Chapter 37
Mila
“You have no idea how refreshing it is to be around another classically trained dancer with a love for modern ballet,” I tell Jasmine.
I put the word out that a new dance studio is coming soon.
Pointe Dance Studio, my studio, is opening soon, and I need some dance instructors; experienced instructors.
The flood of inquiries pouring into my inbox blew me away.
I set up interviews with dance majors at Berkeley to seasoned instructors from other cities looking for a fresh start.
But Jasmine’s is the one that really stood out.
“Oh trust me, I get it,” the young, thin girl smiles at me.
Even the way she stands as we walk around the studio screams the noticeable fact that she is a dancer.
God, I miss this culture. It’s almost enough to bring me to tears.
“I feel like all anyone wants to do anymore is club dancing. No offense, but I can’t really get behind the idea that shaking my ass is actual dancing. ”
“I understand that too,” I say, biting my lip. I leave out the personal detail that I work at the Cockpit as a ring girl. I enjoy it, but I think it’s because that’s the first time I’ve stretched my dancing muscles since the night my parents died.
“Now, don’t let the primitive room deter you,” I tell her, motioning to the two men on ladders against the far wall with paint rollers.
The electrician is hanging the overhead lighting I picked out, and another guy is working on the ballet bar against the wall.
“All the construction will be done by the end of the week; the cleaners will come in, and then the sound guys. We should be up and rolling in about ten days.”
“It’s beautiful,” Jasmine says, walking in front of the wall of mirrors. Her posture straightens, and I feel my breath catch as I watch her fall into a routine.
Plié, tendu, breathe. Chasse, glissade, pas de bourrée. Jète, développe, arabesque.
I have tears in my eyes. This is it. It’s where I want to be. It’s home.
Jasmine is hired. I have several more interviews tomorrow, and that should wrap up the hiring process.
I might even have a full staff. That’s the nice thing about interviewing prospective dance instructors.
As I drive home for the day, my mind is buzzing.
Everything is falling into place, and it’s something I never thought would happen for me.
“Honey, I’m home!” I call out as I walk through the foyer, chuckling to myself. There is no answer back. “Dom?” I call out as I reach the kitchen. His office door is ajar. I can hear him typing on his computer, so I invite myself in, but tap on the doorframe first.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Is anybody home?”
“Just working,” he says in a monotone voice, and I step inside slowly, crossing my arms.
“I just got back from the studio,” I go on. “I interviewed Jasmine. The ballet major? She is an absolute dream. I had a feeling from her application that she was going to be great, but I wasn’t expecting her to be this perfect.”
“That’s good,” he says, still typing.
“Yeah. It’s all really coming together,” I add.
No response.
Hmm.
He’s really not being himself right now. Well, he isn’t acting like he has been for the last couple weeks. I slink over to his desk and snuggle into him.
“You’ve been working really hard recently,” I say, kissing him on the cheek and then the neck. “Maybe you could take a break. I promise I’ll make it worth your while…”
“Yeah, I’ve got a lot going on right now,” he says, minimizing the tab.
“Alright,” I say, standing up straight again. “The offer is always available, anytime, anywhere.”
His eyes scan over my body slowly, and he swallows. Then his eyes trail back up, stopping halfway before he looks away.
“Is it the Golden Rule deal?” I ask. “Is Rafe still being a pain in the ass?”
He waits a beat. Blinks. “Yeah. As usual,” he says.
“Well too bad for him, you’re going to be married soon and you’ll outbid his ass. After that, he’ll probably be too nervous to face you even in the ring,” I smirk, crawling onto his lap. “And speaking of the wedding…have you found a venue yet? Andrew said you’ve been looking.”
“Not yet,” he says, “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“Oh,” I say, getting back up again. Dominic immediately goes back to typing, and I decide to leave him be. But halfway to the door, I stop and turn back around. It’s one thing for him not to be in a flirty or frisky mood; it’s another for him not to have a comeback to anything I say at all.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, just a lot on my mind,” he answers.
“I understand,” I say. “But you seem really distant.”
“How so?” he asks without looking up. My concern is taking a turn, shifting to annoyed.
“Well, we could start with how you walked out on my dance routine the other night,” I say.
“I told you I got a work call. A system went down at the airport in Atlanta. That’s kind of a big deal,” he answers with the same tone.
“So is your fiancé’s first dance performance as the lead ring girl,” I say, and after a jaw-clenching moment his eyes drag up to me. Now I know he’s upset about something, but so am I. I’m not a beat around the bush kind of person, and I’m certainly not one to accept the silent treatment.
“Are you in a hurry to get married?” he asks. Now I’m really lost.
“I mean, I thought we were on a timeline, yes,” I answer. “Why does this feel like an interrogation?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he says, and now I’m really getting steamed.
“Why are you acting like this?” I ask.
“Like what?” he deflects.
“Like I did something wrong. Like you don’t want to have anything to do with me. I don’t know, it feels like you’re…you’re…”
“I’m what?” he asks.
“Hiding something.”
Dominic’s eyes land on me hard. “It’s interesting that you say that,” he says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
Dominic’s mouth opens, but before he can say anything, his phone rings. He looks down at it, and his scowl deepens. “I have to take this.”
I turn and walk out. I’m not even halfway to the kitchen before I hear the door slam so hard it shakes the house. My anger melts into hurt, and hot, salty tears burn my eyes. I’m about to go into my room and slam the door too, just to make a point. But I decide to go out instead.
The Cockpit is buzzing when I get there. The ex-waitress in me is struggling not to step in and start helping. I resist the urge and snag the last seat at the bar. Resting my chin on my hand and recap the day, trying to figure out how it went from amazing to…this.
“You look like hell,” Brynn steps in front of me.
“Bad day,” I tell her. Then I correct myself. “Well, bad evening.”
“Too bad you can’t have a drink,” she says a little too loudly. I take a conversational left turn.
“Why do men suck?” I ask as she sets a water in front of me.
“Do you at least want a milkshake? Ice cream in liquid form can ease any bad mood,” she offers.
“Actually, I was hoping Lainey was here. I really need to talk,” I answer, swiveling on my chair to look around.
“She has the day off,” she says. “Strawberry, vanilla or chocolate?”
“Strawberry,” I answer. “With chocolate syrup drizzled on the whipped cream.”
“Oh that sounds like a terrible day. Spill it, girl,” she says giddily.
“I told you. Men suck,” I answer, stirring my ice water with the straw.
“Ouch,” a male voice says, and the next thing I know, Rafe is pulling up a seat next to me.
“Hey Rafe,” Brynn purrs in his direction. Rafe smirks and winks at her. I take a sip of my milkshake to keep from gagging or worse. So much for a night that will make me feel better.
“Who hurt you?” Rafe asks, and when I realize he is talking to me, I swallow and turn to him.
“I’m sorry?”
“You said men suck. Let me guess…trouble in Wolfe paradise?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say. Not with them anyway.
“Well, if you ask me, you’re better off without him,” Rafe goes on.
“Now, Rafe, she loves him…and she’s hurting. You do, right?” Brynn asks.
“Do what?” I ask, and Rafe snorts.
“Love Dom,” she says.
“Oh. Yes. Of course,” I say. For one, it’s not a lie. But also, even if I didn’t, I have to pretend I do because the last thing I need is Rafe finding out about our…deal.
“Well, that’s good,” Rafe says, sipping the beer Brynn set in front of him. “The last thing you’d want to do is marry someone you don’t actually love.”
I stop sucking the milkshake straw and glance over at Rafe.
The problem with trying to read him is he always has the same look on his cocky face.
He always seems to look like he’s up to no good.
No wonder Dominic likes punching him in the face so much; it’s probably the only time that smug expression ever slides.
Brynn has a small smile herself, and between the two of them, I’m getting the sense I’m venting to the wrong crowd.
“What do I owe you, Brynn?” I ask, reaching in my purse for my wallet.
“This one’s on the house, sweetie,” she says. “You save your money, just in case you need it later.”
My eyes narrow in confusion. “I’m fine on money, Brynn,” I tell her, not sure what she’s getting at.
“Maybe so, but you never know,” she says, and I swear Rafe looks even more smug. They’re up to something. I’ll add their names to the list of people acting weird.