Page 1 of Wounded Dance
Chapter 1
These are the best days.
Gabriella leans sideways in her wheelchair, arm curved over her shiny black hair. Even at four years old, her ballet movements show expression and deep emotion.
She is her mother’s daughter, even if she doesn’t realize it. She may never know that I gave birth to her and spent years searching for her. I’m okay with that. Teaching her ballet is a joy.
Her pale pink tutu is brilliant with sparkles. It matches mine, minus the glitter. When I glance in the wall of mirrors behind the barre, my long black hair blending into hers, I don’t see how anyone could miss that we are related.
But so far, she’s a perfect secret.
“Hold,” I tell her, and shift her fingers into a prettier position.
“Good call,” Blitz says. He’s standing nearby, his hand cupping his scruffy chin, watching Gabriella’s movements with an eye toward improvement. He wants to maximize the ways she can dance from the wheelchair.
You’d never guess this patient man, who seems to have all the time in the world, is actually Blitz Craven, currently the most famous dancer in the world due to his reality TV showDance Blitz.
I turn toward the mirrored window to the hall outside. I can’t see through it, but I know Gabriella’s adopted mother Gwen is watching. She’s been a good mother to my baby, strong and caring even after the car accident that killed her husband and damaged our little girl’s spine.
After I told Blitz about my secret daughter, he suggested we give her private lessons. I changed my life to be near her, and now he has too.
Gwen was delighted at the idea of extra dance help, especially from someone as famous as Blitz. So now I get to see Gabriella twice each week. Once in her class for all the wheelchair ballerinas. And again during the lesson with me and Blitz.
Gwen doesn’t know who I am. No one does. My parents, whom I haven’t seen in the month since I left home to be with Blitz, don’t know I found her.
For a year, my discovery of her was my own solitary secret. Then I told Blitz just a few weeks ago, at the Christmas dance recital.
Now the new year has begun and it’s off to an amazing start. Blitz and I are staying at a hotel close by, still hoping my parents will come around and be willing to speak to me again.
Blitz and I dance together at Dreamcatcher every day while the producers of his showDance Blitzmanage the publicity following my surprise arrival and Blitz’s unscripted announcement on live television that I was his new dance partner. His manager Hannah still hasn’t calmed down about it.
Right now things are easy and good. I miss my little brother Andy, and since he is homeschooled like I used to be, I can’t easily see him. But I’ve been up to my church and managed to tell him hello and give him a hug before my parents took him away.
“Let’s try something with a quicker tempo,” Blitz says, heading toward the audio equipment in the corner. “Gabriella, are you getting tired?”
The little girl whizzes across the room. “No way! This is the best!”
She whirls in circles as Blitz starts a new song. We let her lead a little conga line with me and Blitz behind her, then Blitz gives her a ribbon stick to practice with.
I take a step back to watch them. Blitz is wearing sleek black jazz pants and a tight gray dance shirt. He takes my breath away. His hair has grown out a little and falls in a black wave across his head. Despite living with him for over a month, I still don’t know how he manages to keep his sexy stubble at precisely the same length all the time.
He catches me watching him and winks, showing Gabriella how to make a rapid cascade with the ribbon. Seeing them together never fails to fill my heart with unabashed joy.
The lights flicker, signaling that the hour is ending. Another group will use this room next.
Blitz takes Gabriella’s ribbon stick and rolls it up. She speeds across the room to make a circle around me. Her chair is good, light and nimble. There is a lot she will be able to do.
Gwen opens the door and peeks inside. “All done?” she asks.
She looks happier now that she’s made it through the holidays. It’s not the first one without her husband, but I imagine it’s not much better yet. It will probably never be easy for her. She approaches Gabriella with a hot-pink coat.
“Thank you guys so much for doing this,” she says. “Gabby, you looked so good. Was it fun?”
Gabriella sticks her arms in the coat. “It was!” She tries to zip it up herself, but like many four-year-olds, she’s not agile enough. Gwen leans over to fasten it for her, one of a million small acts of mothering I will never get to do.
“I will see you on Tuesday for the big class,” I tell her, leaning down for a hug. She smells like strawberry shampoo. It’s hard to let her go, and especially to hide how I’m feeling, but I straighten and keep my expression friendly and light.
“Bye, Livia!” Gabriella calls. “Bye, Benjamin!”
