"Then I propose another toast. To new beginnings, new lives. To freedom."
Is that what he felt over the end of his relationship? Callie lifted her glass. "To freedom." She tested the concept. And in saying the words she recognized the feeling that of late had been unfurling within her. They both took another sip.
"Unfortunately, however, I'm not as free as I'd wish tonight." He glanced inside. "Duty calls." In three strides he was at the door. He paused with his hand on the saucer-size silver disc that served as its handle and turned back to her. "Perhaps a dance later?"
His gaze, full of promise, held hers as she answered. "Perhaps." She got the feeling he wasn't often refused.
He smiled, teeth gleaming white in the night, his eyes reflecting the glitter of light from inside. It was the first smile she'd seen from him, and Callie revised her opinion as she gripped the railing for support. Merely intriguing when he wasn't smiling, he was knee-weakening when he was. He even had a dimple. Just one, low on his left cheek. He probably had a litany of faults, but certainly none of them were obvious to the eye.
Nick pulled open the door and disappeared. Mesmerized, Callie watched the glass panel swing slowly shut behind him. She gave her head a quick shake, trying to dislodge the schoolgirl sensation of enchantment that had enveloped her while they'd been speaking.
Reality returned.
"Perhaps" was no commitment on either of their parts. She was free to go. She had come, seen Jason married, and felt almost nothing. Certainly no pain, only regret that they had stayed together for as long as they had. If he'd told her the truth-not that he wasn't ready to get married yet, but that he wasn't ready to marry her-they could have parted sooner. Six years seemed such a colossal waste.
She gave herself a few more minutes of the view and the peace, then crossed to the door. Blinking against the bright lights, she stepped inside. The high-ceilinged ballroom was hung with crystal chandeliers and brimmed with women in shimmering dresses and men in tuxedos. Laughter and music filled the air.
Callie glanced toward the dance floor in front of the head table and saw Nick expertly leading a plump woman in a waltz. Grinning, he lowered his head toward her silver curls and said something. The woman laughed and slapped his shoulder. Nick laughed back.
With an unexpected twinge of regret that she would never know what it was like to be held in his arms, Callie sought the exit. The doors beckoned on the far side of the room. Surely no one would either notice or care if she left now. Tonight, thoughts were turned to celebration and new beginnings. And she'd got that much herself. Closure of a chapter, a fresh page to start her life on. Tomorrow a new year would begin. She had proved, at least to herself, that she was well and truly over Jason. She wished him and Melody only the best.
She would retrieve her evening bag then slip away. But as she got closer to her table she found her way blocked by a cluster of bridesmaids, heads conspiratorially close together.
Callie tried to edge behind them, there was just enough room.
"It's not public knowledge yet," one of the bridesmaids whispered dramatically. "But Melody and Jason are both over the moon about the news. Jason hasn't stopped grinning since they found out."
Callie froze, her hips pressed against the back of a chair swathed in linen and gold.
"He's almost mollycoddling her," the whisperer continued. "Of course, she loves it."
"When's she due?" asked another.
"Six months."
Despite how much Callie wanted children, Jason had insisted that he didn't. Not yet. She had persuaded herself that she was content to wait. Obviously, his denial should also have come with the same qualification as his sentiments on marriage-and not with you.
Her grip on her champagne flute tightened. She had been so naive, searching for the perfect life, hoping for a future where there was never going to be one. Because, in reality she had been his holding pattern-company, while he waited for the right woman. Her chest constricted. The sensation that out on the balcony had felt like blossoming freedom withered into soggy loserdom.
She closed her eyes. She had tried so hard, and it hadn't been enough. Taking a fortifying breath, she straightened her spine and opened her eyes. The past couldn't be changed, but the present could. She had to get out of here. She didn't even care about her evening bag. There was nothing in it she needed.
Except her room key.
Her heart sank, but she rallied. Never mind. She would go for a walk and come back for it later. With a careful sidestep, she eased herself back the way she'd come, and with escape beckoning, spun around.
And collided with Melody.
Callie's champagne coursed down the intricately beaded front of the bride's designer wedding gown.
For a second they both froze in horror. Aghast, Callie snatched up a linen napkin and blotted frantically at the dress. "Melody, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay." Melody tried to help. "It was an accident." But the bride's distress showed clearly in her wide eyes and the hitch in her breath.
Two bridesmaids rushed over looking daggers at Callie. She took a step back and was about to apologize again, when a deep voice cut through the bridesmaids' dramatic squawks. "Good thing it wasn't the merlot."
Callie looked up to see Nick rest his hand on Melody's shoulder. "It'll be okay." His quiet assurance calmed the bride, who smiled ruefully. They seemed close, and Callie wondered, not for the first time, what their connection was. She guessed Nick to be maybe a decade older than Melody's twenty-four.
"I thought it would be me who spilled the wine." Melody laughed hesitantly.
"Didn't I hear you say earlier it was time to change into your going away outfit?"
Melody nodded her agreement and was escorted away by a posse of bridesmaids, two of whom cast accusing glances back at Callie as they left.
Nick turned to her, a half smile playing about his lips. "I believe you owe me a dance."
She shook her head. "I should go."
"Why the rush? The dancing has barely begun." His large, warm hand enfolded hers, and it seemed easier to follow than to refuse him. And it was certainly easier to be in the company of someone so sure of himself. He led her between the tables, smiling and nodding at various guests, but not breaking his stride. "One dance, and then if you still insist, you can go."
They reached the parquet dance floor and he turned her into his arms. The band had begun a new song, and they waltzed effortlessly among the other couples. She remembered, almost with a start of surprise, how much she liked to dance. Jason had never enjoyed it, and so it had been a long time since she'd last felt the freedom-there was that word again-of the dance floor. Slowly the tension seeped from her. This man's presence was so potent, his touch so captivating, she could almost forget who and where she was.
He danced well, and they fit together with the ease of couples who had danced this way many times, each knowing intuitively how the other would move. The touch of his hand was firm yet gentle at her waist, his shoulder solid and powerful beneath her palm. She breathed in his scent, a mix of expensive cologne and masculinity, and smiled.
"That's better." His voice was warm and intimate in her ear.
The music slowed almost to a stop. Reality returned. With a sense of impending loss, Callie tried to disengage her hand. The band segued into another number and Nick, his palm still curving around her waist, began moving again.
She looked up and saw his smile.
It should carry a mental health warning. One glimpse and you'll forget your own will. She held frantically to hers. "You said one dance and then I was free to go." Yet she left her hand on his shoulder.
"And you are free to go. But you'd rather stay and dance with me."
She met his gaze, looked into eyes that were the green of a forest river, and for a moment everything within her stilled in a kind of recognition. She struggled to recall what he'd said, struggled to hold on to her own sense of who and where she was. "That's quite an ego you have there," she said with a lightness she didn't feel.