Page 21 of Natasha
He gave a little bow. "Y'know how many pancakes I've gotten stuck to the ceiling learning that little move?"
Natasha laughed at the image. Thankfully, Silas kept all the pancakes where they belonged, and soon he was sliding a plate of food in front of her. "Eat," he said, handing her a set of silverware.
"I don't usually have a very big breakfast," Natasha confessed, eyeing the plate full of bacon and pancakes with a frown.
"Today, you will," Silas replied, pouring her a cup of coffee without missing a beat. "All of it, too."
Natasha pulled a face, but her first bite of pancake had her ready to agree with him. It was buttery, fluffy, and just the sort of thing she had been craving without knowing it. "This is delicious."
Silas looked pleased with her praise and took a seat across from her. "I don't like that I kept you out so late last night...especially with everything that happened with that jackass."
"It happens," Natasha replied around a mouthful of pancake and syrup.
"It shouldn't," Silas countered, cutting into his pancakes. He glared down at his plate and shook his head. "Everything that happened at the dance studio was out of line."
"Men like that are everywhere."
"I know." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his jaw. "And then what happened at the fight was the icing on the cake."
"I asked to go, you know," Natasha countered, eating another bite of pancake.
Silas blew out a breath. "I shouldn't have given in so easily."
"And why not?"
"That place wasn't your scene."
Natasha put her fork down. "What are you trying to say?"
"That you seem to have everything in your life organized very neatly, including where you go when you aren't teaching."
"Fine, I don't go out a lot. I practically live at the dance school, okay? It's, well, it's just less complicated that way." She tossed her hands up in frustration.
"You mean it's easier."
Natasha rolled her eyes at Silas but said nothing. Instead, she sipped her coffee silently and hated how right he was. After her run from the spotlight, losing herself to the dance school had been the most comfortable option. And yes, he was right, it had been the easiest option. Exiling herself to the dance school was so much more manageable than running the risk of seeing dancers or choreographers she'd known in her other life on the streets of New York.
"Maybe so," she said after a while.
Silas shrugged and took a bite of bacon. "It's fine for as long as you need to do it, but you can't hide here forever."
"Who says I'm hiding?"
Silas gave her an exasperated look, making her cheeks flush. "You were one of the most sought-after dancers in not just the city, but the world—youngest principal ballerina for the company you were with. You don't belong hidden away at your family's dance school, and we both know it," he said softly.
Natasha looked up at him in shock. "H-how did you know that?"
"My niece thinks you hung the moon. Don't think I haven't been thoroughly educated on your every move before ending up here." He gave her a wry grin.
"Oh, yes." Natasha looked down at her plate, suddenly not as hungry as she had once been. The ever-present look of adoration the students gave her, the impressed hums from the parents who were genuinely interested in ballet. Though it surprised them all, her place at the school was easily explained away by her more affluent grandmother.
"Three generations," the woman would begin with a shake of her head and then launch into a story from her time with the Bolshoi Ballet, and before long, her audience had forgotten all about how odd it was for Natasha to be there or the drama of her fall from fame.
Silas made a sound that didn't quite sound happy, but he said nothing more as they finished their breakfast. Soon, they were standing awkwardly near her front door. Natasha's eyes darted to the couch, and she blushed, remembering the previous night's events.
As if reading her mind, Silas touched her arm gently. "Is this all still okay with you?"
"What do you mean?"
