Authors: K Carr
“You want to come dance with me?” I asked.
She clapped her hands and grinned. “Yes, please.”
I took the hand she offered and we skipped down the hall to the main dance room. Dante and some of the others were getting ready for another run through of our amended final act.
“Your mom’s late again, Mellie?” Liam asked the girl. He shook his head in disgust as he stretched. Melanie’s mouth wobbled a bit and I bent down to retie her ribbons around her legs.
“Show me what you’ve learnt today, pumpkin. Then I’ll go call your mom.”
She eagerly ran to stand in front the mirrors and began to do an endearingly clumsy
pas de basque
.
“Start from fifth position, Melanie, not fourth,” Dante corrected automatically. His tone was sharp and I narrowed my eyes at him. Sometimes he forgot these kids were young and his expectations of them were usually too high. I agreed with pushing the students to explore and attain their full potential but, jeez, his reprimand had my back stiffening. Poor Melanie looked like she was about to cry. I walked over to her with an encouraging smile and stood in fifth position. She took a deep breath and mimicked me.
“Start in fifth, then
plié
. Slide that front leg out, pumpkin. That’s a tendu—”
“Can you teach me to spin, Madi?” She put her hands on her hips, staring at her legs in the mirrored wall.
“You mean a
pirouette
, Mel, and your legs need to be much stronger. You must be able to maintain
en pointe
first.” I patted her shoulder lightly, not wanting to sound discouraging.
“I can,” she said defiantly, mouth tight in concentration as she attempted to rise up. I applied pressure to her shoulder, ensuring she couldn’t.
“Listen, pumpkin. You’ve just turned ten. We don’t start teaching that until you’re around eleven. Remember what I told you? Your bones have to be strong enough, otherwise you can permanently damage your feet.”
“You let Janey do it, and she’s the same age as me.” She folded her arms and pouted. Bri chuckled to herself as she watched the ten-year-old stare me down. Mel continued to complain. “She said she started when she was nine. That’s not fair.”
I folded my arms, too, and tried to win the stare off. “Firstly, you’re not wearing the proper shoes for it even if I were going to let you do it, which I’m not. Secondly, Janey had a doctor’s note confirming the bones in her feet are hard enough, and she’s already achieved sufficient competency in fundamental ballet technique. You’ve only been attending classes for seven months—”
“I can do it.”
“No, you can’t.” Dante walked over. “Not yet, at least. But if you come to classes every week and practice all the time—”
Melanie’s thin shoulders slumped.
“You’ll be as good as Janey,” I finished. “Now put a smile on your face. Have you ever seen a pouty ballerina?” I gestured to the adults around us, all in various warm-up positions. They plastered exaggerated grins on their faces. I laughed. Melanie unwillingly started to giggle, too.
“Good girl, let’s go call your mom.” I ushered her in the direction of the door.
“We’re starting, Madi,” Dante warned. “Don’t be too long.”
I gave a backward wave of acknowledgement and hurried the little girl out of the room. At the front desk, I found her mom’s number on the database and called. It was on the third call she answered.
“Mrs Traynor.” I injected as much firmness into my voice as possible, thinking of Matt as I did. He could make someone tremble with just a word. “It is now six thirty and your daughter is waiting for you to pick her up. Her class finished at five pm.”
Melanie’s mom started spewing out excuses. I’d heard them all before.
“I understand you have other commitments and two younger kids, but we are not babysitters. If you’re unable to get here on time, I suggest you make arrangements for someone else to pick up Melanie—”
She made a comment about our increased prices and I had to swallow my anger. The increase had been smaller than Dante wanted, but it wasn’t as expensive as some of the other ballet schools.
“Yes, we did increase our prices and, if we had to look after our students after their classes ended, it would be triple the fees. It is not a service we provide. How long until you get here?” I hung up after she said she would arrive in fifteen minutes. Bitch.
Gloria, who was keeping Melanie distracted while I spoke to her mom, glanced over at me with a roll of eyes. Mrs Traynor was known for her inability to maintain good timekeeping. Melanie’s ears were red with shame. I felt bad for the kid, remembering what it was like being left waiting for someone to come pick you up. Aunt Cleo had done her best, but there were times I wondered if she’d forgotten I existed. The resentment I felt when she would bustle through the front doors of my ballet class, agitatedly telling me to come on as if I’d been the one keeping her waiting…
“Would you like a fruit bar, Mel?” I reached under the desk for Gloria’s secret stash and was rewarded with a menacingly glare from its owner. I shrugged at her unspoken threat and pulled one out. The kid must be starving. “Here you go, pumpkin. You wait here with Gloria until your mom arrives and I’ll see you next week?”
Melanie nodded as she tore off the wrapping and wolfed the bar down in three bites. I frowned, exchanging a look with Gloria. Was it me or did she seem more slender than before? I would watch her from now on. Maintaining a healthy weight was a must. I’d seen too many girls back home battling themselves to keep the perfectly petite frame expected of ballerinas. Lucky for me, I had an aunt Cleo. The one time she had caught me puking up food, she had slapped my ass hard as I bent over the toilet bowl and said, “Don’t you be following them scrawny white girls, you hear. Food was made to be eaten, and I will not have you puking my money down the toilet. If I ever catch you doing that again, I will whup your ass. I’m not afraid to. Don’t think you can hide it, either. I’m your aunt, I know everything.’
My aunt Cleo was something. I waved to Melanie and headed back for the main room.
If I held back on paying the lights and heating for the building until this month’s student fees came in, I could possibly send aunt Cleo the money she needed. Or I could raid my emergency savings, as much as I was loathed to.
Fuck it, family came first
. I would check the books before leaving tonight and see what cash was available. There was no need to tell Dante. I had invested the majority into our dance company, and I would replace the money before he noticed it.
“Come on, Madi,” Dante said as soon as I entered the room, impatiently motioning me over. “I need you now.”
My heart clenched in my chest. How I wished he meant that in another way. Thoughts of Matt whispered guiltily through my mind. I pushed them away. Matt and I weren’t a real couple, even though I had feelings for him. We slept together, but I secretly harboured fears that I was a perverse racial experiment. However, he was fantastic in bed and, the plus side was, when Dante finally realized he was in love with me—I had yet to figure out how on earth this was going to happen—I would be able to rock his world because of the things I’d learnt from Matt. Win-win.
Dante slipped his hands on my waist, effortlessly lifting me. “Ready, sweet cheeks?”
I extended my arms, body poised. “Ready.”
THE REALIZATION HOW far out of my league I was hadn’t settled in. I was trying to hide my freak out from Matt, who looked unbelievably attractive in a casual, cream shirt that showed off his broad shoulders to maximum effect, which tapered in at his yummy waist under his dark pants that did nothing to hide those impressive legs of his. His hair wasn’t slicked back as usual, instead laying in semi-tousled, black waves around his head. Damn, he was fine. He sat across me, grey eyes squinting at whatever it was he looked at on the screen of his tablet. I sipped my champagne demurely and tried not to look out of place on his private jet. A text arrived from him Friday night, instructing me a car would be sent to pick me up at six am the next morning. I had texted back saying I had my own car and could meet him at the airport before we had to check in. It was a worry, wondering how we were going to do this. Would anyone recognize him? Would we act like strangers? Would I sit in coach while he enjoyed first class? Where exactly were we heading to in Italy? Would we share a taxi from the airport when we landed? And, if not, why wasn’t he giving me directions to his place so I could get there on my own?
All the worry had been for naught. Matt had sent another text two hours later, again brief and straight to the point, saying everything was under control and for me to be ready when the car arrived.
I took another sip from my glass and watched him surreptitiously from under my lashes. There were tiny crinkles around his eyes, barely noticeable, and the only signs of his age. I personally believed them to be the results of smiling. I liked the thought of him smiling so much his eyes showed the effect. He wasn’t smiling now. Matt was quickly flicking his index finger over the screen and grumbling under his breath. He sighed and looked up. I tried to act as if I hadn’t been observing him without his knowledge.
“I’m sorry, poppet. I’m rotten company at the moment.”
I sipped my champagne, wrinkling my nose at the bubbles. He chuckled, the tension spilling from him moments ago dissipating into nothing. He put the tablet down and beckoned me over. I shook my head and stayed in my seat.
“Come over here and sit on my lap,” he said with a grin.
Another shake of head directed at him. On entering the jet, I had been assailed with the urge to strip him naked and do things, naughty things. It was an urge I had been fighting and was determined to overcome. I was turning into a wanton slut around this man.
“So,” I started in an attempt to change the topic. “You have a private jet.”
Matt nodded, eyes lingering on my dress. It was a spaghetti-strap yellow number, tight over the boobs, then falling into a light flow of material that covered me to the knees. Summer was almost over, and I wanted to get wear out of my dresses before it became too cold.
“Do you use it much?” I asked, trying my best to ignore his come-hither vibes.
“Yes, you know I travel a lot with work. Come over here, poppet.”
“Nuh uh.” I looked around the plush interior, conscious that somewhere in the jet there were two people who had taken our bags and gotten us the champagne. The pilot was in the cockpit. He seemed a friendly person, shaking Matt’s hand energetically when we’d arrived, and shooting me openly curious looks when Matt wasn’t looking.
“Why not?” Matt asked. He leaned back in his seat and arched a unamused eyebrow at me.
“Because,” I answered unhelpfully.
“That is not a properly constructed sentence, poppet. Come over here.”
I put my glass down, noting the satisfied smile on his face as I stood up. I walked past him, throwing over my shoulders a carefree, “Need to pee, hon.” I hurried to the bathroom and made sure the lock was turned. This was insane. I was on a private jet with a rich white man ten years older than me and heading to his place in Italy. It had been getting easier to ignore the race issue. In fact, the more time we spent together, the less it was apparent. He was Matt to me now. Not white Matt or mega-rich Matt, just plain ole Matt.
My reflection in the mirror was a sceptical one. I might no longer be focusing on the race subject, but he most likely was. I pondered our unusual relationship.
Where was this heading?
Nowhere, I reminded myself. It was only a matter of time before Matt and I stopped seeing each other. My gaze flickered around the bathroom that was tastefully done in marble. Sheesh. This bathroom was better than mine. After freshening up my sparse makeup, I returned to our seats, pausing to bend over and press a kiss to Matt’s cheek.
“Stop being bossy, Matt.”
He chuckled, grabbing my waist and tugging me onto his lap. “I am trying, poppet. Are you looking forward to your first visit to Italy?”
I nodded vigorously and he chuckled, a hand stroking up my back lightly.
“Is there anything in particular you would like to do?” he asked, staring intently at my lips. “Or see?”
“Venice, Rome, the Vatican City, Milan.” I started counting them off on my fingers. “The Amalfi coast. Oh, and Pompeii.”
Matt laughed before slipping one hand up my neck and pulling me into a deep kiss. What seemed like a lifetime later, he leaned back, tongue tracing his lips slowly and a burn of desire igniting in his grey eyes. “The house is in Venice, so that’s no problem. We could spend a day in Milan, maybe fly over to Rome at some point, but we’re only in Italy for a week, and I plan to spend most of that time in bed with you.” He wagged his eyebrows at me, lecherous and comical at the same time. I couldn’t help my laughter as I wriggled from his hold and returned to my seat.
“Mr Bradley.” I kept my voice strict, although I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. “I’m beginning to think you only want me for my body.”
Matt blinked at me, the previous teasing on his face gone in an instant. “Is that what you think, Madison?”
My smile faltered at his serious demeanour. He was back to looking stern. I hated that expression on his face. It made me feel like an errant child who’d committed a great wrong and was deserving of punishment. I shrugged, reaching for my half-drunk glass of bubbly.
“It was a joke, Matt.”
His mouth tightened as he observed me silently. The air between us got uncomfortable, to say the least, and I averted my confused gaze towards the window.
Why was he acting so weird?
It was a joke.
<><><>
Matt kept his eyes on her as she fiddled with her glass and stared out the window. Now was not the time nor the place to admit his desire to make things official between them. Her flippant remark had caused him a moment of extreme frustration though. He wanted to shake sense into her. Making a joke like that, as if she was nothing more than a sexual conquest to him. Matt reminded himself that she was young, inexperienced in the ways of relationships. But, bloody hell, her comment had stroked his anger. Matt noticed her scratching her pinkie finger, and attempted to arrange his features into something that hid his displeasure. He forced a playful smile to his lips and moved seats. She glanced shyly at him as he sat next to her.
“We should be landing soon,” he advised, after checking his watch. “Are you hungry, poppet? You said before you didn’t have time for breakfast.”
She shook her head, eyes unsure as she tried to smile at him. Matt felt like an arse. The look on her face was his fault. He needed to work on his tone of voice when conversing with his poppet.
“You’ll love the house,” he said, stretching an arm over her bare shoulders. “It has great views and an indoor pool…I’ll take you sailing sometime this week. Have you ever been sailing, Madi?”
She shook her head. This time her smile blossomed into a real one and Matt felt his lips curl up in delight. He would do almost anything to keep that smile on her face.
<><><>
“Sailing is dangerous,” I said, snuggling closer to Matt. He wasn’t wearing that angry expression anymore. “I can’t risk getting knocked overboard by a falling mast. I might break an important bone. Same thing goes for horse riding, skiing, skydiving, any sport where the possibility of bodily injury is higher than normal. I stay away from them.”
Whatever Matt was going to say got put on hold as the woman who’d poured our champagne earlier came sauntering from the back. I immediately moved out from under Matt’s arm. I didn’t want his staff gossiping. Matt stiffened and twisted his head to give me an unreadable stare.
“Mr Bradley,” she said with a beaming smile when she stopped a few feet away. “We’ll be arriving in thirty minutes. Would you like any light refreshments before we land?”
“No thanks, Belinda, but you can call the driver to ensure he’s waiting for us at the airstrip and check the boat is ready.”
She nodded, with that Colgate smile. Her gaze lingered on Matt as she continued towards the front of the jet. I ignored it because Matt ignored it.
“This is going to be so much fun,” I said. He flashed me a smile before topping up my glass. The remainder of the flight we chatted about inconsequential things. I got the feeling something was on Matt’s mind. He had that distracted air hanging around him. When we landed, there was a limo waiting and a chauffeur opening the doors for us while our baggage was put in the trunk. Totally out of my league. Another bottle of champagne was opened and we were ferried to the docks. I was getting slightly tipsy, my face felt hot and I was beginning to babble as the driver unloaded our stuff onto a large boat. The man on the boat let out a stream of Italian, to which Matt responded with a rumble of laughter between his words. I assumed it was about me, given the way the man eyed me speculatively and winked. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion as Matt helped me onto the boat. It was lovely being on the water. Matt was charming company, as usual. The champagne we had started drinking in the limo was finished as he pointed out the sights of Venice.
“Here we are, poppet,” he said as we arrived at wrought iron gates partially submerged by the water, with an intricate ‘B’ in the middle. I giggled and gestured at it.
“A bit pretentious, don’t you think, hon?”
The remote controlled gates opened up and Matt shook his head at me. I giggled.
“ I think opening this bottle was a mistake. You’re drunk.”
“Tipsy,” I corrected. “We’re on vacation. In Venice. It’s allowed.”
Matt fingered my chin, then kissed me with major tongue action. “Did I mention how lovely you look?”
“Nope. When I got in the car back home, the first thing you said was ‘half an hour late, poppet.’” My head was swivelling around, checking to see if that man had seen us making out and whether he was leering at me. Did he think I was a floozy? Did Matt bring women here all the time?
“You were,” he admonished with a mock glare. The instant retort on my lips died as the boat bobbed to a stop. I eyed the walkway, remembering a book I’d probably read years ago that Venice had a problem with rats. I didn’t like rats.
“Um, Matt?”
“Yes?” he asked, gesturing to the man to get our bags. Matt moved away to help tie off the boat and I followed, glancing around.
Those critters could be hiding, waiting to pounce as soon as we got off the boat.
Rats could eat through steel. Visions of being covered by the beasties with their gnawing teeth flashed before my eyes, and I shuddered in revulsion.
“Are there rats here?”
Matt finished tying off the boat and shot me an amused look over his shoulder. “There are rats everywhere in the world, poppet.”
I scowled and he chewed his sexy lower lip, obviously trying to stop his laughter.
“As someone who has lived in New York,” he continued. “I’d think you’d be on familiar terms with rodents.”
My scowl deepened at his pointed crack at my adopted hometown, and Matt couldn’t hold back his deep laughter at my expression.
Arrogant Brit.
“Don’t worry,” he cajoled, smirking at my discomfort. “I rarely see rodents whenever I visit. The alleged rat infestation that is linked to Venice is an exaggeration. Take my hand and I’ll help you off the boat. Don’t squeeze so hard, poppet.”
I gave him an extra squeeze for making fun of me and he tugged my hand up to his lips, pressing a light kiss to my skin. The man said something behind us and Matt replied in Italian, leaving me to assume he visited here often enough to know the language and wondering if they were talking about me.
“How many languages do you speak?” I asked, a tad breathlessly as he helped me off the boat. If I fell into the murky water, I would freak out for sure.
“A few. Can you grab this bag, Madi?”
I took the bag and fidgeted with excitement, while waiting for Matt to get the rest of our stuff. Oh my God. I was in Venice with my boyfr—whoa.
Did I mentally call Matt my boyfriend?
My face must have reflected my shock, because Matt paused, peering over at me, and asked, “Are you all right, poppet? You’re not going to be sick, are you?”
I shook my head, avoiding his gaze as he turned his attention back to the man. What in the hell was wrong with me? Matt wasn’t my boyfriend. We had sex, good sex…spectacular sex, but he wasn’t my boyfriend. Hell, he was thirty-seven years old, well past the flush of youth, although he didn’t look it. This wasn’t a real relationship, just two people from different worlds having fun.
He. Was. Not. My. Boyfriend.