Page 116 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“Yep,” I played with my dessert, scrutinizing Matt’s expression of delight as he popped a forkful in his mouth. Taste overload, he was in culinary bliss. I needed to make my move while the endorphins were flooding his system. I inhaled deeply then let it all out in a rush ofjumbled words. “A tv representative came by the studio today because they want to do a piece on my dance company for the documentary because they want to show the differences-” I blinked quickly as Matt’s head snapped up. Oh crap. “Because it adds another dimension she said - I think it’s a good way to showcase the company - they want to film us, ah unfettered access was mentioned um, she said, it’s the BBC,” My verbal diarrhoea tapered off.

Matt put his fork down and picked up his napkin. He efficiently wiped his mouth before leaning back in his seat. The twin eyebrows of doom were gearing up. “Run that by me once more, poppet.” he said quietly. “Take your time.”

“They want to do a piece on us,” I explained nervously. A thunderstorm started brewing on Matt’s face.

I hastened to clarify. “My dance company, that is, notusus,” I waved my fork between us. “They’re already doing a documentary on The Royal Ballet, didn’t I mention that to you a few weeks ago?”

“No.” Matt was not falling for my innocent demeanour. “You did not.”

“Are you sure?” I blinked a few more times. “Maybe with all the drama of Auntie Cleo being unwell you forg-”

“You did not.” Matt repeated coldly.

Ok. I needed to change tact, and fast. “The profile of the company will be raised.”

“That’s neither here nor there, Madison,” Matt’s fingers were drumming out an annoyed rhythm across the table-top. “The profile of your dance company would be raised from the moment you perform at The Royal Opera House.”

“Well, I meant to say it would be raised higher,” I squirmed in my seat under his unwavering stare. “And you’re always trying to encourage me to build my company up-”

“Financially, yes,” Matt’s cheeks were flushed now. “By increasing the rates of your classes and ticket sales when you have a production on.”

“Well, if we do the documentary,” I licked my dry lips. This wasn’t going well at all. “We’ll be better known and this would lead to more donations-”

“If you need more investment money,” Matt bit out. “Why have you not touched the funds in our private joint account? I had your name added on to it months ago, and I rarely use that particularaccount anyway. It’s for your use, whatever you wish to use it on.”

Our who how what now?

I put the fork down. “Excuse me, what?”

“There’s currently quite a large balance in the account, Madison,” Matt said. “And a monthly transfer of £100000 goes in from one of my off-shore accounts. If you need money, there’s more than sufficient for you to access. I’ll speak to my accountant, have him set something up so you can transfer the funds in such a way it doesn’t affect you tax-wise. Maybe I’ll have him sort out an investment fund. Leave it with me.”

I needed a few seconds to process this information. What the hell was he talking about?

“What account, Matt?” I almost shouted at him. “We don’t have a joint account! I don’t like personal joint accounts. Joint accounts can lead to trouble-”

“Our joint account at Coutts.” Matt looked at me as if I was insane.

I was looking at him in the same manner. He shook his head in disbelief but something felt off with his demeanour. My mouth was hanging open as I searched my memory for ever signing a bank form with him. Nope, zilch, nada. There was something afoot. I would neverknowinglyagree to a joint account. Matt’s personal finances made me uneasy, it washismoney. I worked hard for my own.

“Oh.” I exclaimed suddenly. “You sneaky, manipulative, tyrant.”

Matt chewed his inner cheeks. I had to hand it to him, my husband had some real balls.

“How many times have I told you to meticulously read whatever you sign?” he drawled. As if he hadn’t set me up.

I remembered now. It was a few days after the return from our honeymoon. He was working in his office. I had brought him some tea, we started fooling around and when things were getting rowdy, Matt had pulled out a few sheets of paper and mumbled something about wedding licenses and accounts before telling me to sign them. I signed them, of course I signed them. We were both half-naked and in a compromising position atop his desk.

“That’s just wrong, Matt; and legally classed as entrapment I think.”

He shrugged unashamedly then exhaled slowly. “Poppet, what exactly do they want? You can’t trust the media and I won’t allow you to place yourself in a situation that could possibly put you in anegative light.”

Huh. Allow me? If he pulled his older and wiser crap, I’d throw him off the bridge and do the time. And did he think I wouldn’t realize he was changing the topic? This bank account thing needed to be discussed in detail.

“Personally, I think it’s crass, some form of reality tv dross which you are not going to participate in.” he continued in a firm voice. “And they most likely will use it as a way to gain access to my life-”

“Megalomaniac.” I cut him off.

“Pardon?”

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