’s cousin.

“No.” She breathed the word out on a long exhale and took her time to fill her lungs once more. “I don’t want tea. I don’t want coffee. What I do want is answers.”

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Like goodbye?”

A muscle flinched in his jaw, but otherwise, he gave no indication her deliberate barb had found its mark.

He opened a set of cupboard doors and rummaged through the contents on the shelves. “And if you don’t like the answers, Christiane, what will you do?”