Page 56 of Hunter

“The best way to improve your skills is to practice.” He likes my reply, and I’m treated to another kiss. “Perhaps I need more endurance training.” Greedy fingers drop to my ass and squeeze.

“I would be delighted to be your personal trainer in that department.”

“Offer accepted.” This time, I pull him down to me, sliding my fingers into his perfectly set hair, tied up out of the way. “Speaking of personal training, I’m planning to go to a Zumba class today. I haven’t been for weeks, and well, my trainer is refusing to return after your little…” I trail off, unsure how to describe the insane moment he threatened to kill the man helping me stretch in the middle of the living room.

“Since I protected my wife from dirty, unwelcome hands?” he suggests.

“If it makes you feel better, we can go with that excuse.”

“Can I come watch you at your dance class?” he asks, his eyes shimmering a little. “I would love to see this ass jiggle. It is the most jiggly ass I’ve ever known. Though I can’t promise I will control myself.”

“It’s women only.”

“Shame. Maybe you can give me a private performance later?”

“If you’re a good boy, that could be arranged.”

As I step through the doors of the dance studio, it hits me that I haven’t been here since my altercation with Hunter two months ago. How quickly life can change when you least expect it to. The realization is both exciting and unsettling. I am proud of myself for having the ability to adapt, but also nervous that I am treading off the course to a new life I so carefully planned.

The familiar Latino beat of the music fills the air, and I feel my feet quicken in its direction. My body is desperate to blow off some steam the only way I know how, by throwing myself into dance and losing myself in song.

Rows of ladies in neon Lycra fill the studio; I toss my matching jacket next to my water bottle and take my position. Surprisingly, no one has stolen my space. Classes such as these are strange places, each person having their dedicated zone on the floor. There’s an unspoken rule not to move out of your area.

I’m acknowledged with a few curt nods and smiles, but no one makes a move to greet me. It shouldn’t really be a shock; I don’t have any friends here. Lots of the women socialize together, but most wear two faces with pride. I can’t trust anyone.

Eventually, Zara plays the opening song, the one that’s used to signal the beginning of each class. The murmurs of conversations that were taking place die away, and we follow her moves religiously. This time, however, Zumba doesn’t provide the escapism it normally does. My mind races with the plans I had, and the life I am living now.

In two months, I’ve all but given up my dream of leaving London. I’m living with the man who I ran from, and he’s actively wanting to start a family. Our arrangement of my compliance as his wife in exchange for his signature on the divorce papers seems to fade away more each day. It’s the perfect contradiction to what I was originally looking for.

Asking Hunter for a divorce was me asserting my independence once and for all. However, I’ve found that having someone to rely on is more fulfilling than being on my own. But my love for him doesn’t change my ambition to be myself.

I continue to dance, my arms and legs moving without much thought. Even after so much time away from the studio, I naturally remember the moves. My body is here in this class, but my mind is much further away, caught somewhere between my old plans and my new hope. It’s like a tug of war within my own psyche. I want the safety net of love without losing the excitement of my own independence I’ve been slowly finding these past few years.

Hunter offers me everything I once thought I could never have. Consistent affection, a partner, someone to rely on until one of us doesn’t walk this earth. He offers a future full of promise that, three months ago, I never risked dreaming was possible. But there’s still that small whisper warning me not to rely on someone else for my own happiness. Not to give up on my dreams because I’ve found comfort. Is that not just settling? Something I promised myself I would never do?

The music ends. Zara catches my eye, her mouth twisting into an amused smile before skipping to the next track. I find myself scowling back at her—she’s probably surprised I showed up at all today. No doubt, my monthly fees had become the gold of a fitness establishment, someone who spends but never attends.

As the beat begins once again, I stop to catch my breath, scolding myself for the drop in my fitness levels that not being focused on my goals these past weeks has created. Not wanting to be out done by the women around me, I straighten my shoulders, close my eyes, and will my feet to move to the music. This track is one of my favorites, and I am damn sure I’ll enjoy every last step.

Eventually, after sweating the last of the water from my body, the class comes to an end. We all head through to the changing area to gather our belongings, a gaggle of women attempting to push through the narrow doorway as one. Gossip spills from each person’s lips, and I silently listen on, smiling to myself at the mundane things they find interesting. I’m not sure I could hold a conversation long enough regarding someone’s choice of garden fountain to fake caring. To my ears, most of it is mindless drivel.

After snaking through the bodies, not in any hurry to go anywhere, I step outside into the cold winter air. London is beautiful in the festive season, filled with sparkling lights and Christmas songs. Ronan is waiting patiently for me at the entrance of the studio. He smiles and nods, but we’ve lost the sense of familiarity that used to be there. My relationship with Ronan is one thing that has suffered since Hunter’s re-entry into my life, and it is a loss I feel deeply.

“Good morning, Miss,” he says, passing me my phone. “Mr. Devane called. He asked you phone him immediately.”

“What for?” Ronan shrugs, obviously not having been privy to that information. So, resigned to going in blind, I dial Hunter’s number.

“Hello, Bella,” he answers, his voice silk.

“What is so urgent I had to call you? I’ll be home in ten minutes.”

“Ah, I like that. Home. That word, so simple but means so much. You think of this as your home with me. That is music to my ears”

“Sappy idiot,” I mutter, and he laughs. The man who has been brooding and concerned these past few days receding for the moment. “What do you want?”

“It isn’t what I want, but more so what I need. I’m in need of your womanly ways. Tilly is on her way here, and I’m not her favorite person, I would imagine. Would you be able to spend some time with her?”

That request was not what I was expecting, but it’s one I’m certainly willing to accept. I have heard a lot about the feisty Tilly Devane these past few days. I’m keen to put a face to the name and press her a little as to why she ran. After coming from the same style of family, I can understand how having your life mapped out can grate on your need for independence. I have a feeling I’ll be meeting a younger version of myself later today.

---