The Fated Dance: Bound to the Shadow Dancer (8 page)

Lazy Sunday

I open my eyes to find she’s gone. She probably came to her senses and realized that last night was a mistake. Trying to put her off with the whole, I’m ready to die speech, worked out well I guess.

I swing my legs from the bed to face a shard of sunlight my blackout blinds let through, noticing her clothing still scattered across the cream carpet. I sigh and stand, completely nude, concluding she must still be here. I’m not disappointed; more intrigued. We’re both adults and we had our fun. And if she did use me for carnal pleasure, I’m a man, of course I’m not complaining. The fact is, I’ve become addicted to her, and if I didn’t have this looming expiry date stamped on my life, then I’d be thrilled. But I do, and the last thing I want to do is complicate the end. 

A tasty smell hits my senses and the sound of music starts to come through the bedroom door. I grab my gray sweatpants from my closet, yank them over my legs, and quietly make my way into the lounge.

I smile at a sight and sound I never thought I’d see. She’s wearing my blue bathrobe which could cloak her sweet body twice over, and her hair is tied up messily. She shakes her butt side to side, singing along to: Sweet soul music. Her moves: ten out of ten. Voice: hmm, well, let’s just say it’s tuneful.

She spins on her bare feet and recoils with a gasp, noticing me completely absorbed in her fine ass. While turning a shade of red, she flicks off the radio. I smile. She has brightened my day and given me a great memory. She has also made me realize something. I don’t think I want to push her away now. I need to see this every morning.

“Morning.” I sit on one of the chrome stools around the black granite breakfast bar. “You didn’t need to stop on my account.”

She fluctuates her body back and forth, biting her beautiful lip while blushing.

“Morning,” she says in a breath. “Coffee.” She slips a mug and a freshly made jug my way. “Not sure how you take it.”

“Black,” I reply, while pouring and keeping my eyes on her. She looks so damn appealing, even all padded up in my robe.

“Oh, hope you don’t mind.” She twirls the belt.

I hold my steaming mug, and gaze at her over the rim. “It was made for you.”

She moves across to my very expensive stainless steel stove (which only I’m allowed to use) and pulls open the door to the grill. She places a plate stacked with waffles and bacon in front of me.

“Breakfast?”

I not going to let my obsessive compulsive disorder on cleanliness interfere here. She seems to have cleaned up the mess after herself. I sip my coffee and pick up a rasher of bacon as she sits across from me.

“How’s your ankle?” I lift my brow.

She glances to the floor and back to me. “It’s fine. Completely normal.” She purses those enticing lips. “It must have been the ice,” she adds, quietly.

“Jen, you can eat, you did make this.” I see she has no coffee, or breakfast. “Or are you trying to fatten me up?”

She pours herself a coffee. “I noticed all the health food in the fridge, and thought you’d like a change.” She nips the side of her lip. “So, I’m guessing you’re a morning smoothie man.” She stirs cream into her brew.

“You’d be right.” I shrug. “In fact, while I’m sat here right now eating butter coated waffles and crispy bacon, I would normally be out and well into a seven K run.”

“Well, Sundays are for lazing around and doing sweet nothing.” She munches on a rasher of bacon, suggestively. “So, I’ve been checking out your epic DVD collection, and picked out some braindead movies.”

“And the braindead you’d be referring to?”

“Macho mush- blowing up stuff- hot chicks- with not much plot.” She giggles lightly.

“A date?”

A hint of pink rushes over her cheekbones. “If you like.”

I fill me lungs and side-glance. “Jen… you really don’t need to stay. Hadn’t you better get back to that rebel Sister of yours?”

My teeth bite down with a lack of expectation. I’d love nothing more than to spend the day with her. But she needs to face reality before we take this to a place we can’t get back from.

She frowns like a dream at me. “Please shut up and just forget for a while,” she says. “Flick is fine… she always is.”

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “What do we need for one of these lazy Sundays?”

“All ready.” She points to the coffee table before the couch. “We don’t get dressed. We don’t even brush our teeth,” she grins.

I glance across the room at the table full of soda, cheese puffs, popcorn, chips and dips. She’s even drawn the blinds to create the textbook cinema atmosphere. I turn back with a slant of my brow.

“Okay… but I do have one condition,” I say. “We have to brush and floss.”

She giggles gently. “No deal.”

“Well, what if I want to kiss you?”

She beams and reddens. “When we’ve both got popcorn stuck in our teeth, it won’t matter.”

She smiles, jumps down, and sensually fingers her way around the worktop until she’s at my side. I swallow as the back of my neck heats up, because I would prefer to take her back to my bed right now. She sweeps her hand over my bare bicep and leans.

“Later,” she flirts. “Now, come on.” She slides her hand down to my fingers, coils and squeezes, then unfavorably tugs me toward the couch.

Movie one down and she was right. A braindead numbness has taken ahold of me. At the beginning of the movie she sat close, but kept a good distance. By the middle, her head had journeyed up onto my chest. And at the grand finale, she was giggling and feeding me potato chips. Now I’m sprawled out with one leg wrapped behind her back, and the other on the floor, with her snuggled on her side in my arms.

The titles roll, but neither of us can be bothered to get up and change the movie over. I peer down at the top of her head and run my fingers over her fine hair. I close my eyes. This is the most serene I’ve felt in a long time. And I’m beginning to figure out, that perhaps what she said was right, fighting for days like this are worth the stacked odds against me.

The money I made, dancing for Grayson, went straight to the bank yesterday morning. It wasn’t good enough they said. Now, once upon a time I would have kicked up a fuss, got all upset, and wept at the manager’s feet. But I remained calm, and firmly told Mr. Money-hungry-shiny-shoes, that he would have to wait. Or would he like me to let it accidently slip out of my mouth, that his favorite dancer at Venus, is Chloe chlamydia. He was more than accommodating to accept my request after that. Flick was with me at the time and couldn’t believe what I said. She now thinks I’m the coolest big Sister on the planet. Even more so, as I’ve managed to get her some part-time work at Harpers Groceries while she’s on summer break, thanks to my new found confidence.

I’ve pressed my little black fit and flare dress, which is now laid out ready on my duvet. Tonight, Grayson is taking me out. Not sure where, he’s been all mysterious about it. Simply told me that after six weeks of hiding out in his house every time we see each other, a real date is long overdue. So my instructions are: to dress formally and be ready by eight pm. I know he has money to burn, so I’m guessing he’s not going to be taking me out for pizza.

I’m kind of nervous. It’s not that I don’t want to go out on a real date. But I’ve really enjoyed just hanging around at his house at the weekend. Not having to worry about what to wear because our clothing always ends up on his bedroom floor. We talk, laugh, and eat. And being away from Flick for a while, has done wonders for our strained relationship. My trust in her has grown.

“Jen,” Flick calls, bounding upstairs as I sweep a little gloss across my lips. “There’s a freaking limo outside,” she shrieks. “Is that for you?” She nearly falls into my room in excitement.

With my heart pounding, I scuttle to the window and peek. Jeez, she’s right. There’s a real stretched limo parked outside the most dilapidated house on the street. My house. I quickly swoop up my dress, let my robe drop to the floor, and thread it over my head with speed.

“God Jen, warning before you start stripping off next time,” Flick whines.

The front doorbell rings. I suck in air to catch a breath, while frantically pulling up the side zipper.

“Go answer the door for me.”

The bell sounds again.

“Do I have to?”

“Look, you got that summer job at Harpers because of me, and you owe me… now go.” I push her out onto the landing. “And be nice,” I add.

Flick has no idea about Grayson’s illness, and I’ve been trying hard not to think about it myself. But the wall of denial I’ve built up to block out the truth, every now and then crumbles a little. It can be penetrated when I receive a look from his blues eyes, or by the touch of his hand. The rest of the time he seems in good health. To be with him, you wouldn’t see any evidence of him being ill at all. He’s obsessed with fitness and healthy eating. And me, well, I’ve never been so happy. If he is hiding it, he’s doing a damn good job.

What I am aware of, is that he has a very important appointment with his private physician next week. And I’ve been praying every night that I’ve done enough to change his mind about the treatment. Or perhaps by some miracle, he’ll be given a clean bill of health. He’s down to four months now. He has four months to fight this, and I’m going to make sure I do everything possible to make sure he does. Why? Because I’ve fallen for him.

I make my way down the landing, slipping on my black suede heels as I go. Grayson waits at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a designer fitted black suit and slim tie. He looks hot, and I can’t deny it, he has completely changed my mind. He has proven to me that all men aren’t pigs. Over the weeks he has thawed my icy heart. He has soothed me. Changed me. And I can’t bear the thought of my life going back to how it was. He’s given me hope that life doesn’t have to be one long hard slog. As long as you have someone to share it with, nothing seems as dark. 

His soft red lips form a ray as I make my way down to him. He holds out his hand as Flick stands with her arms folded, rolling her eyes. I curl my fingers around his warm palm and inhale his clean manly scent, melting inside.

“Jen, you ready?” he squeezes my fingers.

“Yeah.” I beam with an uneasy sigh, not knowing what to expect tonight.

“Well, you two crazy kids have fun then.” Flick jumps onto the couch, flings her feet up, and grabs her earphones from the table.

“Jen,” Grayson opens up his elbow.

I slip my fingers through the fine fabric of his jacket, and take my black clutch bag from the phone stand.

“You look beautiful by the way,” he tenderly squeezes my forearm.

I really should tell him to stop now. It’s awkward for me to deal with this kind of attention. It’s surreal and overwhelming. It’s reminding me of the prom night I missed out on. I promised myself over and over, that I would never feel this way for a man. I grew to hate them. Learned to never trust a word they say. But everything he has said and done, has been open and honest. He’s let me in on the darkest part of his life, and I’ve let him take my heart.

I gulp and grin as we make our way out onto the street. He opens the door of the limo, and as I go to step inside he brushes his fingers over mine. I peer up and see a sincere glimmer in his gaze. He smiles as I shuffle across the black leather to make room for him.

I grip my bag that little bit tighter on my lap, looking to the far end. My eyes move by the couch like seats, black carpet, and the drinks cabinet, to see Henry is in the driver’s seat. I crease my eyes, noticing the displeasure on his face because he’s wearing a chauffeur’s hat.

“Ms. Conner,” he greets through the rear-view mirror as Grayson sits beside me.

“Henry,” I say, turning to face Grayson with a scowl.

“Well, you will insist on calling me Sir, Henry,” Grayson jokes. “What better role for the evening. So Henry, drive on… you know our destination.” He flips up a switch that closes a barrier at the front.

I look at Grayson in surprise because I can’t believe he’s making Henry wear a hat. In fact, I’m finding the whole limo thing over the top.

“You have to admit, it does suit him,” he smirks.

“You know, you could have just picked me up in a cab.”

He grins slyly, “Wouldn’t be fitting for this evening… drink?”

“I think I better had.”

He shuffles closer to his door and opens up a compartment up in the middle seat. There are bottles of wine, spirits, and beer. He takes out a bottle of white, and two glasses from a drawer beneath the cooler box.

“So, Henry knows where we’re going, but I don’t?”

He hands me half a glass. “Henry, is now in the process of kissing my ass after that incident he visited you.” He exhales, placing the wine bottle back beneath the seat. “I could have had anyone drive, but thought it a suitable role for him.”

“You’re so mean. He only cares about you, Grayson.”

“Well, it doesn’t give him the right to interfere in matters that only concern me,” he says. “Having to explain myself to him, was a task I didn’t need.”

“You’re stubborn.” I huff. “Henry is really sweet, and you shouldn’t be making him taxi you around. He’s your friend, not your driver.”

“He offered, thinking I’d turn him down,” he says casually, leaning back so his jacket parts. “And as for where we are going, you only have five more minutes to wait.” I take a sip of the cool wine. “Can you wait, Jen?” he teases.

“Of course I can wait,” I lie, as anticipation invades my chest.

I breathe in and try to relax, noticing we are heading toward the busy city. The neon lights whizz by my vision as I watch the old and modern parts of the city disappear behind us.

I see a vast crowd of people huddled around a new glass and steel contemporary building. As we get closer I shuffle to the edge of my seat, realizing the mass of people are in fact, photographers.

Henry pulls the limo beside two gold bollards before a red carpet. With my lungs madly taking in air to compensate for my wild heart rhythm, I turn with the fear of god in my eyes to look at Grayson.

“You’re joking right?” I blow out.

“It will be worth it when we get inside.”

Every muscle in my body contracts. I can’t get out of this limo dressed like this. And I certainly don’t want my picture taken and splashed across the media. Not with my quite ordinary hair, and wearing a twenty dollar dress from the boutique in the mall.

“It won’t be worth it,” I say in panic.

He laughs as Henry rolls down the glass screen. My eyes gape at him, surly he will agree with me on this one. But all he does is nod sympathetically.

“Jen, come on.”

Grayson gets out and walks around to the red carpet. The photographers yell for his attention and he handles it so well, with a formal smile and wave.

Gasping for air, I slide down the seat into the middle. I really do not want to get out. Grayson opens my door to let the blinding flashes inside, like strobe lights trying to take a snap of me. He arches his back with his wide eyes set on mine, and stretches out his hand.

“Jen, I promise it will be worth it,” he says.

I close my eyes, swallow, and reluctantly take hold of his fingers. As soon as I hoist my head, the clicking sound becomes deafening. I already know these images are going to be dreadful: gawping, shocking, expressions of my face.

“Grayson… Grayson,” voices frantically yell.

He bends to my ear. “Just smile, and try not to trip over your own feet.” He waves to the crowd.

Oh god, this is crazy.

I smile slight as I step in-line carefully with Grayson. Thankfully, now the media’s attention has moved onto the poor souls behind us.

We arrive the grand glass entrance of a building called: The Revenue. I see many people inside, all completely out of my league. The high and mighty of society dressed in their finest attire. This isn’t a date, it’s a nightmare. 

“See, over now,” he says, handing a colossal security guard two passes.

Grayson enters first as I lumber nervously behind. He walks with poise, meeting and greeting. My eyes wander high to see the great glass slanted ceiling. There are huge ornate silver chandeliers, which hang level with a balcony to the second floor. I’m awestruck. It’s a very intimidating place. It’s too big, posh, and now my suede heels are stuck to the speckled black floor tiles.

“Jen.” Grayson gestures his head, while helping himself to two flutes of bubbly from a waitress’s tray.

I exhale and slowly approach, taking the glass flute with my sweaty fingers.

“Come on, there’s much to see.” He squeezes my arm, grinning.

“Is that a normal thing for you?” I ask, referring to the frenzy outside.

“Occasionally I have to run away from paps. Seems people like to know what the son of Winston Crane is doing.” I hum, drinking my fizz as he guides me deeper into the busy reception area.

We move by a crowd of people looking down at a large billboard. I place my glass on a shelf next to a rubber plant, and elevate on my toes to look over a woman’s shoulder. I still don’t know what the hell this place is yet.

Grayson pokes my arm, wanting me to follow, but I don’t. I turn back to the board to see a name I’ve heard of before: Jasper Grace Donnelly. He’s an artist, famous for his contemporary contradiction of the human body. A tiny wave of excitement buzzes through me, as I tail Grayson eagerly through a black door.