Without a word, I reach for her hand.
“Come with me,” I say.
She doesn’t ask where. She just lets me lead her down the hall, away from the noise in her head and the weight my family just dropped in our laps.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: A PIECE OF ME
SUTTON
Jayce leadsme through the penthouse and down the hall past his bedroom, his hand gently holding mine. I expect him to stop in front of the playroom. My pulse flutters at the thought and excitement pulses through me. What does he have in mind for me today? My pussy is practically humming.
But that’s not where we’re going. He surprises me by continuing onward, toward the last door on the left. I’ve never been in this room, and have no idea what to expect. Another playroom? Seems a bit excessive.
He stops and looks down at me, a small smile playing around his lips.
“I was going to surprise you with this later this week when it was completely finished. It’s taken longer than I hoped, since the only chance there is to work on it is when you’re not home. But I think now is a perfect time for you to see it, even if it’s not quite done.”
I furrow my brow, confused, and watch as he opens the door, then steps aside to give me room to go in first.
The moment I step inside, my breath catches and I freeze as I gaze around in shock.
It’s…a studio. Adancestudio! There are floor-to-ceiling mirrors along two of the walls, and as I walk further into the room, I realize I’m stepping on a sprung floor. A sound system sits along the one wall without mirrors, waiting and ready to go.
There are also racks along that wall with leggings, cropped tops, leotards, skirts and different types of dance shoes neatly stored. There’s even a small basket with hair ties, wraps, and pins. I’m stunned by the attention to detail and the fact that everything I could possibly want to help me dance is here.
My chest tightens and tears start burning behind my eyes. He remembered. From a single conversation in a diner. I didn’t even think about that part of our conversation afterwards, but Jayce did, and then he took the few words I said about dance and created this.
When did he even have time to do all this? It must have been during those times I went to work at the coffee shop across from the performance center.
I swallow hard and turn back to him before I choke out, “Jayce…”
My voice breaks before I can say anything else. Jayce smiles softly at me, then spreads his arms wide, as if to encompass the whole room.
“For you, Starling,” he says quietly.
I stare at him, totally stunned. There are no words big enough for what’s pressing against my ribs. Gratitude. Shock. The joy of realizing someone is listening to me and really seeing who I am and not just the facade I try to present to the world…and my family.
Jayce sees me. He listens to me. He doesn’t try to force me to fit some idealized mold of how he thinks I should be.
He just…cares.
After a moment, he tilts his head slightly, eyes soft but intent as he gazes at me.
“Dance for me.”
Smiling, I nod and grab a pair of leggings, a tank top, and jazz shoes before I slip into the little changing nook next to the racks. I get dressed and pull my hair back and twist it into a bun.
When I step back out, Jayce doesn’t say a word. He’s sitting on a bench next to the door. His eyes sweep over me and his gaze darkens with something very much like hunger, but he still stays quiet. My cheeks flush and my heart races. I begin stretching, bending down to touch my toes, then rolling back up to press my arms over my head. My muscles are tight, but I feel them start to loosen as I carefully move. Sitting on the floor, I spread my legs wide and work out my hips and hamstrings. Jayce is watching me intently, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t putting on a little show for him. Emphasizing the movements and arching my body in ways I know show off my curves.
When I’m ready, I stand and quickly cross to the sound system to choose a song, needing to distract myself from the intensity of his stare. I select something more contemporary and hit play.
The music starts, and I move to the middle of the floor, locking in to the beat. At first, my body doesn’t know what to do with itself. I haven’t danced since college, after all. My timing is off. My shoulders are stiff. My balance wobbles on the first turn and I nearly laugh at myself. I take a moment and suck in a deep breath, then start again.
My body syncs with the rhythm of the music. My movements become bolder as my muscles start to remember how to move. I twist and spin, my arms slicing through the air with force one moment, then softening until they seem to be floating. I let the transitions stretch and my weight travel. A turn carries me across the floor, another follows, momentum pulling me forward. I remember how to fall and catch myself. How to suspend in the air just long enough to feel weightless. How to letemotion pour out through my movements when my words aren’t enough.
The longer I dance, the quieter everything else becomes.
The fake engagement and wedding that will never happen.
