Mercy Read Online Free PDF

to call him Matthew now.
    “Mr. Norris?” I began. Ugh, you idiot. “Um, Matthew, the last time we talked...please forgive me.”
    “There’s nothing to forgive.”
    “Yes there is. I was so rude to you. I apologize, I really do.”
    He smiled, that kind, easy smile, and leaned close to me so my eyes fixed on his lips.
    “I apologize for calling you a thing,” he said. “Although in my defense, I did call you a thing of beauty .”
    I looked up at him and somehow managed a smile. His own smile was infectious, but he still scared me. Why did he scare me so much? I couldn’t put my finger on it. Wild animal male, I thought to myself. Dangerous and unpredictable. And here we were, alone together back in the wings where no one could see us. Mr. Norris, the wild animal, and me, his prey.
    But he wasn’t wild. In fact his manners were impeccable. He took my glass and offered to bring me more champagne. He left, fully trusting me to wait there for him, and I did although my brain was pleading with me to fly.
    When he returned to me with our full glasses of bubbly, I waited for the typical moronic toast. To dance whores , I envisioned him saying, holding up his glass to me. But no silly toasts or comments were forthcoming. He only sipped his champagne and looked out with me as the room began to thin.
    “Where were you?” I asked finally, to fill the awkward silence. “Earlier tonight? When the party began?”
    “You missed me?”
    I blushed a thousand shades of red.
    “Well, you remember that I work ,” he said. “I had a phone call I had to take and unfortunately it went on and on. I did see your performance though, and I’m glad for that. It was just lovely.” And the way he said lovely , it wasn’t gushing or fake , just hopelessly kind.
    I turned my head away in self-preservation. If he didn’t leave me soon, I would humiliate myself over him.
    “How long have you been dancing?” he asked. He had a strange way of talking to me, sort of formal and stern, but his voice never rose above that quiet, calm tone.
    “I’ve danced forever. Since before I can remember, I’ve been dancing.”
    “Did your parents dance, too?”
    “No. Why?”
    He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wonder where this kind of talent comes from. Genetics, nurturing? Or just hard work?”
    I stared out at the rows of seats in the theater. “I’ve worked pretty hard.”
    “Hmm. I’m sure you have.” He looked at me again like he was looking at a thing . “How long will you continue to dance, Lucy?”
    “Until I can’t anymore,” I answered without pause. He looked hard at me then. Was he trying to guess how long I had left? “Have you ever danced?” I blurted out to distract him from thinking about my age.
    That made him laugh , loud and hard. “Oh, no. Fortunately for humanity, no, I never have. And I never will.”
    His self-deprecating words made me giggle. “Maybe if you’d had lessons.”
    “Yes, maybe.” He laughed with a nod.
    I bit my lip. I had no idea what else to say. He rendered me speechless and I can’t say how. I could see how he excelled at business. He had a manner about him that had me at his feet.
    “So, do you like these things, these ‘Galas’?” he asked.
    I felt embarrassed, as if he’d somehow overheard the snide comments Grégoire and I had made all night.
    “No, not really.”
    “Why don’t you?”
    I wanted to say something cutesy and glib, but the way he stared at me compelled me to absolute truth.
    “Because they feel really fake. Artificial.”
    “And you don’t like that? Make-believe?”
    He didn’t say it suggestively, but my mind flew to the silly make-believe fantasies he’d spurred in my mind. Or maybe he did know. Ugh, why couldn’t I stop blushing? I could feel it creeping up into my cheeks again.
    “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I like make-believe sometimes. When I’m in the mood.”
    “Hmm. And what puts you in the mood for make-believe?”
    I didn’t