Page 37 of When Hearts Awaken

Ian strides over, his fingers tugging the tie around his neck. He forces out a smile.

“The performance is going very well,” I comment.

I know he’s nervous. After all, this is a homecoming performance. Meaningful.

“It’s acceptable. Bethany is flawless as Odette, but her Odile leaves a lot to be desired.” He frowns as the stagehands transform the scenery into the moonlit lake, where Odette and her prince will meet their tragic ending. “You know your ballet, Charles. Taylor would’ve been better suited for Odile. There’s a fire and power in her that’d show well on the stage. Too bad the roles are typically danced by one person.”

I think back to her haunted eyes when I saw her at The Sanctuary almost two years ago. That fire was missing then.

It was pure terror.

Even to this day, that memory bothers me. I’d rather bicker with her than to see that haunted look on her face.

Ian sneaks a glance at me, his lips twitching. “It doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful too. I see how you stare at her.”

I flinch.No fucking way.“In hatred, you mean.”

“Why do you hate each other so much?”

Turning toward him, I frown. “She’s the definition of unstable and immature. Did you forget how she socked me in the face the first time we met? How that punch was meant for you? Her vague accusations?”

Someone runs over and hands a document to Uncle Ian and he takes out his jeweled pen and signs on it before responding.

“That makes her interesting. Let me ask you this, Charles. If you had to choose, would you eat stale crackers or spiced curry for the rest of your life?”

“Huh?”

He stares at the stage, his lips hiked up in a smile. “Stale crackers taste like cardboard—no kick, no personality. Spiced curry, on the other hand, tests your taste buds—gives you a dash of pain and then rewards you with a creamy aftertaste. I’d pick curry any day.”

As if on cue, Taylor runs back over, her eyes scanning backstage before they land on me. Her lips are flattened, like she’s unimpressed or displeased with the world—Firefly used to tell me this is called “a resting bitch face.” She’s directly under the spotlight now, and I see a white graffiti design splattered across her black sweatshirt that reads:

“Go away. I’ll bite. I’m not your babe, your honey, or your sweetheart.”

I arch my brow at her, motioning to her outfit.

“Nice clothes. Very mature,”I mouth.

I don’t know why I’m taunting the brat. She brings out the worst in me. I swear, in her presence, I don’t feel like I’m approaching forty. I either feel like a goddamn hormone-ridden teenager, wanting to rile up the girl I find to be interesting just to see how she’d respond, or I’d wish I were in The Sanctuary and could punish this little brat the way she deserved.

What would it be like to get her all worked up, all traces of impudence spanked out of her, to see her eyes glazed over in pleasure as she kneels before me?

My cock twitches in my pants. It’s completely maddening.

Is it because she sees past the mask I wear? Because she approaches life with a gumption I don’t have? Because she wears all her emotions on her face while I tether mine closely to my chest?

She flicks me the middle finger before rushing over to Bethany and handing her the shoes. Bethany says something to Taylor, and the minx beams—fucking beams at her.

This woman is an infuriating, perplexing conundrum—bratty and spiteful one moment, which is no surprise given our age gap, and a somber, calming presence the next. A tornado in everyday life that’d become an ethereal calm whenever she’d step into her role as a ballerina. Fire and brimstone mixed with aching vulnerability.

An onion with multiple layers, and all of them would make you cry.

I pride myself on being able to read people in a few seconds—it makes me good at what I do and why I’m one of the most well liked CEOs in society.

But I can’t read her. And damn, does that annoy me.

Ian laughs next to me. “I see you like curry too.”

Chapter 16

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