Page 56 of Lovers' Dance

“What’s going on, Matt? How do people know—”

“Madi,” he interrupted, “I am not having a discussion with a desk. Come out at once.”

There was movement and a few seconds later her head popped above the desk. “Stop ordering me around. This is all your fault.” Her hair was a mass of springy wild curls and the brown depths of her eyes shone with unhappy anger. Matt wanted nothing more than to stroke her smooth dark skin, kiss that hurt away, but they weren’t alone. He needed to rectify that.

“Can we talk somewhere private?” he asked, hoping Dante and Nathan would take the hint and leave.

“Private?” she hissed as she stood up, looking cute in a blue hooded sweat shirt and matching slacks. “You want to talk in private?”

Matt knew the upcoming conversation was not going to be pleasant. He wanted a chance to explain what steps needed to be taken to minimize the media storm now brewing.

“Yes,” he replied coolly, while giving her a confident smile. Maintaining a calm and collected head in the face of chaos was a trait that had been inbred in him since he could talk.

I stared at Matt for a second, that arrogant smile on his face as he stood there casually as if my world wasn’t being torn apart.

“Nothing is private. There are reporters outside my place of business, asking personal questions about us. We’ve had to cancel classes. Is this a joke to you?” My voice was shrill and Matt gave me his ‘I’m older and smarter than you look’. It pissed me off.

“Of course not.”

“Have you seen what they have been writing about us? About me?” I fumed. He was acting as if this was nothing. To him it might be nothing; he was used to being in the public eye, but I wasn’t. I clacked my fingers over the keyboard, bringing up the last article I’d read and scrolling down to the comments section.

“Madi,” he started. My glare cut him off.

“That Bradley man should be ashamed of himself. Bestiality is illegal. Lol.” I read it out loud.

Matt’s face lost all its colour. Nathan looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. Dante shook his head in disgust. He understood.

“Don’t y’all got white sheets in England? Lol.” My hands were starting to shake as I verbalized the foulness posted on the site.

“She’s a hoe, a gold-digging hoe. That man should know better.”

“Black women are cumsluts for white men. Betcha he’s into role play. Think he has a whip? LMAO.”

“I’d fuck her, too. Have you seen that ass?”

“Wonder how much he’s paying her?”

“How can a rich, good-looking white man sleep with a black woman? Easy. Turn off the lights. Pussy feels the same in the dark. Wait. Make sure she shaved. ROTFL.”

Matt reached out for me, and I jerked away. It was vile, and it made me sick.

“Why are you people posting these comments? Wealthy, white men always make charitable donations to minorities, and I’m sure he’s donating a lot of charity in her ass. Wink, wink.”

“She looks like her crack-whore mum, both slags. Ghetto yank bitch need to leave our white men alone. Even their own kind don’t want them. Why the hell is she over here? She isn’t English. Go back to Africa, skank.”

“You can’t blame her, niggas always wanting something from white people. She wants his money and uses her ass to get it.”

“Did the article say she was a ballerina? Hmm, is that the new name for stripper now? lol. You know we’re all thinking it.”

“Enough.” Matt’s harsh command cracked through the air. “Stop reading those repulsive comments.”

My breathing was becoming erratic, and Dante immediately came over to grab me by the shoulders. I could feel the beginnings of another panic attack coming on.

“Breathe, Madi,” he murmured, inhaling deeply, then exhaling slowly. I tried to mimic his calm breathing, but could only take short, frantic gulps of air.

“What’s wrong with her?” Matt asked.

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