Page 53 of The Perfect Mistake

“Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be coming home,” I say.

“Me neither.” His voice is hoarse. “Needed something from the home office.”

I find the band of my sports bra and tug it down, as if the fabric could suddenly cover more of me. “Oh. I could have taken it to Contron for you.”

He shakes his head slowly. “You have the middays off.”

“That’s okay.”

“No,” he says. His jaw is tense, and his shoulders look like they’re following suit. “It’s important to respect your working hours.”

I nod mutely. Our working relationship is what he’s really saying. But he doesn’t leave, and we stand there and stare at one another.

His eyes drop down again, like he can’t help himself. “Yoga. Is that what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” I say.

He glances down at the mat beneath my feet. “Does that help your hip?”

“It doesn’t hurt it, at least.”

“When was your last checkup?”

I cross my arms over my chest. It won’t hide the skin that’s on display, but it feels like protection. “What do you mean?”

Alec frowns. He does that a lot, I’ve realized. His face is set in stern lines that make him look older than his forty.

“Isabel,” he says gruffly. “Are you telling me you haven’t been to a doctor or a physiotherapist for your hip?”

I shrug. “I don’t have access to the Company’s medical staff anymore, no. My last appointment was a week before I got cut.”

He closes his eyes. “Shit.”

“It’s fine. I was examined a lot before I left, and I know what to do.”

“Still, you should be getting proper medical attention,” he says. “You’re my employee. You have healthcare. I can get someone here tomorrow.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Someone?”

“I’ll find an expert in hip tears,” he says, almost in warning. “Or send me a few names to choose between if you want to make the selection yourself. But I won’t have an employee of mine suffering.”

“I’m hardly suffering,” I protest.

“The collapse the other week proved—”

“I was doing consecutive fouettés without being properly warmed up,” I snap. But then I take a deep breath and force the irrational anger out. It’s not his fault that my hip has betrayed me. “But I appreciate it. I’ll… send you some names.”

He nods. Runs a hand over the back of his neck. “If you need more, or time to train, to potentially make it back into dancing—”

But I’m already shaking my head. Can’t have that discussion, not right now, and not with him. The road to recovery is impossibly long, and the world of ballet companies moves fast. You’re only as good as your last performance, and there’s always someone waiting to take your place.

“Thanks. I appreciate that,” I say. “Maybe in a few weeks. I just need… I don’t know. But I’ll send you the names of a few physicians who specialize in treating dancers.”

He nods again. Glances down at my body for a split second before looking away, his eyes landing on the TV. His shoulders square. “Look,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for the other night.”

I’m already shaking my head. “Alec—”

“I shouldn’t have sat down next to you that evening. The night had been long enough, and I acted unprofessionally. I hope that you’ll consider continuing working here.”

---