Embrace the Night

Page 61



"I'm not infatuated. I just miss him, that's all." Sara stared at the candle sputtering in the middle of the table. The short time she had spent with Gabriel seemed so long ago, yet she had never forgotten him.

At first, she had written to him, but she had no last name for him, no address save Crosswick Abbey, and her letters had come back with the notation that they were undeliverable. Yet her bank account was always full. She had felt guilty spending his money when she couldn't even acknowledge his generosity with a note of thanks.

For a time, she had refused to spend his funds, and when two months passed with no withdrawal, she had received a short letter from Gabriel urging, almost demanding, that she indulge herself at his expense. It was the only letter she had received from him, and she had carried it with her until it grew dog-eared around the edges. Fearing its destruction, she had placed it between the pages of the first Paris Opera playbill that listed her name as prima ballerina.

Five years. She still couldn't believe how much she had learned, how far she'd come. She was the leading ballerina. It was a miracle. Most dancers started at a very young age and studied for years, yet the most intricate steps had come to her easily.

She was recognized on the street. Men sent her flowers and trinkets. She had received numerous proposals of marriage. She had danced before royalty. She had done all the things she had ever dreamed of, and still her life was lacking. She wanted to dance for Gabriel. She wanted to dance withGabriel, to feel his arms around her once more, to gaze into the depths of his haunted gray eyes, to hear him sing his sad songs. More than anything, she yearned to wipe the sorrow from his eyes, to make him smile, to hear him laugh.

"Sara?"

Startled, she looked up. "I asked if you're ready to go?"

"Yes." She smiled at Maurice. He was a handsome young man, tall and lean, with the inborn grace of a dancer. His hair and eyes were chocolate brown; his lips were full and sensual.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I haven't been very good company tonight, have I?" As always, he forgave her instantly. "Not very. Come, I'll walk you home."

He lingered at the door until she rewarded him with a kiss, and then, whistling softly, he went down the stairs, turning to wave before he disappeared around the corner.

In the quiet of her room, Sara turned on the lamp and got ready for bed. Sitting at her dressing table to brush her hair, she thought again of how lucky she was. She had everything she had ever wanted. Her apartment was large and airy. The parlor was painted white; the furniture was dark mahogany, the sofa and chairs covered in varying shades of blue. Her bedroom was spacious and airy even though it had only one window. The walls were pale blue; the quilt on her bed was in shades of blue and rose, as was the carpet on the floor.

She had enough clothes to outfit three women, money to spend as she wished. For the first time in her life, she had friends her own age, friends who shared her passion for the ballet. Despite the fame and