“Oh my god,” I whisper in awe as I step inside. “So this is what it’s like to be a rich kid who loves ballet?” The second I say it, I turn to tell him I’m joking.
I’m already walking on thin ice and keep opening my dumb, rude mouth.
He raises his hand to stop me. “It’s fine, Jules. I know you mean nothing by it.”
Yes, this room is completely over the top, one hundred and fifty percent, but it still makes me extremely happy.
I’ve always pictured the little girls of these penthouses having modern, boring rooms, but that’s not the case here.
I feel like I was shot back in time to my childhood. Only this is on a much grander scale—all pinks and purples, tutus and leotards, everything a five-year-old would love.
I spin around as if I’m a child again and stop to see Harrison intently staring at me.
“Sorry.” I chuckle, for fuck’s sake, Jules, get it together today. He’s going to think I’m insane. “Harrison, it’s amazing in here. She must love it. This is every child’s dream room.” I walk over to the corner of the room. There’s even a wooden doll house that’s as tall as me, which too is, of course, pink.
My head is on a swivel, taking in every part of this until I stop dead in my tracks.
What the…
Harrison must sense something’s off and is at my side within a second. “What’s wrong?”
I suck in a breath and clench my teeth together so hard I think they might crack. It’s the only thing I can do to keep the tears back.
From my peripheral vision, I can see the panic on Harrison’s face, but I don’t have the words…not yet.
“Juliette…please.”
“That’s me,” I whisper, pointing to the collage of pictures tacked on the board. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” I shake myself out of the daze. “It hit me hard because it’s the first time I’ve seen pictures from that night.” He shifts his gaze, and his eyes stay anchoredon the pictures until I explain. “The photographer took these in motion. I know it’s hard to make out my face but trust me, it’s me. No one does fouettés like that.”Or did fouettés.“They were my specialty.”
“When was this taken?” he asks in a lowered voice.
“Six, no…wow, over seven months ago.” I pause, still not ready to talk about it, but I want to give him something. “It was the night of my accident,” I admit. “It was the opening night of the performance, and the last day I ever danced professionally.”
He steps behind me and takes me in his arms. I appreciate him not prying for more information. I’m not ready to relive that story yet.
“Do you want me to tell her to take it down?”
“That’s thoughtful, though I doubt I’ll be in this room often, so no. Thank you.” I turn and kiss his chest, and we stand like this for a while, with me in his arms.
“You know…I consider myself a good dance dad, but I have no idea what a fouetté is.”
Laughter breaks from my chest, I can’t contain it.
Happy he broke the silence and awkwardness, but also, the way he seems so genuinely upset is heartwarming.
“Don’t worry, the move is way too advanced for Claudina. You shouldn’t know what it is,” I tell him as he maneuvers us from the room. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to speak to Willa about something, so I might as well tell you.”
He shuts the bedroom door, and we continue down the stairs toward the kitchen. “About dance?”
“Yeah. I know Claud is determined and wants to be the best she can be, but—” I stop when I see his face morphing into protection mode. “Don’t get defensive. I’m trying to help.”
He bites his bottom lip, grinning. “Sorry, you’re right. Go on.”
“Thank you.” It’s killing me inside, not to mention that he said I’m right, but I won’t push it this morning. “She’s only five, correct?” He nods, confirming. “Well, I think she’s super advanced for her age. I know it’s silly, but when you see a child with a raw talent at five, you watch them closely.”
“She dances for you?” His face lights up.
“All the time, I love it. I’m telling you this because I’ve seen her obsessing over pirouettes…the wrong way. She mentioned YouTube.”
