Dancing with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 2)

by Whitley Cox

  He wasn’t leaving Violet’s side again, but this woman, whoever she was, obviously was unwanted by Violet. And Tulip.

  Seconds later, the woman’s face appeared at the door. “Call off your fucking—”

  “Enough,” came a stern but calm voice behind her, halting the young woman and her vitriol.

  Violet shook her head and wiped her eyes, only to see none other than Marie-Claude Rousseau step into the dance studio.

  “Giselle, that is quite enough,” she said, her voice so strong, so authoritative she didn’t need to raise it.

  Giselle?

  Goosebumps prickled along Violet’s arms from the memory of Marie-Claude’s commanding presence. The woman dominated any room she walked into, flowy floral dress, jet-black ballerina bun, jewelry and all. She was elegant and sophisticated, brilliant and refined, and she was one of the most accomplished performers to ever live.

  Gigi spun around to face Marie-Claude, who seemed to float toward them. The woman always seemed like she was floating. She was just that graceful.

  Adam helped Violet to her feet. His eyes were wide in confusion, much like her own.

  The younger woman’s mouth dropped open. “M-Madame Rousseau … w-what are you doing here?”

  “Supporting one of my greatest performers.” Marie-Claude glared down at Giselle, who was a good four inches shorter than her. “What are you doing here?”

  Giselle seemed to shrink where she stood, cowering under the icy-blue glare of the Marie-Claude Rousseau. “I … I loved him,” she whispered. A tear slipped down her cheek.

  She what?

  This news did not seem to shock Madame Rousseau the way it did Violet. Instead, her mentor and friend simply nodded and pursed her dark, wine-colored lips. “I know you did. Which is why we sent you to Chicago. But what you did was inappropriate. It was wrong. He was your director. He was your mentor, and above all else, he was with Violet. You knew he didn’t share your affections, but you threw yourself at him anyway. You’re lucky we found you a new company. Do not make me regret my decision, Giselle.”

  Giselle.

  Violet swallowed. This was the same Giselle. The ballerina who had waited naked in Jean-Phillipe’s changing-room for him after a performance.

  Had they been lovers?

  Marie-Claude must have noticed the fear in Violet’s eyes, because she placed a cool, delicate hand on Violet’s shoulder. “He did not return her affections, my dear. He loved only you.” She pinned her gaze back on Giselle, her eyes hard, but not altogether unkind. “You must leave. Your grief has taken a very ugly tone. Violet does not deserve this. Adam does not deserve this. Jean-Phillipe does not deserve this.”

  Giselle’s back straightened and her breath hitched. “But I—”

  Marie-Claude made a noise one generally reserves for shooing a cat from a bird’s nest full of fledglings. Giselle’s mouth snapped shut.

  “Go,” Madame said, her lips flattening out into a thin, grim line. “Enough of this.”

  Giselle’s sniffled and more tears welled up in her eyes. “Y-yes, Miss.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she glared at Adam as if she wanted to string him up by his ears, then she leveled her gaze on Violet. Pain swirled behind the frigid gray. “You didn’t deserve him,” she whispered.

  “Giselle,” Marie-Claude snapped. “Enough. Go. Now.”

  Glowering at both Violet and Adam, Giselle slowly turned around and skulked out of the studio. Violet didn’t release the breath she’d been holding until she heard the door chime and then shut.

  Then more tears fell.

  Adam made to pull her into his arms, but Marie-Claude shook her head.

  “Come here, my child,” Marie-Claude murmured, stepping toward Violet and wrapping her arms around her, the long sleeves of her dress like elegant chiffon batwings, enveloping Violet in their warmth and care.

  Violet’s head fell to the older woman’s shoulder, and she wept. The familiar scent of patchouli and lavender encircled her like a comforting shroud as her mentor and friend stroked her back and murmured motherly sounding French words in her ear.

  “It’s all right, my dear. Do not let her words in. Keep them out. She is wrong. She is in pain.” Born and raised in France, but having lived the last thirty years in New York, Marie-Claude had a faint accent, but it came out more when she spoke softly. “He loved you with all his heart. He would want you to dance again. It would anger him to know you quit, to know his death was the death of your passion, the death of your life as a dancer.”

  Violet hiccupped an ugly sob before pulling out of Marie-Claude’s arms. “Maybe she’s right.” She wiped the back of her hand under her nose. “Jean-Phillipe did say he couldn’t bear to watch me dance with another partner, with another man … ”

  Marie-Claude shut her eyes for a moment before opening them again. “That was if he’d lived and not been able to dance. It is different now.” She held out an envelope. “I found this when I was going through some photographs. I don’t know how it got lost in them, but I am sorry you are just now getting it. I only found it last week.” She handed the envelope to Violet.

  “What’s it say?” Violet took it. It said: Violet c/o: MCR

  She shrugged. “I did not open it.”

  Violet tore the end off the envelope and pulled out a photograph. It was of Violet and Jean-Phillipe. It was of their last successful performance together. His smile was radiant, and there was so much love in his eyes that new tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “Just a photo?” Marie-Claude asked.

  Violet turned the photograph over in her hand. Seeing his writing made her heart constrict inside her chest and her eyes teem with new tears.

  Vi,

  You may have been the love of my life.

  But dance is the love of yours.

  Dance will fill your heart again.

  Dance will be the way we can always be together.

  When you dance, I dance.

  Never stop.

  All my heart,

  JP

  “See, my darling. He would not want you to quit. He would want you to dance until you drop. Just like he did.” Marie-Claude reached forward, and with the sleeve of her dark red floral dress, she wiped away the tears from Violet’s cheeks. “He would want you to dance with a partner.” She reached for Adam’s hand, then Violet’s hand and linked them together. “He would want you to be happy. Find love again.”

  Adam squeezed her hand and offered her a small smile. “I’ll never let you fall,” he said softly.

  “See,” Marie-Claude said with a smile. “A man who will always catch you. A man who will never step on your toes.”

  Violet let out a rattled breath, her shoulders slumping with fatigue. Adam was exactly who she needed, exactly who she wanted to be with. He came into her life when she needed him the most, and he’d been nothing but supportive and patient with her. He really would catch her every time, she knew that now. The difference was, now she was willing to finally take the leap.

  Nodding, she went to Adam, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and absorb some of her hurt, filling the hollow ache inside her chest with his love until it teemed over. “Let’s dance.”

  The blue in his eyes twinkled as he dipped his head and kissed her.

  Clapping behind them caused them to break the kiss.

  Marie-Claude was all smiles now. “I am so looking forward to seeing you perform, Cherie. It has been too long.”

  Adam took Violet’s hand again, and they all made their way toward the front door. “How did you find out I was dancing?”

  A small, knowing smile crept onto Marie-Claude’s wrinkle-free face. “I have my ways.”

  “Mitchel?”

  “Perhaps. But I keep tabs on my star performers. On my friends.” She pressed her cool, papery cheek against Violet’s and made a kissy sound. “I have missed you, Cherie. New York is not the same without you.”

  24

  “Where have you been?” Sarah Turner
asked with panic in her eyes and tone as Adam and Violet made their way backstage. She looked like she was about to have a stroke from all the stress. “I sent the break dancers on early to try to buy you guys some time, but I can’t keep stalling.”

  “Sorry,” Violet said, pulling her dress over her head to reveal her tight black bodysuit. “Something came up, but we’re here now, and we really appreciate you stalling for us.”

  Sarah smiled tightly, her irritation still lingering in the creases of her forehead. “I’m just excited to watch you perform.”

  Violet’s eyes scanned the backstage. “Where’s Marie-Claude?” she asked, turning to Adam, who had pulled off his shirt and was now just in a pair of well-worn, hot-as-hell jeans. It was her favorite look on him and exactly what she wanted him to wear on stage. She couldn’t wait to watch all the women in the crowd ogle what was all hers.

  Adam scratched the back of his neck. “When we left her in the studio parking lot, she said she had to go take care of something but that she would be back in time to see us dance.”

  Violet frowned. “Weird.”

  Sarah bounced on her toes, her irritation now completely gone and replaced once again with her fan-girl enthusiasm. “Are you guys ready? The break dancers are almost done.”

  Violet nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Adam grabbed a water bottle from a nearby cooler and took a sip. “Ready to roll.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it gives me great pleasure to welcome the Violet Benson of the Marie-Claude Rousseau Dance Company in New York and her partner, Adam Eastwood, to the stage,” Sarah announced to the crowd, the microphone clutched so tightly in her fist, her knuckles glowed white. “Miss Benson has recently opened up her own dance studio here in Seattle and offers a wide variety of classes for the young, the old, the beginner and the advanced. This evening we will see three performances from Benson School of Dance: a duet, an adult contemporary group and a children’s beginner group. Please join me in welcoming Violet Benson and Adam Eastwood to the stage.”

  To a roar of applause and whistles, Adam took Violet’s hand, and the two walked out to the center of the stage.

  They took position.

  “You okay?” he asked, his eyes focused on her and only her. Heat pooled inside her from just how much she loved this man, how much him coming into her life meant.

  She nodded. “Yes, let’s do it.”

  His smile sealed the deal. He had her heart, her body and her soul for as long as he wanted them. She just hoped that he wanted them forever.

  “I’ll always catch you.”

  Her heart was light and happy as the music started to play. “I know.”

  Their performance was flawless, in Violet’s opinion. Adam was just as much a born performer as she was, with a big smile, intense eyes and an unwavering focus on her. Because as much as he was “leading” the dance, he was taking all his cues from her. She choreographed the entire thing, so he looked to her for direction. He relinquished his control and let her take the reins.

  Even though Violet was a classically trained prima ballerina, she had also studied other forms of dance, such as jazz, hip-hop, swing, contemporary, ballroom and even a semester of tap back in the day. So this was her opportunity to showcase all that she could do, all that she had to offer.

  With five thirty-second clips of music, Adam and Violet alternated between fast-paced jazz to slow and classy ballroom, then back into a lively hip-hop with a lot of jumping and spinning, then back into a slow ballet, finally ending in a forty-second contemporary that was almost acrobatic with the way she had their bodies moving.

  Adam had wanted to finish the number Dirty Dancing-style, where she ran across the stage and he lifted her high in the air, but Violet had dismissed the idea. It was too cliché, too expected, too blah. So instead, on her nod, because they’d only practiced it half a dozen times, he grabbed her around the waist and flipped her into the air, making her spin, only to catch her around the waist again and flip her around on either one of his hips like they do in swing dancing. Then he tossed her up one more time and caught her in his arms in time with the final note of the trumpet and the cymbal crashing the dance to a close.

  The whole park erupted into a cheer, standing up and clapping, hollering and whistling.

  Violet’s chest heaved, and she could feel Adam panting behind her. Her face hurt from smiling so much. She scanned the crowd, hoping to see Marie-Claude in the audience. It took a while, but eventually she found her. Her body shook with how hard she clapped, she had tears in her eyes, and the smile on her face was bigger than Violet had ever seen. She motioned to somebody beside her, and then there she was—Violet’s mom. Her smile was small, but Violet could tell it was real. She too had tears in her eyes, and her mother’s lips trembled as she fought back more tears.

  “I love you,” her mother mouthed. “I’m sorry.”

  Tears pricked the corners of Violet’s eyes. “I love you too,” she mouthed back.

  The crowd just continued to cheer and hoot, as if they were demanding an encore. Whistles from one side of the park drew Violet and Adam’s attention.

  “Are those all your single dads?” she asked as he set her down on her feet and took her hand, the two of them facing the audience and getting ready to take a bow.

  “Yeah. Like I told Mitch, we have each other’s backs. They knew this was important to me, that you’re important to me, so they came here to support us. We’re a family.”

  Standing there watching the audience, Violet felt a resurgence of life, a resurgence of purpose.

  She could do this.

  She could dance again.

  She could perform with a partner, and it wouldn’t take away from what she and Jean-Phillipe had; if anything, it would be honoring him. She was taking all that he had taught her, all that he given her and shown her, and she was sharing it with the world. She was opening up her heart again, as broken as it felt at times, and letting people in. Sharing her pain and her loss with the world so that just like her, they would never forget the visionary, the artist that was Jean-Phillipe Laurent.

  “Take a bow, baby,” Adam said, squeezing her hand tight. “You earned it.”

  Violet squeezed his hand back. “We earned it.”

  “Where are all the other performers?” Violet asked Paige moments later as she and Adam headed backstage. “You guys go on in like a minute.”

  Paige shook her head, terror on her face. “I’ve been trying to reach you. They all went out for sushi last night and got food poisoning.”

  Adam choked on his water. “Oh fuck. You didn’t go?”

  She shook her head. “I worked and then Mira was over for a sleepover, remember?”

  He nodded. “Right.”

  Violet rested her hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Your solo is one of the most beautiful things I have ever watched. I think you should go on and perform.”

  Paige’s light-brown eyes went wide, and her head shook fervently. “No. No, I can’t. I can’t perform a solo. I haven’t practiced. Not in front of all those people. I can’t.”

  Sarah appeared next to Adam. She clutched her clipboard tight to her chest and her eyes darted back and forth between Adam, Paige and Violet. “What’s going on? Where are the other dancers?” Once again, the woman looked like she was ready to keel over from the stress.

  Violet turned to face Sarah. She rested her hands on the woman’s shoulders and gently squeezed. “Send the children on first. Just give us a minute. We’ve had a bit of an incident arise, but I promise you I will fix it. If Miss McPherson doesn’t go on, I will go on and do a solo myself.”

  Adam planted a kiss on the side of her head. “That’s my girl. She’s back!”

  Violet couldn’t stop the smile that tilted up both corners of her mouth.

  She really was back.

  Sarah’s eyes grew the size of saucers, and she whispered, “A solo from Violet Benson … ”

  Violet roll
ed her eyes at the starstruck woman, released Sarah’s shoulders and turned back to Paige. “You can do this. I know you can. You are so talented. So creative. So passionate. Your emotions come through with everything you do. You are going to leave that audience speechless and with tears in their eyes. Just like you have me.”

  Paige nibbled on her lip and twisted her fingers in front of her. “I don’t know.”

  Now, she put both her hands onto Paige’s shoulders. “I know. You can do this.”

  Paige flicked her eyes up to Adam.

  “You’ve got this, Paige,” he encouraged. “I haven’t seen you dance, but if you dance the same way you cook, you’re going to leave them all wanting more.”

  The music for the children’s number started. “I have to run and guide the little ones, but please, Paige, think about it. You are ready.” Then Violet took off toward the side of the stage to lead Mira and Jayda’s class in their dance number.

  Adam glanced down at his ex-wife, taking in her frazzled demeanor. “You okay?”

  She nodded, her fingers still wringing in front of her, her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah. I think so.”

  Both their gazes swiveled to the stage, where their daughter was dancing her heart out. A smile as big as the sun shone on her perfect heart-shaped face.

  “You love her, don’t you?” Paige asked, not looking at Adam but continuing to focus on Mira.

  He knew she didn’t mean Mira. That was a given.

  “I do.”

  “You guys are good together. Your dance was beautiful.”

  He glanced down at her. “You’re okay with me being in love with another woman?”

  She still didn’t look up at him. “I left you, remember? I have to be okay with it.” Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Tears made the flecks of gold glow in the light brown of her irises. “And I am okay with it. I’m happy you’ve found someone else. I wasn’t a good wife to you in the end. I wasn’t a good mother either. You deserve better.”