Chapter 20
20
I follow the smell of burned toast with a poignant smile and head into the kitchen. My father may be older and gray at the temples now, his reading glasses askew, but he’s still vital and well-built for a man pushing sixty.
“Bagels?” I offer.
My dad plucks charred bread from the toaster, then drops it on the counter with a curse. “You’re just in time. Thanks. I’d love that...as soon as you explain why you’re wearing men's clothes, have cheeks rosy from whisker burn, and look like you’ve had a rough night.”
Certainly nothing off about Dad’s eyesight.
I fight back a blush. “I do things beyond work and practice at the dance studio.”
He sends me a pointed stare over the top of his glasses. “No, you haven’t. Until now, you’ve always been single-minded about winning.”
“I still am. What happened last night won’t happen again.” I pass him the bag of bagels, hoping it will distract him.
He ignores the gesture and arches a sharp brow, as if he disapproves. But I can’t shake the impression that he’s suppressing a smile.
“I suspected it would happen someday. Maybe it’s the female way. Who is he?”
I frown. “What do you mean, ‘the female way?’”
He shrugs. “Women follow their hearts, which usually lead them to some man or another, who may or may not respect their desire to keep pursuing their goals.”
Exactly. No doubt, he would lose respect for me if I made that choice. My brothers, too.
“Which is precisely why Alejandro and I are…done.”
“Alejandro? Do I know him?”
I shake my head. “Argentinean. He owns a nightclub. We met at the benefit a few months back.”
God, it’s weird to be discussing my love life with my father in the kitchen of my childhood home at seven in the morning. I need coffee for this.
“Hmm.” My father hesitates. “What does he think of your dancing?”
“I assume he’s okay with it. Not that it matters.” I sip the brew and let the caffeine sink into my hazy brain.
He reaches for the carafe of coffee and pours a steaming mug. “A hindrance, is he? Resenting your practices?”
“No.” Not unless I’m avoiding him.
“Latin men are notoriously jealous. He can’t handle your time with Kristoff and the way your partner has to touch you?”
I have to laugh. “No, he knows way too much about Kristoff to be jealous.”
“So you’re just worried Alejandro would be too much of a distraction?”
“He would. The other night, I was headed for a sensible dinner and an early evening to bed. Big day of practice the next morning, which is vital before the biggest competition of my career. He came by and just assumed I’d go out for ice cream with him.”
“Ice cream. That’s a huge problem.” My father sips his coffee, a seeming smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m serious. I can’t afford to blow off sleep and eat a gallon of ice cream to satisfy some romantic notion of his. And then he tells me personal stuff, about his childhood and friendships. He blurts out his views that commitment is absolute and infidelity is inexcusable. Why tell me? The whole incident is taking up real estate in my head that should be directed to the California Dance Star, which is tomorrow. And last night?—”
Realizing I’ve nearly spilled the details of my sex life, I flush, then continue with a safer topic. “Well, the man is just too…consuming. No matter what he does, he steals my attention and leads my thoughts astray. Every trick I’ve used in the past to ward off would-be fukbois doesn’t work with him. He doesn’t give up, and he won’t go away.”
“And the fact that you’re tempted to let him into your life frightens you.” It isn’t a question. Dad seems to know that’s exactly how I feel.
“How…?” I grapple to find the right words. “You know?”
“Your mother had a life before we married. Did you know she was a prima ballerina?”
No clue. “I knew she flitted around the kitchen and that she was graceful…”
But my mother died years ago. In some ways, she's as great a mystery to me as she would be if I'd never met her.
“American Ballet Theater. She was set to star in the season’s Giselle. To this day, I’ll never know what she saw in a cocky weightlifter coming fresh off a gold medal high. I had to have been a complete ass. But she claimed to love me. God knows the sun rose and set on that woman, as far as I was concerned.”
I frown, sensing that I won't like what comes next.
“You married her and?—”
“Encouraged her to stop dancing. I got her pregnant with your brother. I loved her to madness, yes. But I was also willing to do anything to keep her by my side. I was a hugely selfish bastard where her time and energy were concerned. If I could take it back somehow and let her have her rightful place on stage for a year or two…”
Mouth gaping open, I stare at my father. This from the man who’s driven me for years. Nothing I do ever seems good enough. Second place is first loser. Quitting is the professional equivalent of a noose.
But now I’m hearing a different tune.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” He sighs heavily and sits on one of the little wooden chairs we’ve had forever. “I pushed you and pushed you. I don’t think I realized until just now that I did it because I wanted to make up for what I did to your mother. She never said that she regretted her decision. But I’d catch her every so often holding her toe shoes with a wistful look on her face. I suspect she always wondered what could have been. I didn’t want you wondering, too.”
I gape, shock ricocheting through me. My father intentionally killed my mother’s dance dream? Apparently, and he regretted it like hell. For years, he fueled my ambition. As a child, I thought he’d have me follow my brothers into one of their respective sports, but he specifically signed me up for dance class after dance class. Now I know why. But…
“You sound as if you’re encouraging me to stay with Alejandro. Why the change in attitude?”
He stirs his cooling coffee. “I don’t think your mother regretted her decision to leave dance and marry, per se. After she was gone, I realized how short her life was cut and that I prevented her from fulfilling her dream. I hated myself for standing in her way. Still, most of my memories are of her smiling. Your mother used to have this one little grin when she was particularly happy. A little lopsided, with a dimple in her left cheek and a twinkle in her eye. When I think about that smile now, I know she was at peace with her life.” My father pauses. “Until this morning, I’d never seen that smile on you. But there was a moment when you got out of your car. I was watching through the window. I saw that exact smile on your face. I’m guessing Alejandro put it there.”
He did. When I push aside my tumult about tomorrow’s competition, happiness sneaks in, again and again. The thought that after last night, I might never see Alejandro again gouges me with deep shards of pain. It shouldn’t. Our relationship is so new. Intense, yes, but nothing to build a lifetime on, right?
Why do I feel like I’m selling us short?
“He sounds like the kind of guy who wouldn’t demand you give up your dream,” my father says. “If he can make you happy and give you the freedom to pursue what you want professionally, why aren’t you grabbing onto him with both hands?”
“Because with Alejandro as a distraction, I may never win.”
“Would you rather lose a competition or the man you love?”
Ouch. “It’s not that simple, Dad. If I divide my time, I won’t be as dedicated. If I never become a champion, you won’t think I’m weak?”
“Would it really matter if I did?”
I pause and consider Dad's question. Alejandro’s love or my dad’s approval? No choice. “It would bother me if you weren’t proud, but I’m an adult.” I draw in a deep breath as my realization becomes an admission. “I should be doing what makes me happy, not everyone else.”
“Exactly, and I think you need a man’s love more than Daddy’s blessing. But I'll support you no matter what.”
His words warm me. Emotion clogs my throat. “You know Jason, Ash, and Kyle will make fun of me if I choose Alejandro over ambition.”
My dad rolls his eyes. “They’ll make fun of you no matter what you do. They’re convinced that’s their prerogative as big brothers.”
In spite of the weirdness of this conversation, I laugh. “Okay, that's probably true.” Then my smile fades as something occurs to me. “I’m not sure this...thing with Alejandro will be as simple as me expressing my feelings. Let’s just say I’ve played very hard to get. He may not be talking to me after I, um…sneaked out on him this morning.”
“Then send him tickets to tomorrow’s competition. I'll bet he shows. I want to meet the man who managed to see the real you and values the woman under the costumes.”
“You’re coming tomorrow?”
He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Whether you’re crowned champion of the ballroom or of Alejandro’s heart, I’m proud no matter what.”
I wait in the darkened corner of the ballroom’s dance floor, drawing in a deep breath, smoothing my hair, straightening my sleeve, shifting my weight. And I scan the crowd—again.
No sign of Alejandro.
“You must not fidget,” Kristoff says.
If I wasn’t so nervous, I would laugh. Why not just tell me to stop breathing? “I know. Sorry."
“You are nervous?” my big, blond partner whispers in my ear from behind. “Do you fear losing?”
The competition? Honestly, not as much as I once did. Not even as much as I thought I would. We’ll lose, of course. During my largely sleepless night, I came to accept that. Kristoff has been living his life, and he’s engaged in his kink of choice in a responsible environment. It isn’t his fault someone has it out for us and circumvented Sneak Peek’s rules. But Alejandro? I absolutely fear losing him. In fact, I suspect I already have.
I delivered the tickets to Sneak Peak in person this morning. Del greeted me at the door. Actually, greeted is a strong word. He glowered, and he was considerably cooler than our last meeting. When he said he’d give the tickets to Alejandro, I wrote a note asking if he would visit me before the show so we could talk. Del merely said he'd pass it on with a terse nod, then shut the door in my face.
Clearly, I’ve hurt Alejandro enough to piss off his bestie.
And Alejandro didn't come before the competition. Another scan of the ballroom... I see my father, who waves. I smile back, but I still don’t see Alejandro’s dark hair, swagger, or sin-laced smile.
Did I push him away one too many times? The painful thought tightens my stomach into impossible knots. Throwing up doesn’t feel out of the question.
“Shanna, you are nervous about the routine?” Kristoff asks.
No. He and I are beyond ready. We know these dances. We've perfected our chemistry and rhythm on the floor. The blackmailer’s footage will prevent us from winning, but we'll give our best showing. We'll demonstrate that we deserve to be champions. At this point I can’t ask for more.
I just wish Alejandro was here to see what might be one of my final competitions.
“Or do you regret that you were unable to replace me with a new partner?” he adds.
Scowling at his bitter tone, I glance over my shoulder. Kristoff's mouth is pinched, his eyes tight, his shoulders stiff. He looks nervous. Petrified, actually. Why? He’s never wound up before a competition. Maybe he’s rattled about the video potentially circulating the judges’ table? After all, this threat affects his reputation and career most.
As he continues to watch me with narrow, burning eyes, and I replay his question in my head, I finally understand.
“I’m not replacing you,” I say. I reach for his hand and give it a friendly squeeze. “I never auditioned anyone else. You were right about the partner swapping; it was stupid.”
He shoots me a suspicious stare. “Why the change in attitude?”
“I used to bury my guilt about dropping someone for the sake of winning. But I get now that it was disloyal, unkind, and even counterproductive.” With a little help from Alejandro and Del.
“You do not seek to replace me? Truly?”
I smile. “You’re stuck with me.”
Kristoff levels his mega-watt smile my way. “For days now, I cannot stop from worrying you intend to replace me.” He squeezes my hand. “Thank you. I am happy.”
“We win or lose together, okay? Besides, maybe we haven't won because we forgot that dancing isn’t all serious. Maybe...we just need to have fun tonight and see what happens.”
Kristoff hesitates, then teases, “Who are you and what have you done with my partner?”
Despite my nerves and my worries about losing Alejandro, I have to laugh. If nothing else, I’ve cemented one important relationship tonight. And damn if it doesn’t feel good.
“If we were alone, I’d slug you for that,” I say.
“There is the Shanna I know and adore.” Kristoff winks.
Just then, the music ends, and the announcer reminds the crowd of the competitors’ names and number. I draw in a relaxing breath. In. Out. We’re next.
“Before we go on, I must tell you something,” Kristoff says.
“Kristoff, we’re about to be announced.”
“This is true, but?—”
“Couple number one hundred three, Shanna York and Kristoff Palavin from Los Angeles, California.”
The crowd’s cheer isn’t as enthusiastic as Kristoff would like, I know. And I’m sorry for that since my icy reputation is mostly to blame. But right now, I'm sad that Alejandro chose not to use the tickets I left him.
Which means he’s given up on us for good, I fear.
Forcing a smile as onlookers clap, I strut onto the dance floor, Kristoff beside me, cradling my palm in his. We strike our pose and wait.
Doing my best to focus on the next three minutes, I plaster on a smile and project it to the crowd. The music bursts across the quiet; I arch, kick, and turn to face the other side of the room.
And there sits Alejandro.
His face gives away nothing, but the grin that shapes my mouth is my first real one of the day.
He’s here!
And he looks incredible in a black suit, white shirt, and a satiny charcoal tie.
I know he looks even better out of that suit.
Before I whirl to face Kristoff again, I flash Alejandro a look I hope communicates just how thrilled I am that he’s come.
Over the next two minutes, forty seconds, Kristoff and I pour our souls into the dance. And he’s spectacular, as if some light has been turned on inside him. Relaxed yet crisp. Strong. God, he plays to the crowd. He really is incredible. I respond, acting the part of the seductive female to his commanding male in the cha-cha-cha.
No doubt in my mind, we sparkle, shine, bring the WOW to the dance floor. I can’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed dancing so much.
When the music ends, I know we did our best. Yes, I’d love to win tonight, but if that isn’t in the cards, then screw it. I'll suck it up and give myself one more year to compete. We'll do everything possible to live down the scandal. We'll practice our butts off, and we will conquer this trophy next season.
The crowd stands and cheers, their enthusiasm catching. Never before have I felt so accepted by the audience, so connected to them as Kristoff and I bow.
I turn my head slightly to see Alejandro. He, too, stands and claps, then bends to whisper into the ear of a small but striking middle-aged woman who shares his eyes. His mother.
Then he turns his attention to me, affixing his burning hazel gaze on my face. I feel the zing and sizzle all the way to my toes.
Damn, I love that man.
“You and Alejandro?” Kristoff asks as we leave the dance floor. “You have a...thing?”
“What?”
“You look at him as if you cannot wait to devour him, as if you are all his. Or as if he is all yours. Is that true?”
I swallow a lump of nerves. God, I hope Alejandro being here means that he’s forgiven me for running away and being afraid to believe in us... If not, I’m not giving up. No more switching partners for me when things get difficult—not professionally or personally.
“That’s my plan,” I say.