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“Good.” Mollified, Cora changed the subject, but Leonidas was impatient. He shifted position slightly and a movement caught his eye, and his breath. Through the glass windows of the conservatorium, she was visible, but only briefly. It was her reflection, he realized, caught in a mirror of the room, like a Sylph, moving in and out of his vision, frustratingly quickly, ethereal, a figment of his imagination. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but she was too far away. Every few seconds, she would come back into his view and he could only marvel at how beautiful she was. How utterly graceful. Her eyes were closed, her face at peace, her hair piled up on her head in a messy bun, and she moved like a fairy, or an angel.
Desire mixed with admiration.
“I have to go.”
Cora, mid-sentence, froze. “Is something the matter?”
“No. I just have to go.” Feeling like a bastard, he frowned. “Thank you for checking on me.”
“Anytime, Leo. Anytime.” He put down the phone, so now he could watch with the full force of his concentration. He stared at Mila for a long time, utterly fascinated by her. He’d seen figure skaters before, he’d been dragged to the ballet more times than he’d like to count, courtesy of his mother’s obsession—an obsession that was in part because of Val, who even as a toddler had adored the ballet—but he’d never seen anything quite like this. His whole body was frozen still as a strange sort of energy thrummed in his veins.
He watched for a long time and then, of their own accord, his legs moved, galvanizing him into action. He went to her because it was inconceivable to think that he might not. What choice did he have?
But at the door to the conservatory, he paused: still, respectful, entranced.
When she danced, it was magic. He couldn’t look away. The sense of something unique and special playing out before his eyes weaved through the room and wrapped around him.
He could hear music, even when none played. It beat in his soul. It stunned him.
And then she turned and opened her eyes, as though she’d sensed him, and he moved without thought and planning, into the room, directly to her.
“Hi,” she mouthed, her body still, even as echoes of the silent song continued to reverberate between them.
His response, a response he hadn’t thought out and didn’t realise he was going to give, was to draw her into his arms and kiss her, as though it had been months since they’d seen one another, as though she was his purpose for existing. He pushed the thought away; it made no sense. It wasn’t true…it couldn’t be.
“Jesus,Mila, I’ve been worried as all hell about you.”
Mila flushed guiltily. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve been taking a break,” she assured her coach.
“But I haven’t heard from you in days. I thought you might have been in an accident. What’s happening?”
“Nothing.” She hated lying to him, but Leonidas had put the fear into her, that she couldn’t trustanyone, even longtime friends.
“Where are you?”
“I’m—staying with a…friend.” Her eyes rushed across the room to Leonidas, who stood with his hip propped against the door, arms folded, watching her. Waiting for her to make a mistake, or helping her not to? Either way, she didn’t mind. She took more comfort from his presence than she wanted to admit.
“Which friend?”
“No one you know.”
“Then who?”
“Does it matter?”
“You’ve disappeared into thin air only months out from Internationals. Yes, it matters.”
“It’s complicated,” she said after a beat.
“Tell me you’re not getting involved with someone.”
The words sent little arrows through her body. Getting involved with someone? That was such a bland way to describe what had taken place. Her heart gave a strange lurch as she remembered the night before, her insides twisting, moist heat slicking between her legs. But it was also a reminder of the commitment she’d made, not just to herself, but to her professional team. They had all invested so much in her. She couldn’t let them down.
Her eyes met Leonidas’ and a bolt of desire burst through her. Her lips parted; his eyes dropped to them, and she felt as though he were kissing her again. She lifted shaking fingers, touching her lower lip, and at his mocking smile of understanding, she blinked away. She tried not to take her coach’s question to heart. He knew all about her mother’s story, all about the regrets that drove Mila, the determination not to repeat her mother’s mistakes and live with her regrets.
“I’m staying with a friend of a friend for the next few nights,” she said without elaborating. “The good news is, my ankle’s much better.”
“Well enough to get back to training?”
