EPILOGUE
AS SHE SWIRLED AND floated with grace, with beauty, she was mercury; she was the wind, so fluid and light that she was ethereal, a goddess of the clouds upon which she appeared to hover. As always with her, she was a creature of the music, a dancer by instinct, a woman of regal beauty which the passage of time merely served to enhance.
To most who watched her, she was untouchable magic. An illusion of splendor to view, but never to capture.
And yet she had been captured, by one man in the audience.
He too was ageless. His presence would always be noted; till the day he died he would be petitioned for autographs, advice, appearances, and opinions.
It was also his name that blazed outside on the marquee. It was the prestigious Adams Dance Company that the audience had come to view, although the audience was not necessarily aware that the Adams who would be remembered as a football hero was the same who owned the dance company.
It didn’t really matter.
At the performance’s end, he cordially signed autographs, but his mind was not with his automatic action. He was anxious to get backstage.
She had teasingly promised him a surprise, and he had been about to go crazy even while seduced by the performance.
Backstage, she was quickly changing into street clothes, a secret smile on her lips—her mind also absent as she replied to others. She was eager to see her husband; she had marvelous news for him. Intimate, wonderful news.
Wes tapped lightly on his wife’s door, then stuck his head inside. She was just brushing out her hair; her eyes met his in the mirror and she smiled. “Come in for a second,” she said, dropping her brush and swirling in a circle to display the soft folds of the beige silk skirt she wore. “Like it?” she inquired.
“Umm, very much,” he assured her, brows raising as she finished her twirl in his arms, planting both hands on his chest and giving him a mysterious, tantalizing smile. He caught her wrists. “Okay, minx,” he charged. “I love the outfit, but why so dressy? And what’s this secret? I’ve been going nuts the entire show.”
Sloan laughed, unperturbed by his determined demand.
“I’m ‘dressy,’” she informed him, “because you’re taking me somewhere elegant for a late supper. And”—she ran her fingers lightly over his lapel—“after you’ve suitably wined and dined your hardworking wife, you’ll be in on the secret.”
“Un-unh,” Wes shook his head. “Now.”
“I’ll compromise.” Sloan chuckled. “As soon as you’ve ordered the champagne, I’ll tell you.”
Sloan let out a startled gasp as she felt a vise clamp on her wrist—and her feet suddenly fly across the room. “Hey!” she protested laughingly.
“I’m compromising,” Wes explained patiently, “but let’s get there.”
With stern patience, he did wait for the champagne. Then, when the waiter had moved on, he leaned his frame over the table and his eyes challenged hers. His patience was at an end. “Okay, Sloan, out with it.”
She didn’t hedge a minute longer. “I’m pregnant.”
She saw the frown creep into his brow, the worry and concern wrinkle his forehead. She loved him for it.
“Sloan,” he began carefully, taking her fingers into his. “I’m happy, of course; you know what this means to me, but not enough to take any risks. We have three children; we’ve discussed this before—”
“Wes!” Sloan pressed a finger against his lips. “Don’t worry, please don’t worry.” In a hurry to assure him, she began to trip over her words. “I’ve known for some time...I waited to tell you to make sure...Wes, I’m past the real danger point, and I had ultrasound today. Everything is fine. I promise.”
He caught her hand, kissing the palm, then each finger. His eyes met hers; the love and joy she saw in their green depths were all that she would need to sustain her for a lifetime, come what may.
“When,” he asked, his voice absurdly shaky.
“April.” She smiled.
“Oh, Sloan,” he murmured, clasping her hand to his cheek. “You have to be so very careful. I don’t think I could bear the thought of losing you again—”
“I intend to be very careful,” she said softly, the fingers she held moving against his cheek. Was it possible that he could love her so very much? That all their trials had come to this magnificent result? The past—the time they had spent crossing in the night but never touching—was now so worthwhile. It made their lives so infinitely more precious; it made them both realize how important it was to always value the love that they had learned to share.
Suddenly stern, Wes lowered his voice, still holding her hand, but clasping it firmly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life, Sloan, but this will be it—I want your promise. A son or a daughter will be wonderful—but then we will have four. No more risks, promise.”
Sloan twisted her lips into a wry smile. “I’d like to promise, Wes, but—”
“No ‘buts,’” he said sternly.
“Wes!” she chuckled, eyes wide. “I’m not trying to dispute you, but I can’t change what already is.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sloan took a moment to refill their champagne glasses. “I think you’re going to need a drink,” she told him sagely.
He accepted his glass from her fingers, his green gaze wary upon her face. “I have my drink.”
“Well...” Sloan took a sip of her own champagne. “I told you I had been to the doctor...or did I? I’m not sure. By my own choice, not his—he says I’m as healthy as ever—I’ve decided to curtail the dancing for a while. Tonight was the last performance I’ll be doing with the company until next summer—”
“Sloan,” Wes interrupted, “I approve, I’m glad to hear all this, but why do I need the drink?”
“Because we are going to have five children,” she explained with a guileless smile. Laughing at his stunned confusion, she lightly tapped his cheek. “Twins, Wes. We’re having twins.”
“Twins.” He repeated the word.
“Twins.” She agreed.
“Wow,” he said blankly.
“Aren’t you happy?”
The slight edge of nervousness in her voice spurred him out of his shock. Oblivious to any other patrons in the restaurant, he inched around the booth and enveloped her into his embrace, claiming her lips fully with both tenderness and passion, love and desire. Sloan had no objection. Her lips parted beneath his as they always would, savoring his love afresh each time.
At long last he broke away. He lifted a champagne glass to be shared between them. “To our twins,” he murmured, his eyes caressing her with his love, “to our family of five,” he continued, his voice lowering to the husky sound of velvet she would always thrill to, “but most of all, my darling, to you. A dream of a lifetime come true.”
Wes started to sip the champagne, but Sloan held him back. “Wait a minute,” she murmured, lashes lowering as she lifted the glass to him. “To you, Wes.” Her eyes raised back to his. “To knights in white armor who do come along!”
“To us!” Drawing her into the firm shelter of his arm, he was finally able to sip his champagne.