As soon as she opened the bedroom door, the cat fled down the stairs. She followed, listening for any sign of Ryan’s presence in the house, but only silence greeted her.
“Ryan?” she called out, walking through the hallway and peeking into each room.
What a difference three months had made to this place, she realized as she passed the great room. They’d fixed the cracks in the ceiling and all the water damage. Now the space beckoned a family to sit on the couches and enjoy each other’s company. If she stayed here, she’d replace the furniture so no one would worry about staining the white fabric. She couldn’t help picturing her and Ryan drinking wine with his parents in this room.
Strolling out into the foyer, she glanced at the front door, recalling how it had fallen—with them underneath—on the floor that first night, and how somehow, Ryan had gotten her laughing about it. Then, when he’d fixed it, he’d carried her over the threshold as if they were newlyweds. She swallowed as she remembered how safe and warm she felt in his arms. Would she ever experience that again?
Zeus darted across the foyer, heading toward the kitchen. He stopped and looked back at her before continuing down the hallway. She’d hoped the cat might lead her to Ryan, but when she came to the kitchen, she immediately noted the missing scent of coffee and knew he was not in the house. He must have left before sunrise in order to avoid her.
She brushed her fingers along the smooth granite of the kitchen counter to the sink. This is where they’d kissed for the first time. Since that day, they’d transformed her dream into reality. The gourmet kitchen was the heart of the home. The copper pots hung from the ceiling, the appliances gleamed and worked perfectly now that they’d fixed them. Would she ever eat dinner with Ryan again in this kitchen?
She pressed her fingers to her tingling lips as she left the distant past behind and strode out of the kitchen. Zeus meowed loudly, catching her attention. He rubbed his body on the wall leading to the ballroom.
Portia’s heart slammed against her ribs and her hands shook in anticipation, but somehow she managed to put one foot in front of the other until she arrived at the closed door of the ballroom. Placing her ear against the door, she listened for a sign.
She snorted. A sign! She sounded just like her mother! How far she’d come since meeting Ryan.
Unfortunately, the earth wasn’t singing for her this morning. She twisted the knob and stepped inside the empty room, gasping at the sight. Overwhelmed, tears blurred her vision.
He’d converted the ballroom into a dance studio. For her. And it was identical to the room from her dream the night before she met him.
The back wall was now covered by an unblemished mirror with a full-length dance barre running down the middle. He’d added track lighting and spotlights which would aid her in setting the mood and teaching her students . . .
Why would he turn the space into a dance studio if he still intended to sell the mansion? She released a shuttered breath and covered her heart with her hand. It didn’t make sense. He’d never given her any indication he’d changed his mind. All the changes he’d made to this room must have taken days. Why hadn’t he said anything?
Her entire body grew hot and she didn’t need to check to know a blush spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
He loved her.
She stared at the empty room, wishing Ryan was with her.
He might not have spoken the words out loud, but it didn’t matter. His actions spoke louder than words, and he’d spoken the truth loud and clear.
Something sitting on top of the iPod speakers caught her eye. Drawn to it, she wandered over and picked it up the small wooden object, cradling it in her hand. It was a tiny sculpture of a ballet dancer on pointe with her arms up overhead as if she were spinning. Portia had never seen anything more beautiful. Had she inspired that beauty or would it have eventually spilled forth on its own, a gift too strong to remain dormant?
She shook her head, clearing it of all the questions running through. It didn’t matter why he’d finally returned to his art—only that he had.
With the money they would receive from the sale of the mansion, he could focus his energy on art. She couldn’t deprive him, or the world, of such beauty. Returning her gaze to the dance studio, she realized that he intended to sacrifice his dreams for her. She wouldn’t let him.
How could she when she was his Muse?
She glanced at the clock hanging on the back wall. She still had time to stop him.
Knowing what she needed to do, she raced through the house, grabbed her coat and purse, and fled out the front door. While she started the car, she called Ryan’s cell, dismayed when it went straight to voicemail. She begged him to call her, apologizing for not listening to him last night. When she hung up, she dialed George’s office, only to get the lawyer’s answering machine. She left a message asking him not to let Ryan sign anything until she arrived.