Lovers' Dance (82 page)

I opened the door, coming face to face with Uncle David’s nosy family members. Without glancing at them, I made my way toward the stairs. I couldn’t stop crying as I sorted my cases out. After using the phone on Jenny’s bedside table to call a taxi, I rolled my suitcases out of the room. There was one more thing that had to be taken. The voices coming from downstairs were loud. I ignored what was being said about me. Once I’d opened the access to the attic, I went up to get my box of memories.

Ten minutes later, I was in the sitting room with my box and cases. I checked I had my passport, purse, cell and iPad in my knapsack, and I opened the front door.

“Madi,” Aunt Cleo called from the doorway of the sitting room. “I mean it. If you walk out that door—”

“I can’t come back home,” I finished for her. “I know. I’ll always love you, Aunt Cleo, for taking me in. That won’t change.” I wiped the tears dripping from my chin. “But I can’t do this anymore. Goodbye.”

“Where are you going to go?” she called out. “To that man? He’ll throw you away, Madi. You wait and see. You’ll see his kind is exactly like I’ve told you all these years. You’re choosing that man over your family and, when he’s done using you, don’t come crying to me.”

I nodded, shuffling one of my cases out the door. “This has nothing to do with Matt and, don’t worry, I won’t come crying to you. And, for the record, Matt is my family. With him I’m home.” I dragged the other case out. “So it doesn’t matter if I’m not welcomed here anymore because, wherever he is, that will be my home. Goodbye.”

Goddamned holidays…

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Matt was perplexed. He was certain the volume of pain he felt couldn’t grow any further, yet it did. He still functioned. The brief conversation he had with Ryan about his itinerary could attest to that. He was breathing, a tad difficult due to the crushing weight in his chest which had no physical cause to lay blame to, but still breathing. And his reflection in the tinted window was a relaxed one. But when would it end? This gnawing pain swelling inside him. This dark desire to rage at any and everything, to inflict pain on someone else to ease his own…to hurt…her.

He inhaled deeply, unfurling his hands from the fists he’d unconsciously formed. How could she? How could she stay when she needed to go? Did she not see those people didn’t love her? How could she not see it? He took another deep breath, cursing himself for worrying about her. Even now, after she’d practically ripped his heart out by her refusal to walk out of that bloody house with him, even now he wanted to protect her from them.

Why wouldn’t the pain stop? It was debilitating. Matt frowned at his reflection. Weak, loving her had made him weak. He had broken his own rule and let her into the secret recesses of his heart. His sweet, dark beauty had done what no one else could boast of. She had broken his heart. He never wanted to see Madison DuMont again.

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I couldn’t stop crying. The cab driver had stopped the meter at a 7-11, gotten out his cab, went inside the store, and come back with a box of tissues. Getting to Central Park West was murder. It was Thanksgiving, after all. Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade had started at nine am from 77th Street and Central Park West. The route was usually closed until three pm, then reopened after clean up.

It was almost five and the streets leading towards the building where Matt was had just been opened. Clean up had taken longer than usual and, of course, there was a backup of traffic with people trying to get home for dinner. We hadn’t eaten. Matt would be hungry. I should cook something for him.

Dabbing at my leaking eyes, I had a moment of fright. What if he’d left? What if he was on his way to his private jet? What if he hated me for not leaving with him? So many damned what ifs.

“Here we are, Miss,” the cabbie said. “This sure is a nice building. Let me get your cases.”

I tried to say thank you, but could only blubber incoherently. Mr Nice got my cases out of the trunk while I pulled cash out to pay my fare. It took me longer than expected. I kept pulling pounds out instead of dollars. I was finally able to pay my fees and the cabbie got behind the wheel. He looked out his window and said, “Put a smile on that face. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be crying.”

He drove away. The doorman recognized me, thank God. He got one of the building’s bellhops to put my cases on a trolley and take them to the elevators. I held my wooden box in my arms. It was large enough to put a strain on my arms, but I couldn’t let it go.

The bellhop looked at me. “Miss, you need to use your key to activate the elevator.”

Key? Oh, yes. On Tuesday I had seen Matt use a key when we got in the elevator. It was added security measures for the wealthy people who resided here, and I didn’t have a key. My tears came harder.

“If you hand that box over, you can get your key out,” he advised, trying to act as if he didn’t have a bawling black woman in front of him.

“I—key—” Nonsense came out my mouth and he was looking at me suspiciously.

“Which floor are you heading to, miss?” he asked.

“Top—” I wiped my cheek on my shoulder.

His eyes narrowed further. “The penthouse?” There was an undertone of disbelief in his voice as he let his gaze travel over me.

“Yes—please.”

“You need your key,” he repeated. “I’m going to need you to step out of the elevator, miss,” he warned, pulling my cases out. “Without a key, I can’t allow you upstairs. Our residents are particular about their privacy—”

“Boyfriend,” I sobbed out, hoping it was true. Matt’s face when he said he was ashamed of me… “Matthew—Bradley—is—my—boyfriend,” I said between gulps of air.

The man narrowed his eyes, then, “Oh, yes, I remember you. You were here on Tuesday with Mr Bradley.” His cheeks got flushed, probably remembering the sight of us making out like teenagers before the elevator doors had slid shut.

I nodded and he brought my cases back in the elevator and the doors slid shut as he used a master key. “I shouldn’t be doing this, but you look upset.”

I nodded. Upset? I was past upset. I was a mess. A snivelling mess of a person who had just…oh God. I couldn’t go back home. Even though the tears rolled down my face, indicative of my inner pain, a numbness was stealing over me. It was like being in that hospital bed, being told my parents were dead, it was like that all over again. My family was gone, and I was alone.

“Miss? Do you need assistance?” The man asked, obviously getting concerned over my wracking sobs. “Do you need the police?”

I shook my head slowly. I needed to stop crying, but my eyes were broken it seemed. My arms ached from clutching the wooden box. It was dusty, the flower stickers Auntie Cleo and I had plastered over the top all those years ago were faded, the plastic lock and key I had bought from the ninety-nine cent store on the latch keeping my memories safe was brittle.

I couldn’t go home and the tears continued to fall.

The elevator doors finally slid apart, revealing two suit-clad Rambos, like Cerberus guarding the entrance to Hades. They were the Escalade Rambos. Ryan the Hulk was further down the private hallway, outside the doors that opened into the luxurious condo. He saw me and started walking towards the elevator. The Escalade Rambos were not letting me get out.

“Ms DuMont,” His face was set in a professional mask. “We were not told to expect you. Mr Bradley left strict orders that he’s not to be disturbed.”

I cried harder at those words. Hulk exchanged a look with the Escalade Rambos, then rubbed his forehead. He jerked his head in the direction of my cases and they each took one, while Hulk held his hand out, gesturing down the hallway. I stepped out of the elevator and started towards the doors. Two minutes later, my cases had been deposited inside the condo. Hulk had extricated my box from my arms and placed it on the Onice Verde marble floor.

My heels echoed loudly as I walked further into the condo. Matt wasn’t in the living space or the kitchen so I headed for the next likely place, the master bedroom. The sounds of the shower coming from the opened door of the ensuite confirmed his whereabouts. I deliberated over going in there, but decided against it. I would be annoyed if someone unexpectedly walked in on my shower. Maybe I should order food. I was certain there were old take-out menus in one of the drawers in the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later an empty, “Why are you here, Madison?” came from behind me. I hadn’t heard Matt’s approach, too immersed in my despair.

I spun around, wiping away the tears. The expression on his face was a bland one. There was no anger, no pleasant surprise; there was no emotion on his achingly handsome face and my eyes leaked more.

“Because you are,” I managed to get past the lump in my throat, running a trembling hand over my curls. He watched me as if I was a stranger. Why was he looking at me like that?

Matt tightened his robe and walked over to the fridge. His hair was damp, a bit wild from being towel dried. I watched as he took out an energy drink before closing the fridge door and turning in my direction. Matt kept his gaze on me as he cracked the bottle and took a drink before putting it down.

“Because I am?” he repeated in that emotionless voice. “And that matters why?”

“I—because—I thought—” The words couldn’t get past the lump and, the longer he regarded me with that lack of emotion, the harder it was to breathe.

“You thought what, Madison?” he asked, then his eyes darkened in anger. The first indication of his feelings. Why couldn’t it be a joyous welcoming look? Why did it have to be anger? “You refused to leave with me.”

“I’m here now,” I said.

“Why?” Matt queried, his tone now dark like the look in his eyes. “Is it because you remembered it was my plane that flew you here? You need a lift back home? Is that why, Madison?”

“What? No. That’s not—” I stopped, realization dawning. He didn’t care that I had sought him out. It was clear from the barely hidden derision creeping into his face. By not leaving with him, I had injured his pride, and Matt was a proud man. Quite unforgiving, too.

“This—” I held the back of my hand against my nose, hoping to staunch the flow. The tears I couldn’t stop and there were no more tissues left in the box from Mr Nice. “This was a bad idea. I’ll just—just go.”

Now I was completely numb. I had walked out on my family, thinking Matt would receive me with open arms. Man. I was stupid. I should have known better. Under his piercing gaze, I swallowed my sobs and made my way out of the kitchen. My family didn’t want me. Matt didn’t want me. I would figure this out. I needed to call a taxi, find a hotel somewhere, then call the airlines to book a flight back to England. Wait, I could call Sol, but no. What was I thinking? They were away. Her father was unwell and they had flown to California a day after Matt and I had arrived in New York. Hotel it was. Had I used all my dollars to pay the cab? I needed to find a currency exchange, unless I could find a hotel that accepted British pounds. Where was my cell? Google search would find one for me.

I was almost back at my suitcases when my wrist got grabbed from behind. I jerked in surprise, twisting around to see Matt right behind me. Damn. He was quiet. I yanked against his hold and got nowhere as he tightened his grip.

“Why are you here, Madison?”

I yanked again. “I told you. But it doesn’t matter because I’m leaving now. Let go.”

“Not until you tell me the real reason why you’re here,” he said in a raised voice.

“I can’t go home,” I yelled up at him. Stupid, tall man. Towering over me like that. “I chose you and I can’t go home. Are you happy? I walked out on my family. I left. And I can’t go home ever again.”

The grip he had on my wrist was suddenly gone. I rubbed my wrist and turned away from him, planning on getting my stuff and getting the hell out of here.

“Why?” he asked.

I swiped at the tears coursing down my face. How much more moisture could leak from my eyes? I would need to rehydrate or something.

“Why, Madison?” he pressed.

“Stop asking me questions,” I cried, wanting to flee this place. I wouldn’t humiliate myself any further, and I wasn’t sure which stage of grief I was in at the moment. Denial; no, there was no state of denial. I knew exactly what I had done, what had occurred in the house I grew up in.

Anger, yes. I was angry at…myself maybe. Matt, too, for being so damned cold with me. I was here, wasn’t I? Aunt Cleo…my chest tightened as I pictured her face when I left. Wait, isolation went hand in hand with denial. I did feel isolated. So I felt isolated, but wasn’t in denial. Great.

There was no bargaining to be had. Aunt Cleo had been clear.

Depression, oh depression. My leaking eyes and streaming nose were signs that I would be heading down that road soon.

And acceptance. I was numb so that might be a while in coming.

“Answer me, Madison,” Matt ordered.

“Stop calling me that.” It was the last straw. The impersonal way he called me by my first name. “I’m Poppet. I’m your poppet, and I chose you. I’m here because I love you. I chose you, Matt. Do you understand what I’m saying? I did something I never believed was possible. I chose someone else over my family. Over my family. What sort of person does that? I’ll tell you. Someone who’s disloyal, someone who’s selfish, someone who’s—” It was hard to breathe. Speaking and crying at the same time was making it hard for me to breathe.