Man of Honor - Bella Di Corte Page 0,146
Girl.
The spot over my heart ached, and I rubbed a hand over the tender area. The pain of sharing her with the world had increased with each day that passed. I went to Paris about a year after she left, but only to watch her. I had to make sure that everything I knew about her was true, that she was speeding through the ranks of the dance company, that she was safe, that she was happy.
Two out of three proved to be true. She was content, but not truly happy. Not the way she had been with me.
At the time, she had needed more time, even if seeing her and not touching her had been one of the most torturous things I’d ever done to myself. Second only to the space and time between us.
Laughter floated out from the studio and I turned toward the noise. Two women walked behind two bundled up dancers, their frilly skirts fanning out under thick jackets, and were starting to make their way down Front Street. They stopped for a moment when one of the little girls announced that she had forgotten her present in the class. The other girl went with her to retrieve it.
“I’m so glad that Lily was able to come here. The teachers are fabulous. Even though the teachers who taught Scarlett were only for her, you can tell they’re all world class.”
“I just wish Bethany would’ve been able to take a class with Scarlett. Did you know that she taught before she left?”
“I heard about it through the grapevine. But talent like that shouldn’t be wasted on teaching, Madeline. Unless…unless after her career is over she decides teaching would be worth her time. I bet she dances until there’s not one dance left in her.” She sighed, almost sounding wistful. “Then I could see teaching. And marriage. And kids. I bet her kids will all be dancers. I’ve always thought that the spouses and children of beautiful singers must be spoiled with the gift of song. I bet one day she’ll spoil her husband and children with her gift of graceful dancing.”
“You make it sound like a fairy tale, Lisa.” Madeline laughed.
No, far from a fairy tale, I thought. The demands on her body. The bleeding and blistered and calloused feet that sometimes resembled raw meat. The high injury rate. The emotional turmoil that accompanies losing yourself to something bigger than who you are just to give the world a glimpse of living art.
“Well, think about it. It is, isn’t it?” Lisa’s voice broke through my thoughts. “She’s extremely talented and beautiful. The world is at her feet, hypnotized. I’ve seen her dance. Whatever it is that makes people special, she has it.”
“You’ve seen her? She’s so tiny in person. Much smaller than she looks in pictures and when she dances.”
The woman’s comment came with another thought. Her pointe shoes are made to make her legs look longer. And it’s the way she dances. So graceful that she’s spellbinding. It’s all in how she moves her body. More than any of those things, though, it’s her charisma. She had always seemed bigger to me, and not just when she danced.
“I’ve never noticed,” Lisa said. “I’ve just seen her dance. I figured she was tall. She looks that way in pictures and on video. She’s smart too. Can speak so many languages!”
“No wonder she ended up in France. She sounds just like a Frenchwoman. I hope she settles here. I’d even take classes from her.”
“I’ve never been much of a mover. I’m too rigid. It doesn’t stop me from dreaming about it though…”
The two women became quiet, staring toward the door their daughters went through, seemingly lost in thought. After a few minutes, the two girls came back out. This time they were crying. A steady release of steam came from all four of their mouths.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did something happen?” The women’s voices tripped over each other.
One of the little girls hiccupped, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “She’s not coming!”
Lisa leaned down to wipe her daughter’s tears. “Who’s not coming, love bug?”
“Scarlett Rose Poésy.” She said her name with the perfect French pronunciation, like she had to get it right.
“Why would she?”
“During our last class Ms. Clarice said that she might. And if she did, we would get to see her.”
“Meet her!” Her friend corrected with a wild throwing of the arms.
“But…but she just told us that she’s not!”
“She’ll be back. I’m sure. She has roots here.”
The four began their trek again, this time each mother holding a daughter’s hand. They didn’t notice me, at first. I caught Madeline’s eye when they went to pass. She nudged Lisa. Both women looked my way, smiling.
I turned my face, reaching into my jeans for the blue ribbon. I held tight to it and then started for Snow Street.
I knew that, of course. That she wouldn’t be coming back. She hadn’t, since she left for Paris. The thought hollowed me out, but instead of getting stuck in the misery, I thought back on all the promises I had made after she left me out in the snow years ago.
Also by Bella Di Corte
The Gangsters of New York
Machiavellian
Marauder
Mercenary
The Fausti Family
Man of Honor
Queen of Thorns
Royals of Italy
Kingdom of Corruption
War of Monsters
Rulers of Hearts
Law of Conduct
King of Roses
About Bella Di Corte
Bella Di Corte has been writing romance for seven years, even longer if you count the stories in her head that were never written down, but she didn't realize how much she enjoyed writing alphas until recently. Tough guys who walk the line between irredeemable and savable, and the strong women who force them to feel, inspire her to keep putting words to the page.
Apart from writing, Bella loves to spend time with her husband, daughter, and family. She also loves to read, listen to music, cook meals that were passed down to her, and take photographs. She mostly takes pictures of her family (when they let her) and her three dogs.
Bella grew up in New Orleans, a place she considers a creative playground.
She loves to connect with readers, so don't hesitate to email her if you'd like to reach out.
Find Bella Online
Web: www.belladicorte.com
Email: [email protected]
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