Page 54 of When Hearts Awaken

My dick jumps in my pants and images from my lurid dreams pop into my mind.

Fuck.

“There, it’s done. It’ll fit better and we don’t need this plum appliqué to distract from your dance for the showcase.” Taylor sits up and tosses her supplies into a container on the side.

“If you’re sure,” Ainsley muses, her voice sounding doubtful.

“I went through the showcase at another academy when I was your age. If you do well, you may get a few more sponsors for scholarships. Tons of rich people like to take artists under their wings. It makes them feel important. They don’t really care about us.” She shakes her head in apparent distaste.

I frown. Is this what she thinks of the wealthy, of people like me? I know from Steven that she and Grace had a rough go in childhood before they were reunited with Linus. They lived in the Bronx and Grace worked multiple jobs so they could get by, but I didn’t know it was this bad.

“Men like you just know how to take what’s not yours. Because you know you can get away with it. You’re all one-dimensional. So how dare you lecture me on emotions!”

Her words from the Met Opera slip into my consciousness.

No. There’s something more to her hatred than being poor. Maybe it has something to do with the person who hurt her.

My hands tighten into fists as the fire I try to keep leashed inside me threatens to erupt.

What happened to you, Taylor?

Taylor grabs a glass of thick orange liquid that doesn’t look like orange juice and takes a sip.What on earth is she drinking?I wince as I watch her down the glass like she’s playing beer pong. She lets out a loud burp of satisfaction.

My lips twitch in amusement. She’s a walking contradiction. How is this woman one of the top ballerinas in the best ballet company in the nation?

Ainsley blanches. “Carrot juice—it’s revolting, Tay.”

“It’s the best thing on earth. Carrots. Soooo delicious.” Taylor grins, the smile transforming her entire face, and I blow out a breath. This woman has so many facets to her, I’ll never understand them all.

But damn, I want to read every fucking page of her soul and learn all her secrets.

Ainsley sighs. “Now we just have the backdrop to finish.” She motions to a large cardboard and paint supplies tucked away in a corner. “Maddy flaked on us today—I don’t know why. She was so worried about the showcase. She needs the scholarships the most, you know, with her mom being sick and on disability.”

“I thought I saw her earlier in the halls. She looked sad—did something happen?”

“I don’t know. For the past two weeks, she’s been moping around. I asked her if things were okay at home, if her mom’s fibromyalgia was getting worse. She picked up extra shifts at the bodega too. But she kept saying everything was fine,” Ainsley murmurs, her lips tipped in a frown.

Taylor sighs and looks out the window, appearing deep in thought. “I should check in on her. I know how tough it is to be in her situation.”

“But you’re on the other side now! An Anderson too!” Ainsley nudges her.

Taylor gives her a sad smile and shakes her head. “In some ways, things were happier back then—even though we didn’t have a lot.” Her lips tremble and she swallows, clearly overwrought.

I lean against the doorframe and clear my throat.

The girls startle. Ainsley beams and leaps to her feet, a small blush on her face. “Charles! What are you doing here?”

“I’m early for a meeting with Ian and thought I’d get some work done in here, but I heard you guys.” I look around the small alcove, completed with a few bean bags and a tiny circular window. “I didn’t even know this was here.”

“They said it was a hiding spot for the Underground Railroad during the Civil War,” Ainsley exclaims, her eyes bright. God, she reminds me of Firefly so much—the same bright energy, the same excitement about life.

“History buff, aren’t you?” I murmur, setting down my briefcase. I eye the dark-eyed minx who still hasn’t acknowledged my presence and is doing everything she can to not look at me.

Slowly, I approach the girls and take a seat near them, my back against the wall. Ainsley introduces me to her fellow dancers in the trainee program—Shelly and Tia.

“My sister loved history too. Her favorite time period was the Renaissance,” I murmur quietly and stare at the half-completed backdrop, half dusted in glitter and fake snow, no doubt a scene from the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. “And the Regency era,” I shake my head, memories of Firefly swarming in my mind, “and World War II. She had too many interests for her own good.”

“Was?” A soft question uttered on an exhale. Taylor finally looks at me, her brows pinching.

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