Page 11 of The Muse
I’ve seen plenty of men with no shirt on. With all the hours of rehearsals, it's been par for the course with the partners I've danced with over the years. But they've all been professionals. There was nothing past a platonic and cold appreciation for them as an artist in their own right.
Not with Foxton. He's a man—a real man. He isn’t sculpted from years of conditioning at the ballet barre and gym to look almost like a marble statue, all hard and unappealing. His chest and body are muscled and defined, but also warm. Alive. He's raw and physical and certainly not frightened of me in any way. Yet my reaction to him—his presence—is nothing I want.
As I head home, I keep my thoughts to myself, dazed and confused by this turn of events. But my mind is a traitor and replays our encounter blow for blow. By the time my driver pulls into the driveway, I’ve recreated every inch of the apartment I saw and every inch of our movements in my mind, as if in our own dance. And to my horror, I can picture the slant of his mouth, the sky-blue shade of his eyes, the haphazard fall of his scruffy hair and how it darkened at his temples with sweat.
“Miss Persephone?” Geoffrey politely interrupts my daydream as he waits with the door open for me to exit the car.
“I’m sorry.” I scoot out and make my way up the steps to the front door.
Vanishing to my bedroom before I can be interrogated, I fall down onto my bed. This is a disaster. Landon will surely question what I’ve done about the review—he won’t let it stand, and I was so sure I’d be able to resolve this. Instead, I’ve opened up something far worse—I’m attracted to a Foxton.
A Foxton.
Our families have always been bitter rivals, but my mind won’t let me forget what his words and actions sparked within me. No one has ever laid a hand on me the way Scott did, and there was nothing safe about how he placed his hands either. Instead of the fear I should have felt, I felt enraged and full of passion because of it. Worse than that, there was a heat that had nowhere to go. And even though it was only for a moment, his eyes spoke to me, and they didn’t echo the words he cut me down with.
The images of Scott Foxton’s bare chest and the heat of his eyes haunt me for the rest of the day, and because I have nothing else to consume my time, I dance. There’s no real need to practice anymore, considering my current employment status, but I feel like I need to expel some energy in one way or another, and thinking about Scott Foxton isn’t what I want to do.
~
“Good morning, Persephone,” my father greets without looking up from his paper.
“Good morning.” I take a seat at the other end of the dining table. Landon is also engrossed in the morning news, albeit on his tablet, and doesn’t even offer me a greeting. Frankly, there are so many similarities between them, it's scary. Although it does account for the fact that Landon always treats me like a child.
My father crinkles the paper loudly before finishing his tea and standing. “Your mother and I will be out of town for the next few days. Landon, I’ll be back before you head home, I believe, unless your plans change. We can toast the deal.” He gives Landon an expectant look.
“Sure, Father.”
“So, you won’t be coming to my recital?” I ask.
The torturous charity show to celebrate my career is looming on Thursday night. When my old ballet mistress proposed the idea, it seemed an ideal opportunity. In fact, it seemed perfect up until I danced Giselle for the final time and read the scathing words of Scott Foxton.
“Recital?” Father asks.
“The ballet is putting on an exhibition show for charity at the Lyceum. A showpiece of sorts as a mark of my success with them. You’ve been invited, and RSVP’d.” I give him a pointed look.
“Well, our plans have changed. I thought you’d already danced in your final show?”
“My final performance, yes. I don’t think you were there for that, either.”
I pour myself a cup of coffee from the silver coffee pot on the table as disappointment and irritation begin to niggle through me.
“I see. Well, we hope it’s more of a success than your last performance, given the review I had to digest in that rag of a paper.”
“Father. That’s being handled,” Landon interrupts, still barely raising his eyes from the screen.
“Good. See to it.”
Father leaves without a backwards glance, and from the other direction, a plate of fresh fruit is delivered in front of me.
“Oh, I’d love a proper breakfast this morning, please. All the good stuff?" I ask as brightly as I can manage. I smile at Sophie, who looks like she’s been caught doing something terrifyingly bad. I’m not surprised considering my request, but there has to be some perks to my retirement. And while I've had to eat to maintain my strength and muscle to perform to the standard expected, I've rarely indulged.
That’s all about to change.
Sophie turns away and all but runs towards the kitchen.
“So?” Landon starts.
“Excuse me?”
