One Summer In New York. Trish Wylie

      There would probably be many more people like this at the shareholders’ gala on Saturday. Ethan had been smart to bring Holly here, so she could get a taste of this world she knew nothing about.

      As they ferried closer to Liberty, Ethan led Holly to the yacht’s railing to gain the best view.

      “She is amazing.”

      Holly could only gawk up at the massive copper statue, famously green with its patina of age. From the spikes of Liberty’s crown—which Ethan had told her represented rays of light—to the broken chain at her feet symbolizing freedom, she was a towering monument to emancipation. And her torch was a beacon of enlightenment.

      Lady Liberty seemed to speak directly to Holly tonight. Holly looked into her eyes and pleaded for her wisdom and guidance.

      “‘Give me your tired, your poor...’ Isn’t that poem about this statue?” she asked Ethan.

      “The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus.”

      “‘Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.’” Holly had been suffocating in Florida. All her ghosts were there. “Maybe in New York I can breathe.”

      “What has constricted you?”

      Making up for her mother’s failings, with no father in the picture. Protecting her brother. Appeasing her explosive ex-husband.

      “Where I come from nobody thinks big. Everyone is just trying to survive one more day.”

      Ethan moved a bit closer to Holly. They stood side by side while the yacht circled Liberty, allowing them to observe her from every angle.

      “Fate has such irony. I know so many people who have everything,” he said, “and yet it means nothing to them.”

      “Gratitude is its own gift.”

      He smiled wryly and nodded.

      “As I mentioned, after Aunt Louise retires I plan to move Benton Worldwide’s new construction solely into housing ventures for disadvantaged people. I like giving houses rather than just money. Because I can supply the knowledge and the labor to build them properly.”

      Colored lights began to flash on the deck and a band started playing in the dining room. Guests progressed to make their way inside the boat.

      Ethan didn’t move, and Holly stayed beside him as the boat turned and the tall buildings of Manhattan returned to their view.

      “I have seen so much poverty in the world,” Ethan continued musingly. “People living in shacks. In tents. In cardboard boxes. If I can help some of them have a safe and permanent home I will have accomplished something.”

      “You can only imagine what a house might mean to someone who doesn’t have one.” Holly knew about that first-hand, having moved from place to place so many times as a child.

      “In any case...” Ethan shrugged “...for all my supposed wealth and success, giving is the only thing that is truly satisfying.”

      Once all the other guests had filed inside, Ethan gestured for Holly to follow him in. At the dining tables they sat with some older couples who were discussing a landscaping project for the grounds around the statue.

      When the band began a tamer version of a funky song that Holly loved, she stood and reached her hand down for Ethan’s. “May I have this dance, sir?”

      Ethan’s signature smile made its slow journey from the left to the right side of his mouth. He stood and followed her onto the dance floor, where they joined some other couples.

      She faced him and began to swing her hips back and forth to the music. When her hips jutted left, her head tipped right. Then she flung her head left and he hips responded to the right. Like ocean waves, her body became one undulating flow. Back and forth. Back and forth.

      The dress was slinky against her skin. She loved how it swung a little with every move she made. From what she could surmise in Ethan’s watchful eyes, he liked the movement of the dress, too.

      At first he just rotated one shoulder forward and then the other, in a tentative sashay. But after a bit any self-consciousness dissolved and he let his body gyrate freely to the beat of the music.

      He had a natural rhythm—just as Holly had known he would. It was part of that primitive side of him—the part he kept hidden away. The part she wished she could access.

      Their eyes locked and their movements synchronized until they were undeniably dancing together.

      There was no doubt of their attraction to each other. But they were doing a very good job of keeping the evening friendly and nothing more, just as planned.

      As a matter of fact, when he had been talking on the deck earlier, about the good feeling of giving, it had been as if Holly was an old pal he could confide in. Pals were good.

      Which was why when the band switched to a slow song Holly turned to leave the dance floor. Slow dances weren’t for buddies.

      But a strong arm circled her waist.

      “This doesn’t fit in with our no touching policy this evening.” Holly shook her head in resistance.

      Ethan pulled her toward him and into a firm clinch. He secured her against him with a wide palm on her back.

      Her breath hiccupped. Tonight was supposed to be time off from physical contact with him. After their intimacy at the Empire State Building last night had gone far outside the realm of their contract. Tonight, the last thing Holly needed was to have her face pressed against his neck, with the smell of his skin and his laundered shirt intoxicating her into a dangerous swoon.

      “We may as well have a run-through, future Mrs. Benton,” he murmured into her ear. “We will be expected to dance together at the gala.”

      He lifted one of her arms and placed her hand on his broad shoulder. He clasped her other hand in his.

      “I don’t know if I can do it,” Holly protested.

      “Surely I am not that irresistible.”

      She laughed, although that was only half funny. “What I meant was, I don’t know how to partner-dance.”

      “Well, young lady, you are in luck. I happen to be three-time champion of the Oxford Ballroom Dance Society.”

      “Really?”

      “No. Of course not.”

      He began moving and she followed in line.

      “But it is not that difficult. Can you feel my thigh leading yours...?”

      * * *

      When they got home, before they retreated to their separate sleeping quarters, Ethan retrieved the engagement ring from his jacket pocket.

      As he replaced it on her finger, he asked, “Holly, would you marry me...again?”