Page 21 of When We Break

“So now I just know who it was.” She shrugs and changes the subject. “Now, tell me about you and Beck.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“And what’s wrong withmybrother?”

An image of Beckett and his lust-filled eyes dropping down to my mouth fills my mind, and the zing zips down my spine, just as it’s done the previous million times I’ve thought of it.

“I don’t know him at all, but from what I can see, there’s nothing wrong with him.”

“I know himverywell,” she says. “And aside from being a little—and by a little, I mean a lot—alpha and bossy, he’s a catch. Then again, he has to be bossy because he owns the ranch, runs a dairy farm, and has guest cabins. It’s good he’s an expert in controlling things.”

I nod, taking that in. “A dairy farm, is it then?”

“Yep.”

“Does he get up and milk the cows while sitting on a stool in the wee hours of the morning?”

“No.” Bee laughs at that and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s a modern operation with milking equipment. But if that breaks down for any reason, he does do the milking by hand. Or he has his employees do it. He supplies Millie with all of her cow and goat milk for the coffee shop, and you can buy it, along with ice cream, cottage cheese, and sour cream at the local grocery stores.”

“That’s fascinating.” I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who owns a dairy farm. “No cheese?”

“Not enough cows for the cheese. And he’d need a bigger processing system.” Billie uncrosses and recrosses her legs. “Now, I won’t push Beck on you ever again. But he likes you.”

She winks at me, and my cheeks heat.

Because the truth of it is, I like him, too.

* * *

I need to dance. I have an hour before my first class for the afternoon, so with Riley on his bed by the door, I cue up my favorite music fromGiselleand begin stretching. Using the barre, I dip into a plié and sigh when my body loosens. The muscles take over as if they have a mind of their own. Pulling my leg up until I’m one smooth, vertical line, I point my toes and stand here for a few long seconds.

Lost to the music, I move, watching myself in the mirror. I need to raise my chin and straighten my left arm a little more.

I’m so out of practice.

Mik would be disgusted.

This is when he’d lift me, my arms would wrap around his shoulders, and our mouths would be just inches apart, as if in a lovers’ embrace. This dance is passionate and intimate.

Romantic.

No one in that audience would believe Mik didn’t love me with the fire of a thousand suns. He’s such a talented performer.

I can almost hear the applause from the audience, the gasp when he lifts me high, and then the emotion radiated back to us when the song ends, and we’re locked in an embrace.

I run the music back and do it again and again until I feel loose and my form is perfect. My feet don’t love the new blisters, but that’s part of the art of it.

For the next hour, I can get lost in this piece of myself that I love so much. I can pretend that I’m still a prima ballerina, that I live in New York and see Mik every day. I can eat at my favorite restaurants, and I don’t have a crazy man determined to keep me terror-stricken.

Everything is as it wasbefore, when I escape into the movement. God, I love it.

I jolt awake.

Something doesn’t feel right.

Is there someone in the flat? Connor’s in Milan.

I reach for my phone. “Oh, feck, where is it?”

---