Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“How much did you hear?”
“Most of it,” he admits, and I get back to work on breakfast.
“I hope you don’t mind that I took over your kitchen.”
“I don’t mind at all.” He crosses the room and leans on the island across from me, watching as I grate the last of the potato. “What are your hesitations when it comes to this? Let’s talk about it.”
Blowing out a breath, I pour some oil in a pan and set it on the stove. I light the burner, glad I have something to do with my hands while I talk.
“My ankle, for starters.”
“You mentioned that it’s healed.”
“Yeah, but like I told you last night, it’s not the same. I’ve done the stretches and exercises, but it’ll never be as strong as it was. When I jeté, it feels like it might twist out from under me. That makes me uncertain, and there’s no room for that in a performance.”
“Okay.” I feel him round the island so he’s facing me while I work at the stove. “What else?”
“I really don’t want to admit this to you.”
He’s quiet, so I glance over and see him watching, waiting, with an eyebrow raised.
“I’ve gained weight.”
He shakes his head, ready to dismiss that, but I continue.
“Look, I know I’m a thin woman, but my body isn’t professional dancer-ready anymore. I don’t restrict my eating. I don’t go hungry to keep the extra pounds off.”
His hand slides across my lower back, and that simple touch makes my shoulders drop, taking away some of the tension.
“Eating disorders run rampant in show business. That’s no secret. Mine was never as bad as it could have been because I’m naturally long and lean, but some women killed themselves to be the shape of a ballerina. It’s disgusting, but it’s part of the business. Anyway, I’ve enjoyed eating mostly what I want without worrying if Mik would feel it later when he had to lift me.”
“It’s ten pounds,” he says, but I shake my head again.
“It might as well be fifty.” With the potatoes almost done, I crack eggs and whip them up for the omelet. “Physically, this will be grueling. Emotionally, it’ll be a strain. I don’t know if I want to put myself through it again.”
“But part of you wants to.”
Glancing up, I stare into his eyes and feel my chest warm. “I miss it so much.”
“You should at least try,” he says and leans in to kiss my forehead. “Because he’s right. You didn’t get to say goodbye properly to something you love so much. Take this for you. Take it, and go out on your terms, not what was given to you by The Asshole.”
I bite my lip as I work the eggs in the pan. “I’ll think about it. If he wasn’t willing to come here, it would be an immediate no.”
“But he’s willing.” His hand glides from the back of my neck, down my spine, to my arse. “Because he needs it too. But don’t do it for anyone but you. Selfishly, I’d love to see you dance.”
I grin, and when he wraps his arms around me from behind, I sigh with happiness. I’d love for Beckett to see me dance too. Does that mean he’d want to fly to London to see that, though? What we have is so new, and like I said, the rehearsals alone will be time-consuming and grueling. Do I want to add that to this new relationship? If that’s what we’re calling this?
But then I think about Mik’s plea. Giselle in front of King Frederick. That’s … such an honor. I understand his desire to do this. And he’s not wrong about how we finished. We didn’t get to say goodbye to years of dedication, sweat, tears, and joy. That, too, was stolen from us.
And then there’s Beckett’s insight.
“Because he’s right. You didn’t get to say goodbye properly to something you love so much. Take this for you. Take it, and go out on your terms …”
He’s surprisingly wise about something he potentially has no experience with, and that makes me appreciate his words more. I need to think on it, though. I fear risking an additional injury, and there really is no place in professional dancing for uncertainty. For now, though, I want to feed the beautiful man beside me. That I can do.
“Breakfast is ready.”
“Good. I’m starved, and we have lots to see today.”
Chapter Thirteen
BECKETT
Several hours later, I lead Skyla to the horse barn, the final stop on the farm tour. I hang back as she immediately walks over to my horse, Maverick, and pets him on the nose.
“What’s your name?”
“That’s Maverick,” I tell her. “He’s mine.”
“How many horses do you have?”
“About ten.”
I’ve never been as fucking attracted to a woman as I am to this woman. She’s been excited all morning, asking intelligent questions about milk and processing and the animals themselves. She loves the chickens and asked if she could check for eggs whenever she was here.