Page 46 of InfraRed

The first sign of emotion flickers in his dark eyes with an annoyed eye roll and a snort. “As in Lou Gramm.”

I cough, disguising a laugh as her face pinches, having no clue who he’s talking about. I knew the story well. Maxwell told themwhat to put on his birth certificate, but the nurse who filled out the paperwork didn’t realize he wanted it spelled like the famous rocker. Lucinda quickly masks her confusion and gestures to the girl at her side. “This is my daughter, Chloe.” She strokes Chloe’s strawberry blond hair. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her show the little girl any affection, and my heart stings because I know it’s only for appearances. “Are you here for your daughter?”

I try to step back from them, deciding to use their conversation as my escape, but his gaze flits to mine, the warning not to move clear. And like the puppet I am, I freeze. “I’m here to get my girl, yes.”

My lips curl between my teeth as fire erupts across my cheeks until the tips of my ears burn.

Why did he say that?

I’ve struggled since he left my apartment Saturday with what transpired. Making sense of it has been impossible. Even my logic of chasing the forbidden seems ridiculous because… why now?

“Ah, wonderful. Who’s your daughter’s instructor because Chloe’s is…” She looks at me with disdain, her nose curling. “Lacking. She refuses to teach anything beyond the basic steps any idiot could learn from videos on their phone. She should be en pointe, not twirling around like an imbecile.”

My eyes drop to the floor. What can I do except reiterate for the umpteenth time that it doesn’t work that way? Even if I were confrontational, I can’t be. I’m just an instructor. Even Miss Dumond has tried to explain. Short of refusing Chloe and the woman’s money, there’s not much else she can do, and I begged Miss Dumond to please let Chloe stay.

“I pay a lot of money for Chloe to be here, and if this girl can’t teach her, she should be placed with a teacher who can. We payfor excellence, and this,” she gestures to me, making me want to disappear, “is what I’ve been given.”

Sticks and stones may break me, but words slice deeper, spilling more blood than any double-edged sword.

And I hate it. I hate the effect they have on me. The way they dig beneath my skin and torment my brain. I want so desperately to brush them aside, but they burrow so deeply, I can’t cut them out.

Disgruntled parents are inevitable. I thought I accepted this when Miss Dumond asked me to teach a class. Dealing with them is an emotional drain, leaving me worn and exhausted, but Lucinda makes me question if I can do this. For nearly a year, her ridicule and demands have chipped away at my psyche and self-confidence, and there wasn’t much to begin with.

Once again, I try to back away from the conversation when strong fingers wrap around my wrist in a firm, yet soothing grip, preventing me from moving. A jolt shoots through my arm, straightening my spine. The effects of her words still sting, but his touch brings a… not confidence, but awareness and strength, knowing I’m not alone. I’ve missed this—the way he believes in me—how he’s always had my back.

He pulls me closer, shifting me to pull my arm behind me, and then entwining his fingers with mine behind my back. Lucinda watches through narrowed eyes. “I’m no expert, so you’ll have to excuse my ignorance, but I believe what you are demanding is only taught once they’re older. The basics must be mastered before moving on, don’t you agree?” Her mouth flops open like a fish, but he doesn’t give her a chance to respond. “I also believe that en pointe is only taught once they’re older for safety reasons. Am I correct?” He looks at me, his head tilted.

And now my mouth is plopped open.He knows this?Remembers?

His throat clears as he squeezes my hand. I blink a few times, realizing he’s waiting for me to respond. “Y-yes,” I nod. “Miss Dumond won’t allow instruction for en pointe until eleven or twelve and not without X-rays. Every studio is different, but a reputable, responsible one will have similar rules.”

“I see. If that had been explained, I would not have argued.”

Graham hums. There’s a shift in the air. Indifference gives way to imperiousness and becomes palpable. “I doubt that, Ms. Devereux. I’m certain you were given documents to sign, informing you of all this when you enrolled your daughter. Given your sense of privilege and self-importance, I’m sure you’ve been told multiple times because, I doubt this is the first time you’ve thrown a temper tantrum, demanding things simply because you think your name, bank account, or whatever it is you think makes you special gives you the right. Now, why don’t you apologize so we can all continue with our evening?”

I recognize how her face reddens. How the tiny vein at her temple throbs. The woman is about to have a meltdown. “Why should I apologize?”

“To provide an example for your daughter of grace and class instead of tasteless arrogance and entitlement.” He leans in close, his voice loud enough to carry to my ears, but lowered, I assume, hoping Chloe doesn’t hear. “And because if you don’t when you wake up in the morning, the precious name you seem to think means something won’t be worth the gum on the bottom of my shoe, and you’ll have to explain to Daddy how you cost him everything because you insultedmy girl.”

Her eyes turn to saucers as her head jerks toward me, and mine does the same as my attention turns to him. Shock drops our mouths. She splutters while I’m rendered immobile.

“Th-this is your daughter?” Her statement is ludicrous, but it’s the only way she can make sense of what he just said because no one would believe Graham could want me in a more intimate sense.

“Did all the Botox kill your brain cells? Do I look old enough to be her father?”

“Well, no, but you said…”

“I said I was here to get my girl. Now I have, and I’m waiting for that apology.”

If she was indignant before, now she’s livid. She grips Chloe tightly, spins on her heels, and stomps out of the room.

I turn to Graham, a hand pressed against my forehead. “What did you do? Do you realize she’ll probably withdraw her daughter now?”

“She won’t.”

Frustration winds its way through me, and I barely suppress the urge to scream. I’m begrudgingly grateful he appeared, but his declaration about me beinghis girl, combined with the threat to her, was uncalled for. “What was that?”

“Necessary.”

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