by Deanna Roy
None of that would have happened if I had been stronger. If I’d stood up to my own parents.
If I’d never let them take my newborn daughter away.
Chapter 3
We’re only halfway through the song when Blitz arrives.
I’m lifting Marissa’s arm for her, keeping her in time with the others, when I see the movement in the mirror.
Janel spots him too. She stops, momentarily shocked into stillness. “Is that Blitz Craven?” she asks. “In my dance class?”
I gently lower Marissa’s arm. I can’t say anything. My voice seems to be stuck.
He’s wearing black jazz pants and another white sleeveless shirt. Every muscle in his body is defined.
He hesitates when he catches sight of the wheelchairs. He steps back outside the door and glances at the painted placard outside that reads Studio 3.
Janel breaks out of whatever paralysis she’s in and asks, “Are you lost?” The music plays on, but the girls all falter without prompting from their teacher.
Blitz realizes he’s interrupting. “Danika told me Studio 3. Beginner ballet.”
“Well, this is it,” she says. “Do you have a dancer to enroll?”
He steps back inside the room, his grin sheepish. “I don’t have any kids.”
“He’s from Dance Blitz,” I hiss. At least my voice is back.
Blitz snaps to me, seeming to just now notice I’m there. He looks disappointed. “You know?” he asks.
“I do now,” I say. “I’m sorry I’ve never seen your show.”
This amuses him. His smile is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Even the young girls turn toward it, as if they are flowers seeking light.
Danika, the owner of Dreamcatcher, swishes inside, her skirt fluttering behind her. The lights overhead brighten her short buzzed blue hair, a style she’s kept since fighting cancer a few years ago.
“Ah, you found it,” she says and claps her hands for attention. “Janel, Livia, girls,” she gazes fondly at all the dancers in their chairs. “This is Benjamin.”
I realize Blitz must just be a stage name. Of course. Nobody names their baby Blitz.
The girls chorus a hello.
“Benjamin will assist as you prepare for the holiday recital. He’s a professional dancer, and very excited to help you all with your performance.”
The girls giggle. Blitz looks at each of them, his expression carefully neutral. I don’t know what he’s thinking. If they are a waste of his time, or if Danika is out to make him miserable.
Fire burns in my belly. In my book, this is the most important class at Dreamcatcher Academy. He better not upset these girls, most of all Gabriella. I resist the urge to move closer to her. Nobody knows she is my daughter. No one in the entire world, not even my best friend Mindy, knows I found her and set up this class just to be near her.
No one can know. It’s the only way I get to have her in my life at all.
My throat is so tight that I can barely swallow.
Blitz takes in all the girls, and then his gaze rests on me. Something ticks in his jaw. I have that naked feeling all over again as he scrutinizes my white leotard, pale yellow skirt, and white tights. Now I understand why my father forced me into baggy clothes for so long. He anticipated a moment like this.
He’s ignored Janel, who is way more beautiful than me, so I guess I’m more his type. He’s bound to be very experienced if he’s on television. Women probably fall at his feet.
But I don’t feel alarmed or concerned. I’m not totally naive. I might have been fifteen when Gabriella was born, way too young for all that transpired, but her conception did not come about by anything traumatic or painful. Wrong, perhaps, the worst kind of wrong by most books, but I still hold those memories close.
And they are coming forward now. Skin. Heat. That buzz of attraction and need in my belly. Blitz’s interest burns into me, heating up key places I was forced to forget about.
But now there is Blitz. Apparently he’s staying.
Danika moves forward. “I’ll be here today as we get started.” She takes Blitz by the arm and turns him, as if he’s a child in need of guidance. I can see in her expression that she might be questioning her decision to bring him close to me, possibly thinking of my father and his overbearing protectiveness.
“These are some of our most prized pupils, Benjamin,” Danika says. She introduces each girl. When she gets to Gabriella, my heart squeezes. “Little Gabby is our newest ballerina. She’s a quick study and already knows all the basic positions.”
Gabriella beams up at Blitz. Little sprigs of black hair frame her face, tiny curls that escaped the sequin-wrapped bun. Sometimes I’m shocked other people don’t recognize how much she looks like me, but maybe it’s only because I know. Everyone else assumes Gwen is her biological mother. She never mentions the adoption and Gwen’s dark brown hair seems close enough.
But Blitz looks down at Gabriella and back to me and back again. I see him noting something and I wonder if he’s guessed. Panic rises in my belly, but then he moves on and I shake it off. Nobody would believe that someone as young as I am could have a four-year-old child.
I flash for a moment to the hospital, the ripping pain, the fear, the clucking disapproving nurses, and my parents’ embarrassment and shame. I have to shove it from my thoughts.
“Let me start the music again,” Janel says. “Girls! Back to your starting positions!”
I help settle the dancers. Danika and Blitz stand near the mirror, watching. We run through the entire routine. I rush from girl to girl, having to let go of Marissa to make sure Daisy moves aside before she blocks Gabriella’s turn.
When the song is done, Blitz claps heartily. “That’s great,” he says. He approaches the girls. “You’re Daisy, right?” he asks.
Daisy beams that he knows her. “Yes,” she says. “Whose daddy are you?”
“Well, if you ask my lawyers, they’ll tell you I have defended fifteen paternity lawsuits,” Blitz says.
“Benjamin,” Danika says, a warning note in her tone.
“Right, right,” he says. “I am no one’s daddy. May I take your arm and show you something?”
Daisy holds out her arm.
Blitz encircles her wrist with his fingers and shakes her arm gently. “Wiggle your sillies out,” he says with more goofiness than any of us expected. “Turn your arm into a noodle, and then you will get a beautiful curve.” He lifts her arm into fourth position.
I wonder if he knows more ballet than he let on, or if he’s just picked up some form from his show. I’ll have to find a way to watch it. I’m desperately curious.
When Daisy makes her arm go straight, he grasps her wrist and jiggles it again. “Beautiful relaxed curve,” he reminds her.
His voice is like a drug. The girls are all rapt, just listening and watching, even though this is the sort of correction we’ve all done a thousand times to beginning ballerinas.
Daisy’s arm bends slightly, this time too angular. Blitz shakes her arm out one more time.
The curve falls more naturally.
“That’s it!” Blitz says. “Now drop your arm.”
Daisy lowers her hand to her lap.
“Now back,” Blitz says.
Her arm isn’t quite right, but after a quick shake, she’s in position again. They do this several times until her arm goes into a nice curve straightaway.
“Keep practicing,” he says. “Your arms are your superpower, so make them shine.”
He turns to Gabriella and my breath catches. “You next?” he asks her and she nods.
Behind me, Janel asks, “Is he in charge now?”
Danika says, “Only as much as you want him to be.”
Janel steps forward. “We’ll have individual ballerinas work with Blitz — Benjamin — while the rest of us continue practicing our timing with the music,” she says.
The other girls turn back to Janel. I come up behind Gabriella. “You want to m
ove over near the barre?” I ask her. I can’t manage to frame a direct question to Blitz. I’m running hot and cold, torn between protecting her and my secret, and the memory of the charming boy he was yesterday.
It’s a lot to manage.
“Great idea,” Blitz says. He moves as if to push Gabriella by the handles, but she snatches her wheels and darts forward.
He straightens, surprised, and catches my eye.
“She’s a zoomer,” I say with a shrug.
We walk toward her, away from the group, as alone as you can get in a room full of girls. He quietly asks, “So none of these girls can walk?”
“That’s why they are in wheelchairs,” I say.
“But they can use their arms.”
“Each girl has a different level of movement and control,” I explain. “We choreograph around it, same as you’d play to the strengths and weaknesses of any dancer.”
He stops walking and waits for me to pause and turn back to him.
“This is a really special class,” he says.
“Of course it is,” I say, maybe a little more haughtily than I intend, and head toward Gabriella.
He rushes to catch up. “Is this one your sister?”
That panic rushes through me again. Behind us, the music restarts and Janel begins talking the girls through their movements. I take this as my cue to ignore his question.
When we get to Gabriella, Blitz says, “Show me the arm movements, and I’ll stop you when I see something we can work on.”
“Okay,” Gabriella says shyly. She maneuvers her chair so she can see Janel and picks up the dance in the middle. I’m proud of how she can just pop in and still fall into the flow of the dance. She’s smart.
Her arms sway left and right, and she reaches down to turn her chair at the right moment, then lifts her arm again.
Blitz watches, his hand on his chin, rubbing his cheek with his fingers. I find myself staring, wondering about the feel of that stubble, when he stops Gabriella.
“Okay, I see a couple places where you can choose a slightly different moment to reach for your chair in the turn, and get a little more arm movement in.”
I step away, realizing I can be better used with the main group. But I feel a little in awe of him. He’s actually saying things that make sense, and the dance will be better with his close attention, whether he really knows ballet or not.
Even as I walk toward the other girls, I watch the two of them in the mirror. Seeing my daughter with this man does something to my heart that makes it feel like it’s only just now started to beat again.
Chapter 4
As the mothers enter the studio to fetch their daughters, I hang back in the corner near the sound system. Some of them know Blitz and stop to talk with him and indulge their curiosity. His star power is striking. Almost all of them get flirty, tucking their hair behind their ears and giggling like girls half their age.
I have to turn away, although I do glance surreptitiously in the mirror to see if Gwen is like that. She’s actually single, unlike the others. It’s been well over a year since the accident, and she hasn’t dated anyone, at least not as far as I can see from stalking her Facebook page. She’s still deeply mourning her husband.
But she is the most straightforward of the mothers, thanking Blitz for spending time with her daughter and following a glowing Gabriella out of the room.
Janel sets up for the next class, and Danika heads to the foyer to greet the parents, as is her custom during the transition. Blitz stands at the door, watching the girls wheel out.
I linger in the corner, not feeling brave enough to pass by him. I’m done for today, and Blitz has already been too observant, asking if Gabriella is my sister. Hopefully seeing her with Gwen will end those questions. I have the poker face of a dandelion, and there is no doubt in my mind that he’ll guess all my secrets in five minutes if he asks me anything directly.
A few dancers file in, part of Janel’s beginner ballet for preschool-aged girls. They are adorable and look up at Blitz with giggles and smiles. Even if they don’t recognize him as a famous person, his charisma tugs on their young hearts.
Janel motions them inside. “Warm up at the barre, girls.” She notices Blitz is still there. “Are you working with this class too?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Danika only gave me one per day.” His eyes meet mine and I quickly look away, tugging self-consciously at my skirt. It’s sheer and has a mend in it that I always try to hide.
“We meet again,” he says, his voice as silky as melted chocolate.
I risk a tiny glance and regret it, as his earnest attention is like a powerful potion. I want more of it, all of it. “Yes,” I say, my own voice soft and nervous.
He holds out his elbow in another old-fashioned gesture, as if I would ever have the courage to take it. “Can I interest you in a tour? I need to know my way around.”
When I don’t move, he lowers his arm. “Unless you’re assisting in this class too.”
I shake my head no.
Janel looks between us. “That shark will definitely bite, Livia,” she says. “I don’t blame you for staying out of the water.”
Blitz places both hands over his heart. His fingers are long, and I’m shocked at the places I imagine them going. My face flames red. But I’m not an innocent girl, not like everyone here thinks. I’ve felt what fingers can do.
“I’m injured,” he says to Janel. “My intentions are strictly honorable.”
Janel snorts, sending the ballerina girls to giggling. “Livia, can you at least get him out of here?”
I nod and head toward the door. It’s easier to follow the command of an instructor than to say yes to Blitz. There’s no guilt involved, no worry.
Blitz holds the door open for me. I slip through it and move past another mother-daughter pair about to go inside. This woman recognizes Blitz instantly, and despite the oversized diamond on her finger, she sidles up ridiculously close. “Blitz Craven? From Dance Blitz? Oh, my lucky stars!”
Her drawl is never that thick on ordinary days. She’s so close to him that her rather impressive chest brushes against his dance tank.
“We were just heading out,” Blitz says, although he’s grinning as if making every female forget her husband is the stuff his good days are made of.
Despite the fact that I’m just as smitten as the rest of them, I manage to keep my chin high and flounce to the other side of the wide hallway.
Dance Mom doesn’t really want to let Blitz go, and her fingers trail along his muscled arm as he follows me. But her daughter is mortified, five years old and already sick of how her mother acts. She pulls her away and into the dance studio.
There’s a rush of girls and moms as the transition goes into full swing. “Probably not the best time for a tour,” I say. “You might get mobbed.”
“Where does that go?” he asks, pointing to the double doors at the end of the hall.
“Just storage,” I say.
“Sounds perfect,” he says, just as another mother recognizes him and looks ready to pounce. He jerks open the door and grabs my hand to pull me through.
I’m startled to the core when his fingers tug on mine. It feels so forbidden, so daring, like the love I once felt and lost. Like Gabriella.
My chest goes totally tight, making it hard to breathe. As we pass through the door and Blitz closes it behind us, I jerk away from his hand. I can’t let him think he’s affected me, even though he has. Just not for the reasons he might believe.
My breath comes in wheezes. The dust doesn’t help. Soon I’m sneezing and coughing. Blitz hammers my back.
“You okay, Princess?” he asks.
Princess? Where did that come from? I force my breath to slow until I can take in air easily.
The light is dim, just the shafts beaming in from the high windows along the back wall. “The switch is over there,” I tell him.
He looks around. “I sort of like it this way.”
He wanders among the ghostly shadows of the equipment. Small trampolines, stacks of mats, props, and racks of costumes fill the space. He picks up a top hat from a shelf and tilts it rakishly on his head.
“It suits you,” I say.
Of course it does. Everything does.
He rummages through costumes in clear plastic bags, then triumphantly holds up a scarlet corset. “This has you written all over it.”
My face flushes. I’m glad for the low light, as my cheeks probably match the color of the fabric.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Oh, but I insist.” He heads toward me, expertly unhooking the ornate fasteners down the front.
Everything about this sets me on fire. His expression. The hat. His bare arms, the shadows of his cut muscles in the half dark. He circles behind me to fit the corset around my middle, and I’m burning up from the heat of his nearness.
The boning fits snugly against my ribs. When he latches the first hook, his knuckles brush the undersides of my breasts.
I’m completely on fire. I want to back away, but my feet refuse to move. My breathing is shallow, and he has to know how I’m feeling. He’s so experienced. There is no telling how many of the women on his show he’s been with.
He grins at me as he works his way down. He’s so close, I can study his face, the shadowed jaw, firm lips, dark brows. His hair has a little curl to it, just enough to make the short cut fall in a wave. He concentrates on the hooks, his eyes down. He’s touching me. Blitz Craven has his hands all over me.
The corset tightens around my middle as he works, sending another rush of heat on a path to my belly. When he’s finally done, he goes around to the back to tighten the strings.
I want to ask him where he learned to fit a corset, but my throat is too tight for words. I’d sound like a strangled mouse. So I just stand there, listening to the whisper of the cords sliding through the metal grommets. It’s sexy, him dressing me, as if we’re a couple and he’s preparing me to go out onstage to perform.
