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After that, I drove to Chloe’s studio, but I entered the building opposite hers like I did months before and waited for her to arrive.
She dances with emotion, so it figures that she’d be here today even though I deeply upset her. I’m not surprised when her car pulls up at eight a.m. and she walks into the studio.
I’m like the opera’s phantom, watching her in anticipation of her show. She’s wearing full black today, as if she’s in mourning. The only color on her is her little pink ballet shoes and the satin ribbons wrapped around her ankles.
Minutes later, my lass is dancing. Dancing like I’ve never seen her dance before.
Her heart is in every movement, and she’s possibly overexerting herself to hone her previous skills. The skills she talks about when she used to tell me how good she was.
I get to see what better looks like for her, and even then, I know this isn’t her entire energy. She’s just doing what her body wants her to do. I imagine that the music she’s playing is Bach. Something like his Allemande piece with all the emotion and angst pouring through each note.
Chloe gives it her all, but there are points where she takes breaks and holds her leg. It’s clear she’s in pain, but still, she keeps going.
I want to march over there and tell her to stop. Or better yet, go over there and make everything better, but for the first time in my life, I’m conflicted as fuck.
I don’t know right from wrong, and everything I do feels like the wrong choice. Even loving her. Loving her feels selfish. So is being here.
But I can’t stop myself from doing either.
She dances for hours, finishing at midday. Then she heads to the restaurant.
When I can’t see her, I get my men to check in with me to let me know how she is. At least I can rely on them. If I didn’t, I’d go insane.
My last stop for the day is her mother’s house. I park up in the spot I used before when I used to watch her.
Chloe reaches home at eight and goes to the living room to speak to her mother. She stays with her for a little while before she goes upstairs.
She heads to the bathroom and returns minutes later dressed for bed.
I watch her sit on the bed and take her phone from her purse. I’ve sent her no end of messages and called, but she hasn’t responded. When she sets her phone to the side, I know I’m not going to hear from her tonight again.
I wonder if I ever will. I can’t blame her for protecting her heart. It’s the right thing to do. Once again, it’s not her who has the problem. It’s me.
She turns out the light and I can’t see her anymore.
My overprotective side makes me stay there for another half an hour until I watch Liam arrive to relieve Gavin of his duty.
Of all my men, I trust Liam the most because I grew up with him, and his family has always guarded mine. If anything were to happen, he’d act exactly the way I would and do the things I would do to protect Chloe and her mom.
With that reasoning, I head home to my empty house. Except when I reach it, I realize I’m not alone when Seamus walks out of the kitchen holding a bottle of our favorite red wine and two long-stemmed glasses.
He gives me a warm, understanding smile. “Thought you could do with some of this.”
“You’re not wrong.” I walk in and sulk down on the sofa, my eyes meeting a fashion magazine Chloe was reading days before.
The house feels so different without her. As if even the very walls grieve her absence. She was my angel. She brought life, light, and love into my darkness. Now she’s gone.
Seamus joins me and follows my gaze.
“What happened?” He returns his focus to me with concern in his pale eyes. “The men tell me that Chloe is staying with her mam. I hope her mother is doing okay.”
“She is. That’s not why she’s there.”
“So, it’s the other thing, then.”
I look at him. “Yeah.” I don’t need to ask him to clarify what he means. We both know what that thing is.
He opens the wine, pours me a glass, and hands it to me. “Did you guys argue?”
