Chapter 11
It’s the sweet sounds at daybreak that the
dreaming bridegroom hears on his wedding morning,
calling him to the church.
William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, act 3, scene 2
Ryan flipped over again and punched his fist into the pillow. It was too early to sleep and he couldn’t get their argument out of his head. Portia hadn’t done anything wrong and she didn’t deserve his anger. He’d taken two years of resentment out on her when all she’d wanted was to help. Plagued by guilt, he sat up and flicked on the lamp. Zeus purred at the foot of the bed and stared at him, daring him to go and apologize. Damn it, the cat was right.
Sneezing, he threw on a pair of sweatpants and went downstairs to find her. Immediately after stepping off the landing into the foyer, he heard his Uncle’s Greek folk music playing again. He followed the joyful sound straight to the ballroom. The door was open and he moved to go inside, but paused when he spied Portia. He hung back in the doorframe and watched as she swayed her arms in an arc over her head and twirled. With her eyes closed, she glided across the floor as if it were air and she was weightless. The violin built to a crescendo and Portia leapt into the air, flying as though she had wings. He wanted to be the one to catch her when she landed. He wanted to lift her in the air high over his head. He wanted to tug her to him and hold her in his arms.
Something tickled his leg. Purring, Zeus circled his tail around Ryan’s calf. Why wouldn’t the cat leave him alone? Before he could suppress it, he sneezed again. The music stopped and so did Portia.
Her eyes snapped open and her hand flew to her chest. “You scared me.”
He moved inside the door. “I’m sorry. Not for scaring you.” She arched a brow. “I mean, I’m sorry for that as well, but I’m sorry for before. I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you or stormed off like a child. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Apology accepted.” She raked a finger through her hair and began to tie it up in a ponytail. “Did you hear the music again?”
Hearing music should freak him out, but for some reason, it didn’t. It was part of the house. Just like that ancient cat.
“Yeah. Weird, huh?” He met her in the center of the room and took a huge breath. “I was wondering, and you’re under no obligation to say yes, but I was wondering if you’d go with me to a fundraiser. It’s for the Children’s Hospital and it’s in December, so they do this whole winter wonderland theme. There will be dinner and dancing. My family goes every year.”
Her jaw dropped a little, and she blinked a few times. “Wouldn’t you rather bring a date?”
“I was hoping you’d be my date.” He stepped closer and inhaled her vanilla scent.
Her hand shot out and she clasped onto his shirt. “Ryan, I told you, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”
Even as she spoke the words, her body relayed a different story. Still clenching his shirt, her fingers subtly, and apparently involuntarily, rubbed his chest. He kept his own hands at his side despite the urge to thrust his fingers in her hair and pull her head down for a kiss she’d never forget.
The cat meowed and wrapped himself around Ryan and Portia’s legs as if binding them together. “I’m attracted to you and I think you’re attracted to me. Why not see where this leads?”
She stared at him for a moment, giving him hope he’d gotten through. She looked down at her hand on his chest, obviously realizing she’d clutched it like a starving woman, then quickly dropped it and blushed. She inhaled loudly. “I don’t know who my father is.”
“Okay.”
She flexed and pointed her feet in her adorable nervous gesture. “Why would Alexander leave me anything? He didn’t know me and we weren’t even close to Aunt Tina. I know my mom said my father was Irish, but what if she lied? What if Alexander was my father? That would explain why he left me the house. And that would make you and I blood-related cousins.”
Gazing at this beautiful woman who danced and turned pink whenever she got nervous, he wondered what he’d need to do to win her over. Laughing at her wouldn’t work, but that’s exactly what he did.
“What’s so funny? I’m serious.” She frowned and put her hands on her hips.
His laughter died long enough to explain. “Rest assured Alexander wasn’t your father. I overheard him talking with my father years ago about the fact that he was sterile after a case of the mumps in childhood. He bragged that it kept him from needing a vasectomy like my dad. So you don’t have to worry. We’re not blood-related.”