by Lori Ryan
“What meetings?” He asked casually, though his heart hammered in his chest.
“I’m just going to help her with some fundraising stuff for the school.” She glanced up at him, but the look slid away again as soon as she said it. “You don’t need to stay for that part.”
Emmett didn’t tell her he’d already bought his ticket for longer. He figured they could stay in the city and celebrate what he was sure would be good news after her scan. Or, if the worst-case scenario happened and she was sick again, they’d have the time to hole up in a hotel together before she faced her family and friends.
But, now, he wondered if there was something more she wasn’t telling him. Because, as unlikely as it seemed, he was sure she was lying to him. About what, though, was the question.
Cheeta let out a whimper between them.
Elle looked down at her dog. “Ahh, she’s waking up. I hope she’s not in too much pain.” The dog licked Elle’s finger, then her hand as she squirmed in the blanket.
Emmett didn’t answer. Just reached out a finger to rub the spot between Cheeta’s eyebrows and watched as the little dog shut her eyes in response.
“I’ll do it,” she said quietly, still stroking her dog. “For Devlin.”
“The photobook?” he asked.
She nodded. “If it can help even one person, I’ll do it. I won’t be comfortable and it might be really hard for me, but I’ll do it.”
“You’re amazing.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. Emmett pushed aside the feeling that Elle hadn’t told him everything about this trip to New York. She needed him right now, and he’d be there for her.
Cheeta squirmed between them and jumped to the floor, a little unsteady on her small legs, but she stayed upright.
“Apparently she doesn’t like to cuddle.” Emmett laughed as he glanced down at Cheeta. Something laying on the coffee table caught his eye. He reached out, knowing it was a photograph.
It was the photo Devlin had taken years ago of Elle behind the curtain at a performance. She was focused on tying the ribbons of her toe shoes, her strong, lithe legs crossed in front of her. There was strength there, and sheer determination. It was the perfect embodiment of all that Elle was. Courage and determination.
Elle watched as he studied the picture.
Even in the midst of her obvious turmoil in the photo, she was still beautiful.
“That’s you,” Emmett said, his eyes moving from the photo to Elle.
“Of course, that’s me, silly.”
“No, I mean that’s you. It’s what Devlin needs to capture for her book.”
“What do you mean?”
Emmett sat up, one arm still wrapped around Elle. “You’re about to go on stage for all the world to see,” he said, holding the photo.
“I know, I was so scared. A junior had never been selected for such an important role in any of the school’s performances.”
He nodded toward the picture. “But even through your fear, I can see the courage you possess. It’s remarkable. No wonder she won awards for this.”
“You think?” Elle asked.
“You’re the same now. I know you’re afraid of what people will think if they see your scars, but I see the courage within you. It’s infectious.”
Elle shook her head in obvious disbelief, and that’s when Emmett realized what the wall was between them. It was fear. She was keeping that wall there out of fear, and he didn’t know how to convince her to use the strength and courage she’d shown in the face of all her past challenges to fight for them. To fight for their future, together.
Chapter Twenty-Five
That’s it, girls, lift your arms, long necks,” Elle said, placing one hand above her head. “Imagine a string going from your heels through your legs.” She pulled her hand higher. “Into your belly, through your shoulders and up your neck.” She felt her own body lengthen and smiled at the exercise Ms. Payne had taught her years ago. “The string going through the tippy tops of your fingers.” She raised her other hand and wiggled her fingers high above her head as she lengthened her entire body.
The free classes she’d offered over the last two weeks had done what she’d hoped. She had a full roster of students and was teaching classes four days a week at the studio.
Elle studied the group of young girls and marveled at how far her life had come in the last five years. This studio, these girls, were truly her calling. Yes, she missed dancing, but the stage wasn’t for her. Devlin’s photo of her backstage before the performance had proved that to Elle.
Devlin hadn’t been wrong in capturing the fear. She was always afraid before going on stage, but the thrill after had been like a drug. Until she’d had cancer. Then everything had changed. She found her thrills in other ways; watching her family succeed, watching Emmett write his first book in months, seeing the girls learn a new move. Her challenges weren’t as terrifying any more, but somehow, they were all the more rewarding to her.
Even in the midst of her new-found joy, Elle had a horrible knot in her gut. She’d received a confirmation call from her oncologist in New York. Her scans were scheduled, as were the fertility tests she’d asked for. Although she was looking forward to seeing her friends in New York, this trip was filled with more anxiety than most. She had much more to lose this time.
Elle still hadn’t told Emmett about the fertility testing, despite her sense that he knew she was holding back. Emmett’s eyes had a way of seeing through to her heart, past all the bullshit and walls she kept up for most. They were connected on more than just a physical level and she’d been foolish to think he didn’t sense her fears.
Elle had justified her silence by assuring herself that Emmett would worry for nothing if she told him now. That there was no point in having him nervous and scared alongside her. What really frightened her the most though wasn’t the results of the tests. It was the look she feared she would see on his face the moment he realized she might not be able to give him a family. She didn’t want to see that look until it was a reality.
“Ms. Noble,” one of the girls called out. “Ms. Noble!”
Good, Lord, where had her mind been? Elle shook her head clear and smiled. “Yes, I’m sorry, Clare. What is it?”
Clare nodded toward the clock on the wall. “It’s six-thirty. Are we finished?”
“Oh, yes, girls, I’m sorry. Please, pack up your things, we’re done for the day.” Elle laughed to herself. She could get lost for hours in the dance studio, but not some of the girls. Many of them were here because their parents wanted them enrolled in classes, not because they shared her joy for dance. If Elle were truly on her game, she’d be able to impart some sense of joy into each of them, no matter why they were in her class. She would help them find something they enjoyed, even if it wasn’t dance.
Elle helped the girls pack and said hello to their mothers and fathers as they made their way into the studio from the viewing balcony upstairs.
“It’s so wonderful to have you back, and teaching,” one person said.
“I’m so glad you’re doing well,” another said, with the look that said they were relieved they hadn’t been the one with cancer.
Elle felt a hollow pang inside her. If her cancer came back and she had to face even more of this…
“Are we done for the day, boss?” Elle’s receptionist, Shanna Madden, asked as she twirled a pencil in her hand. Obviously, she was bored. Elle would have to find her more to do around the office after she’d checked the kids in for their classes.
“Yes, we’re done.”
“Oh, good, I’ve got a date.” Shanna reached under the counter and grabbed her huge bag stuffed full of dance equipment.
Shanna was a great dancer. Elle had given her the job so Shanna could use the studio for practice. Shanna didn’t have the drive and motivation to make a career out of dance. Elle knew from experience that Shanna would have to be pushed if she really wanted to make it competitively in the dance world.
But Elle would never force her to work harder if dance wasn’t Shanna’s passion. She knew the hardships many girls faced when forced by their parents or instructors. For now, Elle would mentor the girl and see where Shanna’s heart lay.
“You coming in the morning, for practice, I mean?” Elle asked. She’d developed a fondness for Shanna, mentoring her.
“Yeah, uh, about that…” Shanna skidded to a stop at the front door, slinging her huge bag over her shoulder. “I’m going to be out kind of late tonight. Can we make it like ten instead of eight?”
“Absolutely not.” Elle stood with her hands on her hips as most of her instructors had done. Wow, this was it. She was a real instructor. “I expect you at seven-thirty.”
“What?” Shanna practically shrieked.
“We begin practice at eight but you know you need time to warm up and stretch.”
“Ugggh, but it’s Saturday.” Shanna moaned, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
Elle didn’t respond. Had she given her teachers this much grief? Probably.
“Fine.” Shanna gave her the pout only a teenager could manage and walked out.
“Seven-thirty,” Elle shouted as the door slammed shut. Through the window she saw Shanna wave and Elle laughed to herself. Maybe she should rethink the early morning rehearsal.
Elle walked around the counter, taking in the stacks of paper Shanna had obviously not gotten around to filing. She glanced down the hall to the staircase that led to the studio apartment where Emmett had holed up, working while she taught. She hadn’t heard from him in hours. He must be really engrossed in his book.
Her stomach rumbled but she didn’t want to disturb him. She knew this latest novel hadn’t been easy to write and decided to let him be.
She looked to the open studio, wanting to put on her toe shoes and lose herself in the peace that dancing brought. Before she could move though, her eyes landed on the paperwork. She loved owning the new dance studio, but abhorred all the paperwork. Dance would have to wait.
She reached for the first stack of papers, shuffling through them and pulling out things that needed her immediate attention from those that could wait.
When her cell phone rang, she glanced around the room and found it laying on the counter top above her. A glance at the screen told her it was Sabine Bonnay, her dance instructor at Tisch. The woman who had saved her life by taking her to the doctor when Elle hadn’t recognized her symptoms.
“Sabine?” Elle tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear and continued sorting the papers.
“Bonjour, sunshine,” Sabine’s French accent flowed through the line.
“Bonjour?” Elle questioned. “It’s not morning where I am.”
“Ahh, oui, oui, I forgot, it is not the morning in America.”
“Where are you?”
“Why my home, of course. Paris.” The way she said Paris with her thick French accent made Elle smile.
“You’re so lucky. Is it a visit?” Elle wondered if Sabine had left Tisch then dismissed the thought. Sabine lived and breathed for the school of performing arts.
“Oui. A short one before the semester resumes. I tell you to come here with me all the time, ma chérie, is this not true?”
Elle smiled. “Oui, it is true. Maybe one day soon.”
“No, maybe, d’accord?”
“Okay,” Elle repeated. “Definitely.” This time she meant it. She would make the time for a trip to Paris. Maybe Emmett would join her.
“Ahh, so much better, mon ami.”
“Why are you calling me at,” Elle glanced up at the wall clock, “good gracious, Sabine, it’s almost three in the morning in Paris.”
“Oui, it is true, my life as a world traveler does not track time.” Sabine laughed and even her laughter sounded French, like champagne freshly uncorked. “My body is immune to clocks. I can sleep anywhere, anytime.”
“You’re very lucky,” Elle said again.
“I am, I am. I cannot lie.” Elle could hear the smile in Sabine’s voice, but when she spoke next, the tone was more serious. “Were you able to add the fertility testing to your scan? Did they get you in to see a specialist when you come to New York?”
Sabine had, of course, been well aware of the fertility issues facing a cancer survivor. Elle had called her weeks ago to ask her advice now that things were getting serious between her and Emmett. It came as no surprise when her former mentor told her there was nothing to do but get testing. Sabine believed in facing any problem head on, and not flinching when you did it.
Sadly, Sabine had been one of the women whose option to have children had been affected by her cancer treatments. While Sabine said she’d been upset at first, she admitted it was a small sacrifice if it meant she could survive the cancer.
Elle glanced at the staircase to the apartment. She needed to end this call before Emmett came down. With a lowered voice, she said, “Yes. I’ll be seeing the specialists after the original testing is all finished.”
“Good, good. That’s for the best. Once you know, well, then we deal with the answers, no?” Sabine said this breezily, but Elle knew she didn't take Elle’s feelings lightly.
“Yes, I guess,” Elle said on a choked sob. “I really want to be able to have children though.”
“Oh, mon amie, don’t cry. Does your love know?”
“No, Emmett doesn’t know. I can’t tell him, not yet.”
“Oh, amoureux, you know there is always a way to bring the love of a child into your home. And we don’t know what the answers will be yet. Get the testing. Then, you’ll talk to your Emmett about them. Something tells me, this young man will be with you no matter what. No?”
The statement cut right to the heart of Elle’s fears. “I hope you’re right,” she whispered. “I really do.”
“I will see you soon, oui?” Sabine said.
“Oui,” Elle said quietly.
“Call me when you know something for sure. Au revoir, my love.”
“Yes, I’ll call you when I know. Good bye, Sabine.” Elle ended the call and sat quietly, trying to wrangle her emotions into check.
In the past she’d believed what she’d told Emmett, that there are no tomorrows. Things were different, now. Emmett had returned. She’d allowed herself to fall in love with him again. It changed everything. She wanted a tomorrow, with him. A tomorrow and a family.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emmett stretched in his chair. The kitchen table in the apartment above Elle’s dance school had turned out to be a great writing nook, away from the prying eyes at his mother’s house. Max was staying there, and even though Ben lived with Maggie now, he was around much of the day. It was hard to get work done there.
Emmett grinned. Of course, there were times when being at the studio made writing difficult, too. He’d gone downstairs earlier in the day to find Elle in a classroom, doing one of her workouts, forcing her body to bend and move in ways that had Emmett hard as stone in a matter of minutes. She always had that effect on him. Thankfully, the studio had been closed to the public, doors locked, when he snuck in beside her.
Emmett had slowly undressed himself, then moved to rid her of her leotard and tights. She’d offered no resistance as she watched his reflection in the mirror. She’d only commented on how beautiful he was. He’d laughed, saying it was Elle who was beautiful.
He told her to grab the bar, and she’d followed his instructions, arching her back to give him perfect access, the entire time, her blue eyes trained on him in the reflection. Emmett slowly slid inside her, watching in the mirror as the two moved in perfect harmony, like a choreographed dance as he made love to her. The image of their bodies, pushing and pulling, reflected in the mirror as they both reached for release, had been one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen. Hearing her cries echo in the studio sent Emmett hurdling over the edge, chasing her.
Shit, he was hard now just thinking of the experience. He shifted in his seat. He needed to concentrate for a few m
ore minutes. At least long enough to pack up and go find Elle.
Refocusing on his laptop, he was pleased to note the word count. He’d written more in the past four hours than he had the past four months. Both journals—Elsbeth’s from decades before and Elle’s from her battle with cancer—sat open on the table beside him.
Both women had fought against something that had the power to cripple others. The Elsbeth of the 1800’s beat back famine, fever, and the loss of her love. It turned out, Emmett was now discovering, she’d also fought against prejudices of her time. He’d found entries that showed Elsbeth was trying to make a name for herself as a portrait photographer. It was a field dominated by men, but she didn’t let that stop her.
His Elle was just as strong. She’d had to overcome her own struggle with cancer, and reading the words in Elle’s journal, Emmett had discovered it was a battle that damned near destroyed her. She was still fighting the effects in some ways, he thought.
He tamped down his own fears that her cancer might return. The thought seemed to constantly worry him nowadays, especially as their trip to New York grew closer. They would fight whatever came their way together, he reminded himself.
Emmett stood from the chair, stretching his aching muscles. His stomach grumbled and he glanced at the clock on the stove, noting it was close to dinner. Maybe Elle would want to grab a bite on the way home. Home. He was surprised that’s what he considered Elle’s condo now. His home.
With his Elle.
Emmett stepped out onto the top of the stairs, stopping halfway when he heard Elle’s voice. She was probably finishing up with a student or parent, or maybe her receptionist? Taking a few more steps he glanced around the corner.
Elle sat at the front desk, her cell phone to her ear. He froze when he heard her words.
“No, Emmett doesn’t know. I can’t tell him yet.”
Emmett stilled, his heart hammering in his chest.
There was a long pause before she spoke again. “I hope you’re right,” she whispered. “I really do.”
