A burst of laughter erupted from my chest. “Here I thought ballerinas were supposed to be soft and elegant.”
“Oh, we are.” Scarlett cocked an eyebrow. “We’re also, pound for pound, some of the strongest athletes in the world. So believe me when I say I will kick you and it will hurt.”
“I believe you.” I couldn’t stop smiling. “No flirting, no darling. Understood.”
Our repartee died down when Vincent showed up a minute later.
Typical. He always ruined things.
However, Scarlett’s warning from our last session was fresh in my mind, so I kept my mouth shut and ignored him the best I could.
That probably wasn’t what Coach had in mind when he forced us to train together, but he wasn’t here. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
We didn’t have much time for “bonding” regardless. People underestimated the rigor of ballet because it looked so ethereal, but in reality, the training was brutal- and we were still in the beginner’s stage.
Scarlett’s delicate appearance was a red herring; she ran her studio like a bloody drill sergeant. Even Coach would be impressed.
“One, two, three, four. Repeat, two, three, four. Good. Again. I-” Scarlett stopped short, the color draining from her face.
Vincent and I faltered.
“Are you okay?” I asked at the same time he said, “Is it?-“
“No. I’m okay.” She flashed a tight smile. “I just have to…use the loo. Keep going. I’ll be right back.”
My gaze followed her out of the room. Her walk seemed off, like she was favoring one leg over the other, but that might’ve been a trick of the eye.
She’s fine. She had no reason to lie, and even if she wasn’t feeling well, she was capable of taking care of herself.
So why did I feel worried?
“Don’t even think about it.” Vincent’s sharp tone brought my attention back to him. “I saw the way you were looking at her,” he said when I raised a questioning brow. “Touch my sister, and you’re dead.”
“Drop the overprotective brother bit, DuBois. It’s cliché.”
“I’m just giving you a friendly warning.” There wasn’t an ounce of friendliness in his expression. “Scarlett is off limits.”
“Scarlett can speak for herself.”
“Yes, but she’s too nice to creeps who want to take advantage.”
I wasn’t sure if we’d met the same Scarlett, since the one I knew seemed perfectly content putting me in my place.
I didn’t bother acknowledging the creeps who want to take advantage part of his comment. I knew my intentions and boundaries; Vincent could think whatever the hell he liked.
“Not that you’d succeed even if you tried getting with her. She won’t date a footballer again.” Vincent shrugged. “Tough luck.”
Again?
Which player had she dated before? How long had they dated? Was it an old fling or recent breakup?
I tamped down the irrational desire to grill him about her ex. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Scarlett returned, cutting our conversation short. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks, but her voice lacked the strength from the first half of our session.
Vincent said something in French. She responded in kind and gave him a pointed look. Whatever he was saying, she didn’t want him saying it in front of me, even if it was in another language.
We were nearly finished with the session when his phone went off.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He jogged to his duffel bag in the corner. “But that’s Dad’s emergency ringtone.”
Scarlett’s frown melted into visible worry as Vincent picked up. He listened and said a few brusque words in French before ending the call.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Dad had an accident.” More rapid-fire French, followed by a nod from Scarlett and a sideways glare from Vincent.
What the hell did
I do?
“I’m sorry about the interruption,” Scarlett said as Vincent shouldered his bag. “This is highly unusual, but…”
“It’s fine. I get it.” We only had ten minutes left of training anyway, and my muscles could use an early break. “Is your dad okay?”
“I think so. Vincent’s going to deal with it. Dad’s…particular about the people who handle his personal affairs.”
“I’ll call you later with an update.” Vincent pinned me with a hard stare on his way out. “Remember what I said earlier.”
The Nobel Peace Prize committee should note that I chose the high road and didn’t respond with snark. His father was injured, after all. I wasn’t a monster.
“Apologies again.” Scarlett smoothed an unsteady hand over her bun. “This is only our second session, so I don’t want to give the wrong impression. There’s usually never this many disruptions.”
“By disruptions, you mean using the loo and a family emergency?” I leaned against the barre and crossed my arms. “How unprofessional. You should quit now.”
Her mouth twitched. “When you put it that way, I guess it’s not so bad.”
“It never is.”
Thunder boomed in the distance and drew our startled gazes to the window. I’d been so caught up in what was happening in the studio that I hadn’t noticed the transition from beautiful spring afternoon to raging storm.
“Don’t tell me you’re taking the tube in this weather,” I said as Scarlett packed up her belongings.
It was a fifteen-minute walk to the nearest tube station, and it sounded like the apocalypse out there.
“People take the tube when it’s raining all the time.”
“Only when they don’t have another choice. Let me drive you home.” I followed her out the door and down the hall. “Carina left early, so you don’t have to wait for her.”
Scarlett slid a glance my way. “Are you stalking her?”
“I ran into her on my way to the studio. She told me she had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”
“Why would she…never mind.” Scarlett shook her head. “She’s the queen of oversharing.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.