Page 118 of Dance of Ruin

I sit, legs crossed, hands folded prettily in my lap, trying not to feel the sting of memories.

When I was little, he’d scoop me up in those strong arms, lifting me high in the air and twirling me around until I screamed with laughter. Mom would pretend to scold him from the hallway, her hair still pinned up from rehearsal, her voice filled with quiet joy.

Corinne Kim.

She was a dancer long before she was a politician’s wife. A wonderful one—trained at Juilliard, invited to join the Joffrey. And then she gave it all up for him.

Mom was the glue, and when she died, something cracked in both of us, though we never said it out loud. Without her, all Dad saw when he looked at me was a living, breathing grief he didn’t want to carry.

He lets the silence linger just long enough for me to squirm.

I don’t.

Leonard smiles again—smooth, practiced, like he always does during press junkets and donor brunches. The kind of smile that looks good in photos because it never wrinkles the corners of the eyes.

“Well,” he says casually, meticulously adjusting his cuffs. “I suppose I should say congratulations.”

My stomach clenches. “For?”

His brows lift, faux-surprised. “For becoming the media’s favorite mystery girlfriend du jour.”

There it is.

Straight to the point, now that the photo op has been secured.

He turns his water glass meditatively between his fingers. “Do you know how many calls I got this morning, Naomi? How many aides asking for statements? The level of damage control I had to implement?”

I keep my back straight, my face calm. “I didn’t realize your staff managed your daughter’s personal life.”

“They do when it’s on the front page of theNew York Globe,” he says, still smiling.

I swallow, eyeing him.

“You’re angry because of your reputation.”

“Do Ilookangry?”

“No, because the cameras are right outside. It’s not like I’veforgottenhow you operate, Dad,” I sigh.

“No, just your good sense,” he says tightly,stillsmiling for the fucking cameras. “You know, it wasn’t exactly on my schedule to fly to New York today.”

“So sorryto inconvenience you,” I hiss through clenched teeth, starting to stand.

Dad’s hand lands on forearm, just heavily enough to get my attention.

“Sit, Naomi.”

I glare at him.

“Please,” he adds.

I do.

“I supposed it also wasn’t on your schedule to call me back?” I fire back. “Text me? Even have someoneelsetext me pretending to be you?”

He draws a deep breath. “Naomi, it’s been a busy transitional period for me. You know how demanding something can be when you’re fully committed to it.” He directs a perfect, capped smile at me. “You have your dancing, I have my career, which…” He chuckles. “Feels a lot like dancing at times. Perhaps we’re more alike than we realize.”

Yeah, we’re not.

---