Chapter 63

Dancing never failed to clear my mind.

As often happened when a few days are skipped in any exercise routine, there was an annoying heaviness and stiffness to my muscles I had to slowly work off before my usual lightness returned. I didn’t own a scale in my house, so I didn’t know how much weight I had gained, though I knew, from previous doctor’s appointments and my stay at the hospital, that I had gained a few pounds more than I had expected. I’d been too optimistic with all the fatty foods I’d been craving.

Still, it all slid away with the music and the swing of my limbs. Contrary to Mr. Czarn’s concerns, the tension around my hips feeding the cramps eased with each smooth move. The familiarity of dance drained the accumulated stress down through my feet and into the floor.

It was all Bach Cello Suites and ethereal violin solos for me. For some reason, the lone instrument fit my mood at the moment, though I couldn’t say I felt alone. Mr. Czarn obviously cared about the fact he had a kid, but I still couldn’t fully believe his words concerning his feelings for me. Words were just words, after all. People were weak as their promises, as Joshua and my mother proved. She had yet to get back with me about quitting her job and moving in with me. I could probably even handle Joshua better if she did, but that was that. It was hard to get mad at someone acting like they always have.

Arching to a crescendo in a rendition of O Mio Babbino Caro, it occurred to me that, perhaps, I was alone in the fact that I could trust no one but myself, even if I might betray myself falling for the persistent presence of Reuben Czarn.

When my uterus started contracting again, I’d already gotten a nice layer of sweat and a good burn to my calves and sides. I flicked off the stereo with my toe and ran the towel I’d brought from the bathroom over my face.

It felt good to breathe again.

Only when I turned to leave did I notice Mr. Czarn leaning against the archway with his arms crossed, leaning back halfway as though ready to hide in the kitchen should I have looked any earlier.

“How long have you been there?”

“I just saw the last song…” At my glare, he gave me a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry; I couldn’t resist. People would pay millions to watch you.”

Like I had thought, I could keep no one to their word but myself.

‘And maybe,’ my arm brushed my blooming belly as I thought this, ‘maybe my little one?’

When just walked past, ignoring him, he started with the apologies, but whoever said it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission was going to be proven wrong today. Not that I could find much left in me to care after the therapeutic purging of a good dance session. But, then again, they say the opposite of love isn’t hatred but apathy.

He followed after me, like a hopeless teenage boy, bringing his muskier, post-workout scent with him. The hair at the base of his head was still dark with sweat, though his workout clothes were designed not to show any of that.

“I’m sorry. I should have at least asked, and I was planning to as soon as you noticed me, but you didn’t notice at all. You were in your own world.”

Of course, I was. All artists had their ‘zone,’ even if I thought of myself as more of an athlete than an artist most days.

“Is there any way I can make it up to you? Please, I just—I got caught up in the moment. Alaina, do you realize just how beautiful your dancing is? It’s otherworldly; I just, before I knew it—”

“Are you planning on giving me that picture back anytime soon?”

I thought I heard a swallow catch in his throat.

“You really are mad…” he said quietly.

“What? You should have asked in the first place. You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you?”

“…can I keep it? I can pay you for it.”

We’d long since reached the door to my room and now I was just hanging my hand on the doorknob, sighing and trying not to thump my sweaty head against the door. A nap sounded really good right now. And a burrito. A deep-fried bean burrito. They had a name for those, right?

Well, there was a way to kill two birds with one stone.

“Get me a deep-fried, cheesy bean burrito and the picture is yours.” I made the mistake of looking at him as I said this and got the blow of his too-handsome, guilty face. Ugh, it should be against all the laws of nature for a grown-ass man who’d once made a visiting businessman cry to be able to give the puppy dog eyes. “Stop looking at me like that. You’re the one who broke your word. You know I don’t like people watching.”

“Yes, I did. I’m sorry.”

If he had given more excuses or tried looking even more sorry, I would have sent him on his way for that burrito like an errand boy and closed the case on that.

But he faced me boldly, his eyes meeting mine, still guilty but also oozing sincerity.

“I won’t do it again,” he said. “But…but I hope, one day, you’ll deem me worthy enough to watch. I’d be the luckiest man in the world.”

Good thing my face was already flushed.

“How do you just roll out such cheesy lines without gagging?”

His mouth quirked to the side. “Don’t know if it’s so cheesy if it’s true. Logically, if your performances are worth even just thousands, I’m saving serious money.”

“That’s really what happened, huh? Your money-making nodules lost their minds and made you do it.”

“If that makes you more comfortable with the idea of me watching, you can say that.”

Still, he looked at me, steadfastly, and I began to squirm with discomfort. There was no reason to stare so hard.

“I’m taking a shower,” I said, rather forcefully.

For a beat, he resisted, but then his eyes got a glint. “Can I—”

“No!”

And I did slam the door behind me.

Seriously, the bastard kept flip-flopping. Guilty, puppy-eyed begging for forgiveness one minute and then asking for more of the same crap a second later. Thoughtful gentleman, then mischievous flirt the next. It was giving me a headache.

Still, I hated how it made my insides flutter.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one.