Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

A liaison? A few weeks of sex between friends, no strings, no emotions, no consequences?

      She put her head in her hands and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. How was it possible to feel so happy and so sad all at the same time? Max had found a way for her to dance again, but he’d also gently nudged her out of his apartment and out of his life. Time to move on, Maddy, he’d said in all but words.

       I’ll never forget it, Maddy. But we both know it only happened between us because of what was going on in your life.

      What did that mean? That he’d been sleeping with her because she needed him? Because she’d been upset? Because she’d turned to him for comfort and, ever her friend, he’d given it?

      Nausea swirled in her stomach as her memories of the past month were viewed through this new prism.

      Max as her lover out of compassion. Max as her lover out of consideration and concern for a friend.

      A sour taste filled her mouth. Surely not? Surely she hadn’t fallen for him while he’d been comforting her?

      Then she remembered the look in his eyes when he’d walked toward her sometimes, all hard body and harder erection, ready to claim what he wanted. And the times he’d thrown her onto the bed and made love to her with a greedy passion that had made her knees tremble and her insides melt.

      Not a man acting out of friendship or concern. Max had wanted her. He’d said it himself, hadn’t he? He’d always found her attractive. Always wanted to sleep with her.

      Now he had. And, for him, their attraction had run its course. While for her, it had burgeoned into something far more profound and life-changing than mere sexual attraction.

      She’d fallen in love with him, after ten years.

      And he considered her nothing more than a friend.

      She huffed out a humorless laugh. It figured that the only time she’d ever really, truly fallen in love she’d fallen for the one man who didn’t want to make demands on her or wrest her away from her career. Far from it. Max didn’t even care enough to make demands.

      Like a child releasing a balloon, she let go of the idea, the hope that had been forming in her heart: a life with Max, good times shared with his family, standing proudly by Max’s side as he sent his art out into the world, dancing knowing he was in the audience, watching her.

      None of it would happen. She would never again have a chance to hold Eloise’s warm, sweaty hands and look down into her joy-filled face as they danced together. She’d never again exasperate Charlotte with her failure to grasp the intricacies of handmade pastry. And she’d never wake up in Max’s arms again, his body warm and hard against hers.

      Dry-eyed, she crawled beneath the covers and pulled the blankets tight around herself.

      Thank God she had her dancing, because she honestly did not know what she would do without it.

      MAX FROWNED in irritation as he registered the knocking at his front door. He sighed heavily and abandoned the chisel and file he’d been working with to answer the summons.

      Charlotte glowered at him when he flung it open.

      “I’ve been knocking for ten minutes.”

      “I didn’t hear you.”

      It was true. He’d been so absorbed in his work that he’d only registered the noise when he’d stepped back to check his progress.

      Charlotte trailed after him as he returned to the five-foot-two-inch bronze figure poised beside his workbench. He was removing the marks from the sprues, the channels where the bronze had been poured into the mold made from his original clay sculpture. Two more bronze figures waited beside the first in various stages of completion.

      He picked up his file, eyeing the shoulder he’d been working on. It still wasn’t quite right…

      Charlotte was huffing and puffing beside him as she surveyed his apartment. He didn’t need to look to know what she was seeing: clothes piled on chairs, dishes overflowing the sink, newspapers in stacks near the door, take-out food containers and empty bottles of wine stacked beside the couch.

      “You have to stop living like this. You’re like a caveman. You only come out to get enough food to survive then you hole up back here in your apartment. When was the last time you shaved or did a load of laundry or changed your sheets?”

      “Don’t know. Don’t care,” he said, moving in to work on a molding mark.

      “Will you stop that damned noise for five seconds and talk to me? I’m worried about you,” Charlotte said.

      He glanced across at her and saw how pale and tense she was.

      “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. I’m working. I have a show in two weeks’ time, in case you’d forgotten.”

      He still couldn’t believe his luck. He’d been at the foundry supervising the casting of his second figure when Celeste Renou had seen his work. She owned a gallery in the exclusive Place des Vosges and had offered him a show on the spot.

      He smiled grimly as he reflected that only Maddy’s absence from his life had made it possible for him to come even close to making her deadline. He’d worked like a madman since the day Maddy left—morning, noon and night—channeling all his energy and regret and anger and frustration and lust and hurt and resentment into his art.

      Three months. She’d been gone three months and he still woke to thoughts of her. He still smelled her perfume in his apartment, on his sheets and towels and shirts. He still found long strands of brown hair on his coat, his scarf.

      He still loved her.

      He was starting to wonder if that would ever change. Perhaps the best he could hope for was that his feelings would become dormant, as they had before. Lie down and play dead—until the next contact with Maddy, the next time he saw her or heard her voice.

      “Max, this isn’t about your show or your art or anything except for you. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like shit. You’ve lost weight. The homeless man on the corner has better personal hygiene. Talk to me.”

      “I’m fine.”

      “No, you’re not. You’re not over Maddy. You’re not even close to being over Maddy, and I’m worried about what it’s doing to you.”

      “I’ll survive. The show will be over soon. I promise I’ll shower before then.”

      She didn’t smile. She looked as though she was struggling to contain herself.

      “Okay, I’m going to say this because I think it needs to be said. You know I loved Maddy. I adored her. But the fact remains that she took off the moment she had a whiff of her career being resuscitated, and she didn’t even bother to say goodbye to any of us. Including you. I’m sure she’s had to learn to be so self-centered to survive in her profession, but it’s not so great for everyone else in her life. Is she worth it, Max? I guess that’s what I’m trying to ask you. Is Maddy worth all this angst and isolation?”

      “Leave it, Charlotte.”

      “No. I think you need to hear this. While you’re turning into a smelly crazy man, she’s off dancing the light fantastic somewhere. Can’t you see the imbalance? Can’t you see—”

      “It wasn’t Maddy’s fault, okay?” he snapped, unable to listen to his sister rail at Maddy when he knew the truth. He’d held his tongue through Charlotte’s shock at Maddy’s abrupt departure and Eloise’s disappointment at losing her dancing teacher. He hadn’t said a word. But for some reason, the closer the date for the opening of his show came, the more it chafed on him that he’d let his sister assume the worst about Maddy.

      “Maddy didn’t get a job offer and just take off. I found the opportunity for her through an old friend, set up an interview for her, encouraged her to go. And she wanted to