On the way down the stairs, I asked Maggie Beautiful to cover her with a blanket so she wouldn’t get wet. I hightailed it into the pouring rain, my boots slushing in and out of mud, until we came to the stone barn with the gym. Using my back, I pushed open the door. The air was cool, a slight musty odor drifting past before newer scents—rubber, metal, and freshly cut wood—mingled in. When we came to the entrance of the second barn, I set her down gently, and the blanket fell to floor around her feet.
“Stay put,” I said, walking into the room.
I went to the corner and pressed play on the stereo. Then I removed the blindfold. She blinked at the tender light coming through the window, a fair glow along the wooden floor. The second barn had been transformed into a dance studio for her, so that she could practice whenever we were here, like I had done for her at our house on Snow.
An entire wall was lined with glass, a long ballet barre stretching the length. I had installed cabinets for her numerous pairs of pointe shoes. Maggie Beautiful had brought down a few pieces of her fluffy wear and hung them up on the barre. My favorite pictures of her, in numerous dance poses, were blown to poster size and framed, hanging here and there.
Her hand came to her mouth. Her wedding rings glinted against the light, making her skin seem even more delicate, hiding her smile. All three rings were a bit loose, her long fingers slimmer than before.
She walked the room, selecting a long piece of tulle that flowed around her body, before she met me in the center of the floor.
“When I put my arm up, take my fingers,” she said.
She eyed me steadily, a hint of a smile on her face. She did that graceful ballerina walk before seamlessly rising up on her toes, like a trick of the mind, her arm floating up to meet my hand. She spun around with such agility that I felt like I was attempting to hold air between my fingers. That was how she moved, as if she had a soft breeze in her veins instead of blood, clouds from heaven instead of bone. She embodied the very soul of grace.
Her other arm moved like silk behind her before she did a bit of fancy footwork, twirled some more, and then put a hand to her heart, reaching out to me in a fluid sweep with the same.
“Thank you, my angel,” she said.
“Dance for me, like this, for a while,” I said.
She put a hand toward a chair I had brought in. “Sit.”
I was entranced by every move she made, woven into her spell like the first time.
“You really like when I dance like this, don’t you?” Her green eyes reminded me of gems in a darkened mine.
“Yeah, I do. It brings me back to that night out in the snow. You spun me in your web. You always attracted a lot of attention when you danced in the window of your parent’s studio. After that night, I watched. I wasn’t the only one.”
“Ha! Like a circus act,” she said, her leg coming up in a mind-defying kick. It was like she flouted gravity. Her foot came down without a sound. Then she did a handless cartwheel (what she called an aerial cartwheel), and upon landing, went onto the tips of her toes, pirouetting around.
“No, a true form of strength and beauty.”
She stopped moving, her eyes going soft.
I held my hands up. “If you call mesweet,I’m going to keep my opinions, or my feelings, or whatever you call them, to my fucking self. You’ll have to put your ear to my heart to listen.”
She sighed, a soft sound that almost made me shiver.
“What? What did I say?”
“Just…all of the beautiful words.” She held out her hand to me. “Dance with me, like we were.”
I was mostly a moving prop, but I did as I was told.
“I think you missed your calling, my angel. You were meant for tights!” She threw her head back and laughed, and then she cupped me.
“Enough with you, Ballerina Girl,” I said, twirling her in the opposite direction. “We need to talk.”
“Oh?” All humor faded from her face.
“Are you ready to start dancing in Volterra again?”
The contract had changed. She didn’t have to dance in Paris anymore, but she still had to dance for however long she had been on hiatus in Italy.
I had to wait until after her contract was up to seek my revenge on Nemours. Before Marzio was gunned down, we had discussed the specifics of this plan. I had given my word. Though if the opportunity arose, for her, I’d break it. She had always been the exception to my rule, to what ran through me since birth.
She bit her lip and nodded. “Yes, I am.”
