The Procedure by Tabatha Vargo, Melissa Andrea Page A

it was important that she believed them, too. Not for me, but for herself. She needed to know that she was beautiful and charming.
    “Samantha.” Her name rushed from my lips in a whisper that I didn’t think she would hear over the music.
    She was staring down at our feet, but she looked up when I said her name. As soon as she did, I felt her small foot step on mine.
    “Oh my God, Roman!” Her face flushed, and she looked up at me with complete dread in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
    I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not in the slightest.”
    “I’m not a very good dancer.”
    “I’m not a very good singer, but that doesn’t stop me from singing my favorite songs out loud. You’ll learn, and if you’re still stepping on my toes, we’ll just have to dance like that for the rest of the classes.”
    She laughed, and I loved the sound. It was uplifting and sweet. Sweeter than the soft music that blasted from the speakers. More beautiful than any definition of beauty.
    “Were you going to tell me something?”
    “Huh? Oh, right, yes.”
    Suddenly, what I was going to tell her didn’t seem to fit into the conversation anymore. I didn’t know how to bring it back up, but it was important that she know. Taking a deep breath, I started.
    “I meant what I said.”
    A small frown creased between her brows with her confusion. “About the dancing?”
    I shook my head. “No, about you being beautiful.”
    Her smile faded slightly, and she didn’t say anything right away as she stared into my eyes. I wanted to know what she was thinking—what she was feeling. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, she was feeling and thinking exactly what I was. I wanted to ask her, but she spoke before I had a chance to ask.
    “It’s easy for me to believe that when I’m with you. I’m different with you, Roman. You make me different.”
    “No, I don’t. I just show you how I see you, and I treat you how every woman should be treated. I respect your mind, and I think your words matter. I not only find you beautiful, but I find your heart and compassion beautiful, too.”
    Tears shimmered in her eyes, but I knew I hadn’t upset her. I had managed to touch a part of her that every woman wanted to be touched. Her soul. It was deep inside—locked in a box covered by emotions—and somehow, my words were able to penetrate that shield. It made me happy when I saw from her expression that the tear that slipped down her cheek wasn’t one of sadness, but one of sweetness and feeling.
    “I wish…” She took a deep breath, and her sentence faded.
    “What?” I asked, tightening my grip on her and bringing her closer to me.
    I longed for her words as if they were my next breath.
    “Okay, ladies and gentlemen!’ the instructor interrupted loudly. She clapped her hands and demolished the moment between Samantha and me. “Let’s switch it up a little.”
    We blinked, taking a step back from each other, and she was the first to look away.
    We danced hand in hand for an hour, and I spent that time trying to control my body and its reactions to Samantha. Once the class was over, I gathered my jacket and prepared to go back to the office. My body was strung tight after holding her so close for so long, but I couldn’t let it get to me. Regardless of what I’d been thinking, the truth still remained. I was a doctor—she was my patient. My very married patient.
    I got into my car, thinking it was time I stopped seeing Samantha so much. Maybe go back to the once or twice a week thing. It seemed that since we’d started this, I was seeing her almost every day. It was starting to get to me.
    Those thoughts didn’t stop me from picking up my phone and texting her.
    Me: The Palm Bar and Lounge. Tomorrow night. 9pm.
    Samantha: Yes, Dr. Roman.
    What could I say? I was a masochist.
     
     
    WHEN FRIDAY NIGHT came around, I was nervous. I knew bringing Samantha around my friends wasn’t a great idea, but she’d said herself that