Page 132 of Lovers' Dance

Lisa chuckled. “This morning on the Internet, some fancy party at the Tower last night. I still can’t believe you’re hanging out with toffs.”

“Shut up. Matt isn’t a toff, he’s doing well for himself.”

Lisa’s chuckle turned into a cackle. She laughed so much she needed to lean against the door frame to avoid falling down. “Doing well for himself. Oh, Madi, you’re too much. He’s minted.”

I tossed a pen in her direction. “Shut up, Lis.”

She cackled harder and started singing about me and Matt kissing in a tree. Really. The level of immaturity possessed by my friends was astounding. After a couple more pen launches, she closed my door. I could hear her singing as she went down the hallway. With a loud, embarrassed sigh and a shake of my head, I called the company we used for our costumes. It was a thirty minute call that ended with the agreement for me to go in later this week to have a face-to-face chat and look over the designs. With that done, I took a moment to think about Grumps’s words.

Cutting. Cold. Cruel. The three C’s. He was polite though. Manners, nothing quite like manners. Matt’s granddad had broken it down for me. Painted a realistic picture of what the future held in store for my relationship with Matt. Oh, and clever. I amended my three C’s to four. Grumps was very clever. My four went to five as I added calculating.

It was as if he had delved into my mind and plucked all my secret fears from it. He had explained in his posh voice about the futility of our relationship. The too many differences that, at first, would seem exciting but would soon turn to resentment when Matt and I didn’t see eye to eye. The facts that Matt was much older than me, had experienced much more than me, lived a completely different life from mine. All these things William Bradley, Sr had stated without compassion. The worst bit of our conversation was when he’d asked me point blank if I hoped to sink my claws into Matt by ‘accidentally’ getting pregnant. I had been so shocked that words wouldn’t come out my mouth. Grumps was cruel, no doubt. He had informed me that any such misdeed would result in severe repercussions, emotional and financial. He’d gone on to say that, if I did anything as underhanded as that, only the child would suffer. A child who would be confused as to its identity. A child who, when it was old enough to understand, would know its mother was a mercenary whore. How would this imagined child know I was a mercenary whore? Because it would be told by Matt’s family, who would use every legal loophole to take it away from me.

God. I was only twenty-six, almost twenty-seven. But who the fuck thought about babies at that age? Not me.

I was a dancer. Didn’t he know what a pregnancy would do to my body, to my beloved career?

Cantankerous, old ass. But, as it always happens, you never say what you should say when it should be said. I had sat in the back of Grumps’s car, lips stuck together, reeking of alcohol, and fighting not to cry from his harsh assessment of what the future held for us. I should have told him to kiss my black ass. I didn’t want Matt for his money or his stupid sperm to get at his money. I loved him, but sometimes love wasn’t enough. The baby talk had stressed me the freak out. Grumps had a valid point. That’s what made it worse. God forbid Matt and I had a child. Would Matt be disappointed because it didn’t look exactly like him? Would he resent the child because of this? Treat it differently than if he had a baby with a white woman? Would the child be raised isolated from one side of its background?

Why the fuck was I even thinking about this shit?I was not getting pregnant. By anyone. I was a ballerina. If I got knocked up, my hips would never be the same. No, the reason why I needed to rethink my relationship with Matt was family. Family meant everything to me and, I knew despite what Matt said, he loved his own family dearly. I would never allow anyone to make me choose them over my family. It was a package deal. It would be hypocritical of me to turn around and ask it of anyone.

Neither one of our respective families felt happy about this relationship. We were doomed from the start. I needed to start distancing myself from my sweet knight. As much as it hurt to imagine Matt not being in my life, I knew it was the best thing to do. The thought of him at odds with those closest to him because of me made my heart ache.

Family was everything. My family was incomplete. I wished it wasn’t, but life was funny that way. If my parents were alive, I would’ve been close to them. I had lost out on that most important relationship. I wouldn’t let Matt risk his family’s love to be with me. I couldn’t be the reason he fell out with his family. That, in my view, was worse than anything. No way would I tear Matt away from his family. They loved him terribly, and I wasn’t going to be the sword that broke that bond.

And just like that, my productive day turned into a shit day. When Dante walked into the office an hour later, he found me morosely staring at my clasped hands on our desk, eyes swimming with unshed tears. He didn’t say anything at first, just came over and pulled me up into his warm arms. After a few moments of his comforting embrace, he lifted my head off his shoulder and cupped my cheeks with his hand. He saw the sadness lurking in the depths of my eyes, saw the moist shine of my eyes, saw the battle to struggle through my tormenting grief in my eyes.

“It’s okay to miss them, sweet cheeks. It’s okay to cry. We’ll get through this time of year like all the others before.”

“Get wasted,” I sniffed, forcefully swallowing down the lump in my throat, “and dance my pain away.”

“Yep.” He nodded. “But our peeps are coming again this year.”

A small smile lifted my mouth. “Bret and Marie-Sol?”

“Yep,” Dante said. His dark brown eyes peered into mine. “We’ll get through it, Madi. We always do.”

“What are you wearing?” Matt asked seductively. I glanced down at my oversized t-shirt, sweat pants and worn socks. Not very sexy. Plus, I had a face mask on.

“Not a stitch,” I replied, flicking through the channels on my TV. It was on mute. Matt thought I was in bed. I was waiting for a late night horror flick to start.

“Mmm, that’s a nice image, poppet. I could just picture you right now naked in bed with my hands all over you.” He let out a long, shaky breath down the line. “Bloody hell. I’ve missed you today.”

“Mhmm.” My response was non-committal. I was trying for the distance thing, obviously failing with that previous ‘not a stitch’ comment.Damn.Even on the phone Matt was hot. Then someone knocked on my front door. I frowned slightly. It was nine forty-five pm on a Monday night. Who the hell knocked on doors at this time?

“Give me a second, Matt.” I quickly pressed the mute on my cell and jumped up to answer the door.

It was my neighbour, holding out my empty cake stand and cover.

“Hi, Mr Fergueson. Wow. Did you eat it all already?” I asked. He’d been pleased with my thank you cake, even though I had rushed to get it done when I came home earlier.

“No, no, of course not,” he corrected me. “I put it on a different plate. I wanted to return your dish.”

I smiled politely and took my stuff. “Okay, well, good night.”

“Good night,” he said, and I closed my door. I walked back over to the couch and put the stand and cover on the coffee table.

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