I’m not sure Iris does.
My mother is looking to see if Iris truly knows anything about dance. It’s not an automatic fail if she doesn’t, but she has to be able to have enough knowledge to make small talk. My mother is also looking at Iris’s body language, posture, her turn of phrase, her vernacular. It’s all under scrutiny.
Iris sits back and considers my mother’s question. My mother’s eyebrow inches towards her hairline as she waits for an answer.
“I really enjoyed it,” Iris says finally. My mother barely hides her eye roll. But Iris’s not done. “It’s wonderful to see some of my favorite dancers sharing a stage.”
My mother doesn’t respond, she just looks at Iris as if she hasn’t finished, putting pressure on her to say more. I hope Iris doesn’t fall into the trap. My mother is looking for rope to hang her with. I don’t want Iris to help her.
“Carlos Acoma is… tiring,” Iris says. “But it’s to be expected at his age. I believe he’s forty-two. His leaps aren’t what they once were. But he still has that magnetic stage presence that has made him world famous.”
I can tell my mother wasn’t expecting Iris’s detailed response. She didn’t think Iris would really know anything about dance.
“It’s a bit of a strange evening, isn’t it?” Iris says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Wonderful. But it’s unusual to have all these titans of dance performing snippets. It’s harder to lose yourself in the music and the story in the way I’m used to.”
I push my lips together to stop myself from smiling. There’s no way that Iris isn’t acing this test.
“Jack said you used to dance. Was that professionally?” my mother asks.
Iris shakes her head. “No. Family commitments meant that wasn’t possible.” She glances at me. “We all make sacrifices for the people we love. And dance was mine.”
My mother stays silent for a moment. Iris wasn’t what she expected. She had thought she would test Iris and she’d come out failing. But Iris is holding her own with my mother. No mean feat for anyone, let alone a hick from Colorado, as Iris sees herself. It’s just proof that she’s so much more than she believes.
“Did you enjoy the performances, Mrs. Alden?” she asks, her manners perfect.
“Like you say, it’s a strange evening, but it’s quite pleasant.”
“Jack?” Iris turns to me.
“I’m happy if you and my mother are happy.”
The corners of my mother’s mouth twitch at my statement. I’m sure she thinks that sometimes I deliberately set out to torture her. Disappearing to Colorado for weeks won’t have gone down well. But what I’m saying is true—I’m happier if my mother’s happy. But I won’t do everything she says. I’m not some docile, compliant son. But Iamher son. I want her to be happy. I just want me to be happy too.
And right now? With Iris holding her own and my mother being checkmated, I’m about as happy as I’ve ever been.
TWENTY-FOUR
Jack
We ride the elevator side by side up to my apartment. I know if I touch her here, alone, we won’t getoutof this elevator.
I’m shaking, I want this woman so much. Since the moment I laid eyes on her, I’ve felt a connection that I’ve never felt before. Every time we’re together, that connection grows and deepens.
Tonight?
Tonight, everything was so goddamn perfect, I could shout out loud with joy.
There are few women who can stand their ground with my mother. Iris’s one of them. What’s more, she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t understand she was being tested and she passed with flying colors. Just by being herself. Don’t get me wrong, my mother won’t want me to marry a woman who works on the family farm in Colorado, whether or not she knows about ballet and can hold a conversation to my mother’s standards. But it showed me how Iris is everything I want in a woman—sophisticated but authentic. Her feet are firmly on the ground. She’s always one hundred percent herself.
“You okay?” she asks from beside me.
Thankfully the doors open to the penthouse.
“I am now,” I say, and I pull her out of the elevator and flip her against the wall. “I hope you weren’t planning to sleep tonight,” I say against her neck. I pull up the skirt of her dress as I press kisses along her jaw. I want to find her heat, her core. I need to see if she’s desperate for me.
My fingers find the edges of her underwear and I sigh with relief that I’ve found home.
Thank god.
