Page 4 of June
Aaron looked up, startled. Not the happy, flirty surprise I'd hoped for.
His expression shifted too quickly—surprised, then irritated, then masked behind that polite smile I'd started to loathe.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, not unkind but not exactly thrilled either.
"I brought you coffee," I said, holding it out like some desperate offering. "Thought I'd surprise you."
He glanced at the cup and said flatly, "I already had one."
Then turned back to his computer.
I stood there, awkward and invisible.
After a long beat, he sighed. "Sorry, June. I'm just swamped today."
He didn't even reach for my hand.
I got the message.
I smiled again, brittle as glass, and walked out like everything was fine.
I went straight to the studio.
I choreographed something angry. Wild. Confused. The kind of movement that doesn't look pretty but feels like screaming. Every count felt like a question I didn't want to ask. Every turn, every stomp, was a sentence left unsaid.
Leo watched from the side, arms crossed. When the music stopped, he didn't clap. He just looked at me.
"You good?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah," I said, waving it off. "Just blowing off steam."
He didn't believe me. But he let it go.
That became the routine.
Teach kids to dance—smile, giggle, twirl. Pretend.
Go home.
Kiss a stranger who smiled and laughed but never reallylookedat me anymore.
Two weeks of pretending.
Then I broke.
One night, I stood in the kitchen and just said it, voice trembling:
"I need an answer, Aaron. Something's wrong, and I can't breathe like this anymore."
He looked at me for a long time. Then nodded.
"I'll talk to you tonight."
The rest of the day was agony. I taught with shaking hands, laughed too loud, made excuses for the tears in my eyes. I couldn't eat. Could barely breathe.
Then night came, and so did he. His face was pale when he walked through the door. His shoulders slumped like the weight of something awful was pressing down on him.
"I think we need to postpone the wedding."
