Free The Arrangement 10 (Ferro Family) by H.M. Ward

and I can see the horror spreading across Sean’s face like spilled paint. I rush to wipe away the look before I ruin all his hard work. I would have never thought he’d do something like this for me, ever. Reaching across the table, I take his hand and pat it. “I do. I mean, I haven’t had a meal like this since my parents died. The only time I eat chicken cordon bleu is at Wendy’s. And I do love little carrots. This is beyond words, Sean.”
    My stomach sinks as my old life clashes with the new one. This man is trying so hard to make me smile, but he conjured ghosts with his gift. When I look up at him, I try my best to blind him with a bright smile, but he sees the sadness in my eyes. I’m such a train wreck. Sniffling, I smile and ask, “Who cries over cute little carrots?” My vision blurs as my eyes brim with tears.
    Without a word, Sean stands, walks over to my seat, and holds out his hand. The chef comes out, looking rather horrified , and covers the plates with silvery domes before disappearing into the back room again. Seeing Sean’s hard body in a soft sweat suit is so strange. My eyes travel over him once more before I take his hand and apologize.
    Sean pulls me into his arms and ho lds me for a moment. Then music starts playing. It’s a slow song, something that I haven’t heard in a long time. Sean takes my hand as he steps back and pulls me with him. His other hand drops to my waist. Looking down at me, he slides his flip flopped feet across the floor and I can’t help but smile. “You can dance?”
    “And you can follow. Who knew?” he teases , as he grips my hand loosely and leads me under his arm so I do a slow spin before coming back to him.
    “I can follow.” He laughs. “ Okay, that’s a lie. I can follow sometimes, when my mood is right.”
    “And the waning moon is hung in the winter sky, just to the right of Jupiter—” Sean makes an oof sound as I elbow him.
    “Didn’t you r mother teach you manners? You seem to say whatever snide remark is floating through your mind.” The memories of my mother’s voice and wintery nights in our warm little house are no longer strangling me now that I’m in his arms.
    How am I supposed to reconcile my past with my present? It seems impossible. People told me that one day the memories won’t hurt so much, but each time one pops up, it feels like I’ve been hit over the head with a shovel. One day I’ll smile and the grief won’t be there. Such thoughts seem like fairy tales. I’m more likely to find an alligator wearing a tutu on the subway, than think of my parents and smile without feeling any pain.
    Sean’s voice tightens. “My mother taught me many things. She’s a ruthless, cold woman, and not the person who you’d want me to emulate.”
    “O h.” Before I manage to completely mess up the evening, I add, “Then tell me, if you could pattern yourself after someone, who would it be?”
    He smiles and the coldness in his eyes melts. “You.”
    I think he’s joking, but he stops dancing and takes both my hands in his. “I’m serious. You’re warm and kind. You don’t hide who you are or what you think. You wear your heart on your sleeve even though it’s been fractured. When you care for someone, you do it wholly and not in part. You don’t hold back. You’re not selfish. Not once have you asked me for anything, even though you need everything. You’re borderline destitute and you haven’t asked me for a dime.”
    Sean’s lashes lower as he speaks and he continues the slow dance that’s turned into more of a rocking hug. His voice sounds strained, like these things are difficult to say. “You’re lonely and I’m alone. It seemed like a good fit, like we complement each other, but it’s more than that. You saw it and I didn’t. When you said you were going to propose to me, every part of me protested to the idea. Marriage is something that nearly destroyed me before, but since I met you—I don’t