Page 61 of Just Not That Into Billionaires

But it’s not the best for sleeping.

I stand there, annoyed on her behalf, unsure what to do. She didn’t even choose the couch; she went for the small loveseat. She’ll feel like shit tomorrow.

Our wedding night all over again. Though unlike tonight, I was drunk, too—we were both lightweights back then, I guess. Unprepared for the tequila punch.

I’d kissed her that night—thoroughly and ravenously and over and over. And then again at the wedding ceremony; the moment they’d instructed us to kiss, we’d drunkenly and exuberantly obeyed. I had my wits about me enough to know we shouldn’t sleep together, though. Francine was eager to, but I wanted us clearheaded. It was important to me. The whole thing was important to me.

Not so much to her.

She remembered at least some of that night—a lot of the fun parts, from what it sounds like, and still she took off. Never looked back.

She shifts and a lock of hair falls over her cheekbone. Maybe this charade needs to end. I need to give her the papers and cut her loose.

The first time I ever saw Francine was in the season kickoff meeting to ‘Alejandro.’All the dancers and stagehands were gathered in the auditorium seats where the audience would normally sit, and the managers and directors took to the stage to go through the schedule and rules.

I noticed her right away. How could I not? She was the most beautiful woman there. The most beautiful woman in the world.

It didn’t occur to me to talk to her. She might as well have been another species. I was too blunt on a good day; self-conscious about every little movement. My awkwardness only got worse when I was excited about something; I’d come off intense, angular. Annoyed.

When I was interested in something, people thought I was glaring. They assumed I was annoyed when I wasn’t. Yes, I’d get annoyed from time to time. I’d get annoyed when people would act illogically or when they’d refuse to grasp the most obvious of things. I’d get annoyed when people made assumptions about my annoyance, an unfortunate feedback loop.

I was fine as a loner.

Until Francine.

She struck me as very nearly magical in the way that she breezed through rehearsals, nailing the choreography with minimal effort, drawing people into her enchanting sphere of charm.

At the same time, she had this curious quality of being outside of the herd, though it was impossible to put my finger on exactly how, because she was the center of attention. I slide my fingertips against each other, remembering the feel of her face.

I remind myself that a woman like her always has to be the center of attention wherever she goes, even if it’s two people in a limo.

Still I should move her. It would be best if she was in a bed.

I consider getting a blanket and a pillow, and then maybe sliding a pillow under her head. I stand there, vacillating intensely between being annoyed and concerned. Though when I’m honest with myself, my annoyance is mostly concern.

She shifts in the chair, frowns. Troubled. I really should bring her to the bed; she’ll feel shitty enough as it is tomorrow. She’d hate that she’s sleeping like this.

It’s here that I make my decision. Gently, I scoop her up, lifting her slowly into my arms and pulling her into my chest. I head silently across the living room and dining room, down past the river in nightscape, flashing here and there where spangles of waves catch the moon.

She’s light and warm in my arms; frail, even, though I know that she’s anything but. A dancer is an athlete with the explosive core strength of a wrestler.

The dancers came from different dance backgrounds and dance traditions; a few of them had come out of gymnastics and circus arts, but when they’d compare notes, it became clear that none of them had even an iota of the background and discipline that Francine had. Yet she acted like she was on perpetual vacation.

Francine was the girl who wanted to stay out the latest, to have the most fun, to eat the most decadent foods, to date the flashiest guys. It baffled me because getting to her level of ability took extreme practice—I was a manically dedicated person myself, and knew another maniacally dedicated person when I saw her.

I head down the hall, walking smoothly, taking care not to let her feet brush the walls.

We were all forced to dine together after shows and rehearsals—some weeks even with assigned seating. Those in charge thought it would inspire camaraderie between the dancers, the stagehands, and tech crew. I found these meals to be a torment and an exercise in delineating just how acutely I didn’t belong, but at least I came to understand a lot about dancers in general, and Francine in particular.

She started dance at three, and by ten years old, she was boarding at an elite academy, hundreds of miles from her home on the plains, putting in ten-hour days of workouts and stretching and drills and dances. There were strict dietary regimens, lots of yoga and physical therapy, magnesium baths for her muscles. When her day was over, she’d drag herself up the ladder to the bunk bed she shared with another dancer who was also far from home, and start her school studies.

I settle her into her bed and go in search of a warmer blanket than what she has. I don’t know where anything is. Why should I? I never have guests. I try the linen closet, but it’s just sheets. I send Mac a text and wait alone in the silence of my hallway.

The almost monk-like nature of her preteen and teen years became even clearer to me when I realized how unfamiliar she was with the workings of a normal high school; she’d never snuck out of the house, she’d never gone to a party or football game or a music festival. I hadn’t either, but it wasn’t surprising in my case. Francine would’ve loved those things.

In the world, but apart from it. Like a fairy tale creature.

The night we were married we told each other everything. Francine confessed how shut out from her peers she felt, like an alien from outer space. And being the youngest of a large rural family, her parents and siblings treated her as the permanent baby. Nobody believed she could hack the dance world. People didn’t think she had grit.

---