2. Jace
two
Jace
I don’t waste any time as I run out of the theater when Sienna exits the stage.
Christmas came early in the form of a pink haired ballerina.
It’s been years since I’ve seen Sienna, let alone watched her dance.
A normal, much more sane man would stop and think about the fact that he hasn’t seen his childhood crush and best friend's cousin in nearly two years.
Except I never said that I was normal.
I have a one track mind right now, and it’s set on having her. Sienna Jones isn’t someone you can own or take as a possession—I’d never think to do that to her, but stealing her time with the hopes of being in her presence is something I would absolutely do.
Have I ever mentioned that pink is my favorite color? I thought it’d been green, but pink is much more enticing.
Light pink and black flashes by, and my eyes are drawn to her immediately.
We could be a million light years apart, but I’d spot her anywhere. Sienna Jones, the woman that you are.
My body aches to be near her, to talk to her.
I let the invisible string tethering my soul to hers yank me forward to my missing piece, only for the string to wrap itself around my neck.
My soul is yanked back into my body, forcing me to feel a choking sensation as someone approaches my little angel.
A man.
Tall and broad with deep, dark brown skin and even deeper low cut waves approaches Sienna, his smile brighter than the sun as he looks down at my girl.
My head tilts as the two of them laugh at something Boy Wonder says .
What the fuck is this?
Who the fuck is this?
Is he your boyfriend, angel?
Why are you here after years of radio silence?
I see red and collide with another person. A woman around my mother’s age blushes as I hold her up, apologizing for not paying attention.
I’ve got to get this girl out of my head.
I can hear Sienna’s laugh from here, and it pisses me the fuck off that it isn’t me she’s laughing with.
Fuck, I have to do something.
Screw her boyfriend . I’m Jace fucking Heart.
“Woah there, honey, what's the matter?” the woman asks, pulling my focus back to her. Her voice is soft with a southern twang and her tone reminds me of my Nonna—sweet and inviting. The lady’s body language says otherwise—she looks strict and extremely put together.
I look around the emptying atrium, my jaw twitching.
Where the fuck did Sienna go that fast?
“Looking for something?” the lady asks.
“More like someone…I need dance lessons at this studio. Who can I talk to about scheduling and payment?” I cringe at my tone, but that's to be expected when the one woman who’s been plaguing my mind for years shows up out of nowhere at a recital for my best friend’s kid.
“You’re in luck, sweet pea. I’m Calista Dupri, owner of the Madam Dupri Dance Academy. Was there a specific thing you wanted to learn or—”
“Whatever Sienna Jones teaches.” I waste zero time. My breathing is harsh as I look down at the woman.
Her lips purse, clearly annoyed by my interruption.
“I’m sorry, young man, but Sienna is one of our most booked coaches. You can probably get on the waitlist for another teach—”
“I’ll pay whatever, but it can only be her. I just need her…to teach me.” I cringe internally by the pleading in my voice. I can hear my dad’s reprimand now .
“Heart men do not beg. Only bitches beg.”
I grimace at the reminder of his words, but Calista Dupri doesn’t see any of this, though. Instead, she’s observing me, replaying my words in her head.
I know immediately what she’s about to say isn’t going to be something I like, so when I see the squint in her eyes, clearly sensing my bullshit, I butt in.
“I’ll give you a hundred grand for her to teach me privately until New Year’s Eve—only her—and she gets all the money after.”
Calista reels back as if I’d shot her and scoffs, “Excuse me?! How dare you try to bribe—”
“So? How much are her lessons?”
If my friend Georgia could see me right now still pining after the same girl years later, she’d laugh in my face. Georgia is the only person in my trio of friends who knew about my crush—considering Cleo, my other friend, is Sienna’s cousin.
“I beg your—”
“Hundred grand, four months of classes with her only. Take the money or—”
Calista’s eyes replicate saucers as she gasps and shouts, “You’re out of your mind!” before storming away.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Guess I have to take matters into my own hands.
So much for that master plan to get Sienna alone.
“Honey, why would you buy a dance studio in the middle of Maryland? I thought you were a painter…” My mother’s voice is light and questioning as I answer her fourth call of the day .
Sighing, I roll my eyes as I take a seat in front of my easel, pulling a smock over my bare chest.
“Did anyone ever question Shakespeare when he wrote all those plays?” I ask absentmindedly, positioning myself in front of my canvas. My body buzzes with energy and my fingers twitch to touch a brush.
After the recital and disappointing chit-chat with Calista Dupri, I’ve acquired a dance studio, a headache, and an itch to paint.
The headache and studio were a given considering the small two-story building cost me around three hundred thousand dollars and resulted in a nice, long chat with Dad. It was no surprise for Mom to call me every day, though.
What did surprise me was the itch to paint something. I haven’t sat and worked on a piece in months.
“Umm…yes? What did we send you off to that school for if you’re not learning—”
“Did you call me to lecture me or to talk to your favorite spawn, Mom?” My voice is teasing as I make light brushstrokes against the canvas, using lavender and light brown oil paints.
“Fine…I did have a reason for my call, sweetheart.”
My eye twitches as my mother eases the term of endearment into her sentence. Honey was her usual nickname for all of us boys, but when Anna Heart truly wanted to get her way, she’d used sweetheart .
Just as I open my mouth to question her, she beats me to the chase.
“Before you get mad, I just want you to hear me out.”
Gritting my teeth, I set down my paint brush and brace myself for whatever verbal torture my mother will throw out. Anna Heart may love her boys with her entire being to the point she’d become overbearing, but she also knows just the right way to get under our skin.
“I had a talk with Grace, and we just think you and Georgia should try—”
Oh for the love of God.
“Mom.” I feel cold as I look out of the one lone window in my bedroom. The street light is on in front of our house, and although it's pitch black outside, I know that somewhere out there in the underworld Hades is giggling happily at my expense.
“What?! You’ve known the girl your entire life and you’re not getting any younger. I’d at least like to see my last boy get married.” The calm I’d felt earlier at the recital while Sienna danced is nowhere to be found as my mother’s words hit me like a bullet train.
I’m only nineteen, but to her I’d might as well be forty-five.
My parents had my brother, Jackson, when they were my age, and then got married soon after.
Luckily for them, they’d been in love with one another well before Jackson came along.
My brother followed in their footsteps, marrying my sister-in-law, Corinne, at twenty-one, six years ago.
Asa, my second older brother, decided to rebel when he was fifteen.
He’s repeatedly stood on the notion that he is against marriage and would not be getting married if his life depended on it.
He’s twenty-four now, single and mysterious as fuck living in New York, leaving me to bear the brunt end of our parents ideas of love, life, and family.
“Mom, you wanting me to marry Georgia is like telling me to marry Jackson’s fugly ass. Gross and fucking crazy considering she’s my best friend. And you aren’t dying, so stop.”
I should feel bad for my tone, but I can’t. Hearing that you should marry one of your best friends every day for almost a decade is fucking annoying.
Georgia, Cleo, and even Ryan have been the only constant people in my life besides my family. I wouldn’t touch any of them with a ten foot pole.
Georgia, with her blonde hair and green eyes is the feminine equivalent of me. She acts like me, talks like me, looks like me—and I’m pretty sure she’s a demon. The thought of even hugging her, let alone kissing her in front of a church, gives me the heebeegeebees.
Unlike Georgia, my best friend, Cleo, is the exact opposite of me. I admit that as a kid I had a teensy crush on her and we did kiss once, but that ship sailed before it ever reached its dock because Hurricane Sienna came through wielding all the power .
I haven’t been attracted to either Georgia or Cleo, because not only have I watched them grow up, know all of their secrets, but I’ve also seen them down twelve hot dogs between the two of them.
Only one girl remains on my mind, and I have a plan in motion to get her.
“Language…” My mom’s soft voice reminds me that we’re still on the phone.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but it’s been over ten years of you scheming and I don’t have any feelings for Georgia nor Cleo,” I say, officially giving up on my painting for the night.
“Fine, I'll stop for now, Jace. You know that if you ever need help I’m just a call away right, honey?”
Chuckling as I take a seat on the foot of my bed, I nod.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, because I have a feeling this school year is going to have a lot more drama than last year…” My mother sighs, and with that, she hangs up.