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“God stopped taking my calls years ago,” he quipped, and I laughed despite myself.

Then Diana’s voice cut through the room like a knife. “And here is where the magic happens,” she said, striding down the aisle with a gorgeous, polished brunette by her side—tall, willowy, with shockingly emerald eyes that zeroed in on Jackson and stayed there.

Jackson stiffened. “Mother,” he said. “What a surprise.” I noticed he didn’t say it was a nice surprise, and I doubted Diana missed that, though she was skilled at pretending not to notice the things she would rather ignore. Like me, for example.

“Well, since it’s impossible to pin you down for a proper introduction, I had to get creative.” Diana flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She glanced in my direction, her gaze narrowing slightly. “After all, Isobel should know what you’re involved in.”

Isobel? My stomach sank. Who was she, and what right did she have to care about what Jackson was involved in? None of my business. I tried to excuse myself quietly, planning to move closer to the stage where the dancers were warming up, but Jackson stopped me. “Winter? Where are you going?”

I froze and wondered if it was possible to stab somebody to death with my stare. He wasn’t really doing this, was he?

“Please, Miss Monroe, allow me to introduce Isobel Lawrence.” Diana stepped aside, her smile turning maternal as her eyes darted between her son and the striking woman next to her.

Isabel wore a tailored cream-colored dress with a light coat draped elegantly over her shoulders, her Chanel handbag resting neatly in the crook of her elbow. She was polished and poised, carrying herself with the ease of someone accustomed to privilege. It was something I could emulate but never truly embody, no matter how hard I tried.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, stepping forward and shaking Isobel’s hand. My expression stayed pleasant, though I felt anything but.

“Winter is the choreographer for our production,” Jackson explained, his voice strained—maybe even a little annoyed, and I wasn’t imagining that. “And a co-producer of the production when it originated on the Riviera.”

“Oh, how exciting,” Isobel gushed, her enthusiasm bright but somehow distant. “One of my favorite things back in New York was touring theaters and seeing as many shows as I could. Dad never let me behind the scenes like this when we were mounting productions at the Grand.”

Right, I thought. She’s the daughter of a casino owner. That explained her confidence and ease. There was no reason for her not to feel at home here. Unlike me, she hadn’t fought tooth and nail to carve out a space for herself in this world. And unlike me, she clearly had Diana’s approval.

Diana’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Who’s to say? Maybe someday soon, you’ll be able to visit rehearsals whenever you like. I’m sure Jackson wouldn’t mind having you around.”

The subtext wasn’t subtle. Message received.

“It was nice meeting you,” I said with forced politeness, stepping back. “I’d better make sure everything is running smoothly.” I hurried off down to the stage, willing away the tears threatening to well up. I knew there was no reason for them.

He wasn’t mine.

He never had been.

The woman behind me, with her elegant presence and Diana’s blessing, was far more his type.

I clapped my hands sharply to grab the dancers’ attention. “Good morning, everyone. We’ve got a lot to run through before my meeting at eleven, but I’m sure we can perfect the first combination by then.”

Michael approached with a paper cup in hand. “Here. A little something for you.”

“What’s this?” I asked, accepting the warm cup.

“I figured you could use some extra caffeine on our first day of rehearsals.” His dark eyes stared into mine, a habit of his. He had a way of revealing everything going through his mind with those expressive eyes. Even his inspired dancing wasn’t as emotive.

“Thank you,” I said softly, accepting the latte even though I’d brought my own coffee. “I need this.” What I needed more of was the kindness he extended after once again being made to feel so small. It didn’t matter that I was about to start rehearsals, heading up my cast of dancers, calling the shots. I was still nothing to that monster.

And she wanted to make sure I knew I’d always be nothing to Jackson, who now led Isobel around and answered the insipid questions she asked in a breathy, high-pitched voice.

High-pitched or not, she had everything I didn’t.

Though I had his son.

Not that he could ever know.

“All right, everyone,” I called out, pushing the longing aside. “Let’s get to work.”

7

JACKSON