Page 73 of Fifth Avenue Fling

She winces a little as she does a single spin and lands awkwardly. She’s lost her mojo.

My heart aches for her. I want to run down and hug her. It takes me back to a teacher who made me feel like that. She thought I was being obstructive, but she never took the time to figure out that I wasn’t lazy; I just found reading difficult.

As the last notes of the music fade away and the girls return to their starting positions, I let out a huge whoop. Way too loudly. There’s a civilized round of applause from the rest of the crowd. From the disapproving looks I get from parents, whooping like I’m at a concert is not the done thing here.

The slight smile from Teagan is worth it.

***

“I can’t believe Dad’s making the nannies come to watch the ballet now,” she grumbles when she sees me in the studio reception waiting for her.

“He’s not.” I take one of her gym bags from her. “Sam told me about it.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrows, and I fear I may have made a mistake.

I open the double doors to the street where Sam and the other security guy are waiting in the not-at-all-obvious SUV with blacked-out windows across the street.

“Do you mind me coming to watch you?” I ask hesitantly as we stand at the pedestrian crossing. “I heard spectators were allowed today, and I wanted to see you perform.”

Her frown deepens. “Not spectators. Family.”

Damn. I have messed up.

I slow my pace as we cross the street so I can look at her. “I’m sorry if I stepped out of line.”

“No, it’s fine.” She gives a slight shrug, her voice quiet. “You just caught me by surprise, that’s all. You didn’t need to come.”

“I wanted to.” I smile. “You were great! Your dad must be so proud of you.”

The way she defensively shrugs crushes me inside.Has Killianevergone to one of these?He would have noticed the weird vibe between her and her teacher if he had.

I don’t understand the man.

“Is your teacher always like that?” I ask, wondering how I should word this. “She seemed a bit hard on you. Maybe she was having an off day?”

“No, she’s always like that.” She scowls as we weave through the crowd of people. “She’s a bitch. She hates me.”

“Have you told your dad?”

“He just brushes it off. He says we don’t always get along with everyone in life.” She smiles sarcastically. “She’s the best in New York, so why would he send me to anyone else?”

“Because if she’s making you unhappy, then it doesn’t matter if she’s the best in the world. Has he ever met her?”

“No.”

I hesitate, unsure what to say. “He hasn’t come to watch you?”

“Nope. He’ll never watch me.”

“Why not?” I press cautiously.

Her face tightens. “Because Mom was a professional ballet dancer. He wants me to keep up the tradition but says it hurts him too much to watch.”

We arrive at the car, so I can’t press her any further. “Sorry about your mum. I saw the picture on your bedroom wall of her.”

“It’s okay. I don’t remember her.”

“Wait.” I put my hand over hers to stop her from opening the door.

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