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“You're starin’,” I tell him when I reach him.
“I’m aware,” he replies, completely unapologetic.
I laugh and brush a strand of hair behind my ear. “Well, bless your heart.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. The tiny smile shouldn't affect me as much as it does.
Luka clears his throat beside us.
Alexei doesn't look away from me.
Poor Luka. I have a feeling years of Bratva experience didn’t prepare him for this.
I look at Ivy and smile. “Ready to go dance, sugar?”
“I'm not dancing,” Ivy says, fixing me with a scandalized look. “I'm rehearsing.”
“Forgive me,” I say, placing a hand over my heart.
Ivy gives me a patient look that suggests I am deeply uninformed. “Miss Hannah says rehearsals are very important.”
“I'm sure they are,” I assure her, fighting a smile.
“They're basically dance practice for professionals,” she explains, nodding solemnly.
Alexei finally lowers his gaze to his daughter. “Are you prepared?”
Ivy gasps and presses a hand to her chest. “Papa. I've been prepared for three days.”
Jules snorts loudly behind us.
I turn to find him leaning against the reception desk with his arms crossed.
“I'd like everyone to know,” he announces, “that I personally survived twenty-seven descriptions of rehearsal hairstyles this morning.”
Ivy narrows her eyes at him. “Twenty-nine.”
“See?” Jules says, throwing his hands in the air. “This is my life now.”
The Savannah Performing Arts Center buzzes with enough energy to power half the city. Children race across the lobby in brightly colored leotards while exhausted parents hurry after them, carrying dance bags, water bottles, curling irons, and enough hairspray to violate environmental regulations. Every surface seems dusted in glitter. The scent of perfume, stage makeup, and fresh coffee hangs in the air, blending with the constant hum of excited voices.
Ivy practically vibrates beside me.
“Miss Hannah said we're doing the finale twice because Addie forgot her turn yesterday,” she explains while dragging Alexei and me toward the auditorium doors. Her dance bag bounces wildly against her hip as she talks. “And Sophie got new tap shoes, but they're squeaky, so Miss Hannah says she has to practice walking normal.”
“That sounds traumatic,” I say solemnly, tightening my grip on her hand so she doesn't disappear into the crowd.
“It is,” Ivy agrees with a grave nod.
Alexei's hand settles against the small of my back as we walk. The gesture has become so natural that I barely notice it anymore. I simply lean into him automatically.
A woman with dark hair pulled into a severe ponytail strides toward us from the opposite side of the lobby. She wears black leggings, a studio jacket embroidered with the dance school's logo, and the permanently frazzled expression of somebody responsible for dozens of small children.
“Ivy!” she calls.
Ivy immediately brightens. “Miss Hannah!”
She launches herself at her dance instructor with enough enthusiasm to nearly knock the woman backward. Miss Hannah laughs and steadies herself before wrapping Ivy in a hug.
