Page 187 of Lovers' Dance

Matt was scrutinizing my face like a hawk and his eyes narrowed into unhappy slits of grey. “Poppet,”

“Stop reading my mind.” I pulled the duvet over my head to hide my face.

“Humph.” He huffed. “It’s happening, Madison. I’m giving you two weeks to sort it out. Two weeks to research the options available to you.”

“Two weeks?” I mouthed under the duvet. The man was ridiculous. How on earth did he expect me to do that? I knew Matt was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it, but what the hell? I was freaking fine. I felt fine today. So yesterday was bad, really bad…my mind automatically shied away from dwelling on it, instinctively flashed an ‘it’s over, do not go there’ warning, and I froze under the duvet. Oh God. Was he right about me? Was this not normal? I’d done this for so long, it felt like normal to me. I flew up into a sitting position, eyes wide with confusion. Matt observed my crestfallen face and came back to the bed in quick strides.

“Forget what I said, poppet,” he said. “There’s no time limit. We’ll go at your pace. Ignore me. I’m a bossy bastard who should keep his mouth shut.”

I was too dazed to realize Matt had verbally admitted his bossiness.

“Am I ill?” I asked quietly. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

He hedged a bit, pondering his words before saying as calmly as possible, “I think you have repressed a lot of things concerning your parents’ death but, with the right help, you’ll be fine. I promise you.”

I nodded wordlessly, then went back under the duvet. I heard Matt sigh loudly before he walked away to his shower.

I was officially in the bunny boiler bracket, or whatever version of it that didn’t include trying to kill your ex.Madison DuMont, crazy ass black chick.

“I’ll take that in for you, George,” I offered the surprisingly fit butler. He moved around agilely for someone of his age. “You can wait in the studio for me.”

George’s mouth tightened, barely. He was gripping the tray which carried Matt’s lunch of tea and a sandwich. “I’m not sure that would be the most efficient use of my time, Ms DuMont.”

“I need your objective opinion on my solo variation. Matt’s busy. Plus, think of how good you’ll feel knowing you were there to witness the first dance session in the studio. Come on, I’ve been in there for a few hours and you haven’t stopped by once.”

He rolled his eyes. George actually rolled his eyes at me. I gripped the other sides of the tray and we had a careful tug of war for a few seconds.

“You know how clumsy I am with trays,” I warned. “Let go or it might fall. These cups look expensive.”

“It’s because I know how clumsy you are I’m not letting go,” he retorted in his stiff voice. I tugged a bit harder and he finally let go. I grinned at him and we walked out of the kitchen, me balancing the tray between my hands with George watching my every step.

When we got to the door of Matt’s office, George turned the doorknob for me. I jerked my head towards the glass wall in front of us. “Go wait for me, please. I’ll be right there.”

George scowled, but he did head for my new space. In Matt’s house. I had keys. To Matt’s house.

I edged the door open with my foot. Matt was pacing in front his desk. Wow. I’d never been in his office before. The décor was very much what you would expect of someone like Matt. Neat, clean, crisp lines of furniture, filing cabinets that looked trendier than the one in my office. Flat screen TV.

I stopped checking out the office and checked out my man instead. He was speaking in French. His tone sounded annoyed, and the voices coming through the state of the art telephone sounded meek.

Matt picked up his tablet and ran a finger over it, obviously reading something, then let out a stream of French words. I was sure one of them was a cuss word. It sounded like a cuss word.

I walked further into the office and Matt looked over at me. A small smile pulled the corners of his mouth up as I tiptoed towards his desk. I put the tray down and turned to make my way out. Matt leaned over his desk and pressed a button.

“Thanks, poppet.”

I stole a kiss and left him to it, closing the door on his irate French words. George was waiting in the studio, unhappily it seemed. It was midday, and I didn’t know what he was complaining about. What else was he going to do with his time?

I went over to the sleek and narrow fixture in the corner that held numerous pairs of ballet shoes and changed the ones I already had on to pointe shoes. Matt had thought of everything. I glided to the centre of the space and positioned myself in preparation to start my moves.

“Your music, Ms DuMont?” George queried.

I waved the question away. “I’ve heard it so many times, George, it’s on constant replay in my head. Remember, I want your honest opinion.”

I danced. I danced like I was alone. Just me and the air I moved through.

When I finished, George unfolded his arms and said, “Your proficiency is of a high calibre.”

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