Page 52 of A Vicious Love

“He is.”

“And your mother?”

I looked at the painting.

“My mother is difficult to please,” I said carefully.

“Most women with disappointed ambitions are.”

My throat tightened. I did not know whether he meant my mother.

Or me.

Damius stepped closer to the painting, hands clasped behind his back. His movements were controlled. Jamison had inherited that stillness.

“You spend time here,” he said.

It was not a question.

“Yes.”

“Between rehearsals.” I tried not to react. He knew that too.

“Yes.”

“Ballet.”

“Yes.”

“An expensive discipline for a temporary body.”

I lifted my chin, a little braver because he had stepped near the one thing I understood. “All bodies are temporary.”

His gaze slid back to me.

I froze.

I had contradicted Damius Crow.

God above. Maybe fear made people stupid before it made them silent.

For a moment, he only looked at me.

“True.” He finally said.

The single word moved through me like a reprieve.

I breathed again.

He turned away from the painting and began walking down the gallery.

It took me one awful second to realize I was expected to follow.

So I did.

We passed a case of old charcoal sketches. He stopped before one showing a dancer mid-turn, her body caught in a line so delicate it looked impossible.

“Better?” he asked.