Chapter 20 Connor
CONNOR
Aline of little kids stands in front of a wall of mirrors, finishing their ballet lessons. They stare and blink, their expressions shot with confusion as if they’re unsure whether I’m a friend or a foe.
I feel like a troll, a beast, among adorable little fairy sprites, mostly dressed in pink.
Cat wears a triumphant smile. “We will call a truce when Madam Tissot is done with you.”
I force myself not to laugh because this is absurd. “You want me to do ballet?”
“Yes, why not? It’ll be good for you. Your coach will approve. Promise.”
“You haven’t met Hammer. His last name is fitting. He hammers us with his workouts.”
“Just take one of your selfies when you’re done and he’ll have the rest of the team over here tomorrow.”
I want to protest, to refuse, and to tell Cateline this is ridiculous, but I’ve never backed down from a challenge. Rubbing my hands together, I say, “Okay, let’s do this.”
A smirk spreads wide across her mouth and I have to admit, the sight is quite enjoyable. It’s addictive and I want more of it.
After the kids’ class is over, Madam Tissot, a petite woman with fierce eyes, says, “You brought me a giant?”
Cateline makes introductions and I get a strict, no-nonsense vibe from the ballet teacher, much like my first impression of Cat.
I clap my hands together and ask, “What do you have for me, coach?”
“You may call me Madam Tissot.” With her French accent, she leaves the T off the end. “We will warm up, then move to the barre.”
“If those little girls can do it, so can I.”
The two women chuckle.
For the next sixty minutes, Madam Tissot has me feeling like a pretzel and feeling all the pretzels I’d eaten. I wake up and work muscles that I didn’t realize I had—and if Cateline’s smile of appreciation while she watches me is any indication, I have a lot of them.
It isn’t lost on me that something shifted between us upon leaving Blancbourg manor. It’s as if there, we were locked in certain roles—two generals trying to gain the upper hand in the war— by going out into the world, we’ve let down our defenses slightly.
Maybe more than slightly.
Madam Tissot starts me with a primary practice of positions and then I do relevés, pliés, and tendus. I’m strong but have to hold the barre for balance.
From a bench on the side, Cateline watches, her lips quirking every so often as though imagining me wearing a tutu.
If Madam Tissot had one that fit me, I’d wear it just to see her smile and laugh—a rarity.
Then again, she has a lot on her plate with the school and I suppose that I’ve been a bit of a handful. ..or right now, an eyeful.
I like that we’ve been joking around. It’s nice to see her playful side...and worth noting that she’s a master prankster. This one takes first place. But it’s the kind of tough workout I live for, so I can’t complain.
All the while, Madam Tissot explains that the practice will help strengthen my ligaments, improve my balance, and help me maintain focus, which will help me on the field.
The only problem is, it’s hard not to focus on Cateline seated across the room.
Once we’re out the door, Cateline says, “You did a great job.”
“Thanks. I always give it my all.” Sweat pricks my skin as we step into the cool evening. “I have a newfound respect for ballet dancers.”
“You think the other guys would like to give it a try?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Then again, I doubt they’d object if you were their teacher.”
“Ha ha.”
I stop myself from saying that I wouldn’t mind seeing her in a leotard and watching her dance.
As we pass under a streetlamp, I glance down at Cateline at the same time she glances up at me.
But we both quickly look away. Something is shifting between us and I hear my actual coach’s voice in my head, reminding me of his rules during our thirty days of reform school.
I struggle with whether to let things lead where they will or slide things between us back into their proper place with banter, hateability, and teasing.
I have to keep my head in the game and my eyes off Cateline. I’ve never backed down from a challenge. Then again, I’ve never faced this particular kind.
One that wears a faint Mona Lisa smile like she knows a secret, whose eyes sparkle when they catch in the light, or that has legs that slay.
The following afternoon, after lessons, I accompany Cateline to Intherness’s version of City Hall to find out about registering the manor as a historic site.
The woman behind the desk has ashen skin that matches her hair.
If I didn’t know better, I’d mistake her wheezy voice as belonging to a historic relic.
She takes her job very seriously and seems reluctant to share what sounds like the complicated process of registering a building.
There are rules about usage, upkeep, repairs and changes, conservation, and maintaining the grounds in a distinct way.
After we gather information and are given about a dozen forms to fill out, we exit onto the street.
Cateline’s usually perfect posture sags. She looks exhausted, if not a little daunted.
“The pretzels here in Concordia are delicious, but I hear this place is famous for its chocolate cake,” I say facetiously.
“Like the kind we serve at the school? It’s the royal recipe.”
“I think you could use a slice right about now.” I nudge Cateline with my elbow.
“I’ll have one after dinner.”
“Is that a rule?”
“No, but—”
Taking her hand, I say, “No buts, unless we’re talking Bruiser butts. We’re getting you some cake.”
“We can’t have cake for dinner.”
“When you’re with me, anything goes.”
“But where are we going?”
“Good question, where do they serve the best chocolate cake?”
“They’re all good.”
“Okay, where can we go that’s quiet, private, and serves the best chocolate cake?”
Cat’s lips quirk. As if knowing we’re not returning to Blancbourg until I have my way, she leads us in the opposite direction and down a little lane bordered by flower boxes and dappled late-day sunlight.
The scent of bread, steak, and chocolate fills my nose. I could go for some of each. We stop in front of a bistro with checkered tablecloths and the kind of quaint that can only be found in hidden corners of places like Concordia.
We take a seat at a little wooden table under a canopy of grapevines strung with lights. I order us each a slice of cake, but take mine with ice cream.
While we wait, I say, “Not to brag, but I think my charm helped at the historical registry office.”
“Maybe you could use it on Regina. I mean, Mrs. Harrow,” Cateline mutters.
“Is she giving you trouble?”
“She’s the chief financial officer. Er, the bursar. The one who needs the thirty-four thousand dollars.”
“She needs it or the school needs it?” I ask as two plates topped with several layers of moist cake with frosting between and topped with glossy ganache appear between us.
Cateline takes a bite and her eyes close as she relaxes.
“The school, of course. We just keep going deeper into debt. But Regina is entirely unpleasant about it. Like it’s my fault.
” She goes on to tell me how the former junior headmistress was passed over for the job of headmistress, which went to Cateline.
“We could prank her,” I say, trying to add levity to what sounds like a major stressor.
“If it were that easy, I’d have left a note on her desk that says the exterminator will be by to deal with the rodent problem. She hates mice.” She pauses a beat and then adds, “Don’t worry. There’s no rodent problem.”
“Or we could actually set a bunch loose.” I take a forkful of cake and ice cream. “This is good.”
“That’s going too far—the mice, not the cake,” she says with a laugh.
“You know where to find me if you need some help, Kitty Cat,” I reply with a wink.
When we’re done, we head back toward the school, but Cateline goes slowly as if the closer we get, the more the reality of the financial predicament sets in.
“You’ll figure it out,” I say, meaning to be helpful.
She pauses on the street, obviously upset.
“It’s just that our budget keeps shrinking while our expenses keep rising.
We have a huge advertising budget but no new students—except you guys.
We’ve cut so many costs. On top of that, she threatened Arthur with letting him go.
No way.” Her voice rises several octaves as she gets upset.
“And our week at the school is almost over, meaning I have to leave with you to parts unknown. I’d like to say I’m leaving Blancbourg in capable hands, but Regina—” Cateline cups the side of her face.
“Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. ”
Twilight falls and paints our surroundings a dusty shade of lavender. I peel her hands from her cheeks but don’t let go, letting our linked fingers hang between us. Warmth spreads from where my fingers connect to hers and up my arm before blazing in my chest.
My gaze dips to meet Cateline’s eyes. “Maybe you’re telling me because you trust me? Starting to think of me as an ally rather than an adversary? At least, I’d like to think so.”
“Are you asking whether our truce is official?”
“If that’s what you’re calling it, then yeah.”
Her lips twist with a flirty smile that I’ve never before seen. I’m intrigued and then hypnotized. Now, I’m struck as if by lightning. This woman has done something to me that’s at once electrifying and changes my molecular makeup.
But she leaves me hanging and starts walking again.
Our conversation turns easy and before I realize what’s happened, I’m in front of Cateline’s suite door as if I just walked her home from a date.
We exchange a bashful look as if realizing what happened.
In almost a whisper, I say, “Yesterday and today were different. Dare I say, fun, which is a three-letter word I didn’t expect to find in your vocabulary, what with the tight bun and all.”
Her cheek lifts in a half smile. “Takes one to know one.”
“A bun?” A laugh builds inside.
“A fun bun?” When she lets her laugh loose, it’s infectious.
We’re being silly instead of slick and strict and I like it.
A long minute passes before either one of us can keep a straight face.
“Thank you for your help today,” Cat says.
“What about tomorrow?” I ask, hoping we can continue the trend.
With her hand on the doorknob, she says, “Tomorrow, we have a meeting. Then we’ll be leaving the school for the real-world application of your lessons.”
I jolt, anticipating being torn from this idyllic fairytale of life in Concordia with Cateline. “Right. Almost forgot.”
My thoughts race with everything to come and how it’ll work with her there. But I can’t fail the team. I have to prove over the next few weeks that I’m a team player and can pass this program.
“Thank you for everything today, Connor,” Cateline says and disappears into her suite.
I stand frozen outside the door, because I realize that was the first time she called me Connor. I like the way it sounded in her accented English. I like it a lot...and maybe I like her too.
Worried about how that’ll work for the next few weeks, practicalities come to mind. I knock on the door, but she doesn’t answer. I try again and when there’s no response, I turn the handle.
From across the room, the bathroom fan hums and the shower runs. I hesitate, feeling like I’m breaking a rule, but I remembered something important Cateline needs to know about our trip off the Blancbourg campus.
Her suite is exactly as I expect—as neat as a pin.
Polished antique furniture, very much in keeping with the rest of the manor, decorates the space.
Perhaps, even the headmistress’s suite came pre-furnished.
It’s nosy, but I take a spin around the space.
To my surprise, there’s little in the way of personal touches other than Cateline’s purse on a table along with a few loose hairpins.
A door stands slightly ajar and from beyond, I hear faint singing. The door must lead to Cateline’s bedroom and beyond that, the ensuite bathroom.
I push it open slightly and am shocked by what I see. No, not Cateline standing in a towel. That would make for an interesting turn to the evening. One which I wouldn’t soon forget. Then again, I won’t be able to ignore what I’m seeing until Cateline helps me make sense of it.
Then the shower goes silent, and I panic. Should I leave or tell her what I meant to? Legs frozen, my torso twists left and right, unsure which way to go or what to do. What if I startle her? What if I get kicked out of Blancbourg for being in a girl’s room? Why am I being such a weirdo right now?
I realize I’ve wandered too far into Cat’s lair. There’s no going back. Standing in the doorway to her bedroom, the bathroom door opens. A little gust of steam puffs out.
“Hey, I didn’t want to scare you, but—”
Of course, Cateline gasps. Her hand flies to her chest. Cheeks rosy, she says, “What are you—?”
“You probably ought to start locking your doors.”
Wearing her robe, bunny slippers, and a towel on her head, it’s Cat’s turn to stand frozen, unsure what to do. Then her eyes narrow. “Wait a minute. Don’t tell me you came back to prank me, especially after what a nice day we had.”
“You thought it was nice too?”
“Well, yeah. It was. Yesterday and today.”
“And as for tomorrow, that’s why I came back. But first, what happened in here—?” I’m prepared to add a few teasing words about the mess at odds with her otherwise neat-as-a-prim-pin appearance when something on a shelf catches my eye. I tilt my head slowly, eyebrow cocked in question.
“Actually, Cat, what do we have here? What is a NOT Love List?” My lips curl with a smile.
Her eyes widen and she lunges for me.