Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,42
seem like your scene,” she admitted, keeping her eyes fixed over his shoulder as she concentrated on matching her steps to his. She’d never been one of those natural dancers. It was hard for her to relax, and she was always acutely aware of her motions, certain that she probably looked as stiff as she felt.
“I choose to believe we all belong wherever we want to be in the current moment. You looked just as good sitting on a dirty bar stool at a dive bar drinking cheap wine as you do tonight in an expensive dress drinking champagne.”
“Wait, that bar stool was dirty?”
He squeezed her hand in warning. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you just dodged my compliment.”
“I know what I look like,” she said stiffly. “I lack Audrey’s prettiness and Naomi’s bold confidence.”
He pulled back slightly so he could see her face. “What’s going on with you?”
Claire glanced up briefly, then looked away again. “Sorry. I’m in a bad mood, just hate being here. I feel like everyone knows about Brayden.”
“Oh, you think they noticed he’s not here?”
She gave a surprised laugh. “I think they all know about his women.”
“Probably.”
Claire grunted. “Thanks.”
“Who cares what they think. What happened to him is his problem. It doesn’t have anything to do with you unless you let it have something to do with you.”
She was quiet for a moment, realizing it was oddly nice to be able to talk about this with someone other than Audrey and Naomi. “Do you know he told Audrey that he and I were getting divorced? The entire time they were together, she thought we were long separated and I was completely out of the picture.”
“Well, then she fell for the oldest line in the book. That’s not your fault, either.”
“I know. But then I start wondering who else he lied to. What other lies he told. And I go down this path of thinking everyone around me knows more about my life than I do.”
Instead of replying, Scott pulled her infinitesimally closer so her chin brushed against his shoulder as they danced. She closed her eyes just for a moment, relishing the proximity to another human being. To a man, specifically.
“You know, when I was a kid, my mom disappeared,” he said, causing her eyes to pop open in surprise. “People said my dad killed her. The kids at school, mostly, but adults, too.”
Claire’s stomach twisted in dismay. “Scott—”
“He didn’t,” he interrupted. “My dad wasn’t an outstanding individual by any stretch of the imagination. He was lazy, a little selfish. But he wasn’t violent. Couldn’t even abide hunting. My mom wasn’t murdered; she left in the middle of the night. She just left. Drove away without looking back when I was eight. Sent me birthday cards every year, always a month late, but I knew at least that she was alive.”
Claire tried to pull back to see his face, but he held her close, avoiding eye contact.
“The point is,” he continued a little roughly, “I learned early on that we create our own narrative. It doesn’t matter what other people say about us as long as we know who and what we are. And here’s the other thing people don’t want you to know: you don’t have to be the same thing all the time. You can wear scuffed work boots one day, a bow tie the next. You can make out with an overgrown frat boy in the street one weekend and dance with a handsome contractor the next.”
She smiled a little at that.
“So, what’s your narrative, Claire?” His voice was husky.
“Well.” She glanced at the swaying couples over his shoulder, caught one or two women whose gaze quickly darted away from hers when she made eye contact. No doubt about it, people were curious and a little puzzled that she was here. That she was dancing with someone who apparently was the guest of honor.
Claire liked that. She liked surprising them.
She told Scott that. “I have to admit, it amuses me that some of these people are wondering how we know each other. What we’re talking about. Wondering if we planned this and what we are to each other. I love knowing that they don’t know that we weren’t expecting to see the other person here.”
Scott’s palm pressed more firmly against her back. “I knew.”
Claire frowned. “What?”
He cleared his throat slightly, but his voice was still husky when he answered her question. “I knew you’d be here.”
Scott slowed to a stop, and