Maybe the next rehearsal wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
* * *
“Not like that.”
The pianist played a few more notes before she lifted her fingers from the keys while Willow pulled her hand out of Giuseppe’s grasp and swiped at the streaks of chalk on her leotard. She threw an apologetic look at the director who crossed his arms over his chest.
Rehearsal had not been going well.
“I’m really not trying to be difficult,” she said and meant it. She was never one to be fussy with her partner and always waited for the director to stop them if things weren’t going well. “It’s just that he can’t take my hand like that.”
Giuseppe sat back on his heel and dropped his jaw. “Why can’t I take your hand like that?”
“When you grab me like that it hurts, but that’s not really the problem,” she said, mostly to the director. “It’s just that, you need to take my hand like it’s the most precious thing to you. Almost reverently, you know? But in the same instant, you need to claim it as yours. A woman needs both tenderness and strength from her man.”
“Honey,” said Giuseppe, jutting a hip and arching one highly groomed eyebrow. “I know how to touch a woman.”
Willow highly doubted that was true but didn’t comment. “Just try it.” She held out her hand.
Giuseppe pursed his lips and rolled his eyes before sighing and looking at the director. He flared his hands as if asking for help. When the director waved him on, Giuseppe blew into his palm and shook it in the air to dry the sweat. He looked at Juliet’s outstretched hand and put the sappiest look of need all over his face. Reached out slowly, as if he were afraid to touch her, then at the last moment, snatched her hand and pulled her toward him. Willow actually stumbled a few steps and yelped in surprise.
“Like that?” Giuseppe asked and Willow couldn’t decide if he was being sincere or not.
She glanced at the director again, feeling absolutely awful that she was acting like such a diva. “Here,” she said. “Hold out your hand. Maybe I’m explaining it wrong.”
Giuseppe rolled his eyes again but did what she asked. Willow took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Thought about all the times Harry had touched her. The way it felt, like he was protecting her and claiming her in the same instant. How good she felt when he did it. The shivers of wonderfulness that went through her body.
She thought about how safe he made her feel. How cherished. She imagined each and every detail of his movement. The look in his eyes. The angle of his wrist. The way he held his fingers.
When she opened her eyes, she looked at Giuseppe’s hand as if she were Harry looking at her own. She reached out, careful to mimic the way he threaded his fingers with hers, doing her damnedest to channel him completely. If ever there was a way for a man to touch a woman and communicate his love for the whole world to understand, it was the way Harry touched her.
“Like that,” she said, looking at Giuseppe who had a strange look on his face. “Like you love me and would do anything to protect me. Like you want me more than anything in the world and would never hurt me. Not if your whole life depended on it.”
Willow turned to the director who was leaning forward in his chair, nodding appreciatively. “I’d say she’s right,” he said to Giuseppe who also nodded his agreement, no longer looking frustrated in the least. “Do you think you can do it like that?”
“If she shows me a few more times.” Giuseppe turned to Willow. “Where did you learn that?”
She glanced at the director who appeared just as interested to know her answer. “That’s how my boyfriend touches me,” she said without thinking.
Giuseppe whistled and fanned his face. “Day-um.” He shook his head and pursed his lips. “And you’re still here? If I had someone touching me like that? If that’s the really-for-real way he touches you, girl, I wouldn’t leave his side for nothing.”
Something stabbed Willow in the heart and shock dropped her jaw.
Giuseppe was right.
He was a sweaty ass, but he was right.
What in the world was she doing in New York when she had someone like Harry waiting for her in Bliss? She’d found true happiness and chose to pursue her career instead. Did she really believe that at the end of it all, her resume was going to be what truly mattered?
What if, at the end of this season, she called it quits?
What if she moved to Bliss to be with Harry?
She smiled. Her heart expanded with the idea.
For the first time in a long time, she looked toward the future and felt happy.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Willow
Willow smiled at Harry’s image on her tablet and waited for his eyes to focus on her. “The chalk has actually been helping.”
“Has it?” He smiled weakly as his gaze darted toward something just off camera. “That’s great, babe,” he said without sounding enthusiastic.
“Yep,” Willow said, really popping the ‘p’ on the end of the word. “And rehearsal was pretty amazing today, too.”
She wanted to tell him it was all thanks to him. She wanted to tell him she had described the way he touched her and how it had the director nodding in agreement and looking at her differently. She wanted to tell him that she realized something so life-changingly significant that day—that she realized loving him was the most important thing she saw when she looked toward her future.
But it wasn’t the right time for that, when he so obviously wasn’t present.
“Was it?” Another glance away from the screen. “Good.” Another weak smile.
“Hey,” she practically whispered. Worry clenched her stomach into a ball of tension. “What’s wrong?”
Harry let out a long breath
