Page 40 of Ward

“What if I don’t want to live somewhere else?” I lace my fingers together. “What if I don’t want to be free?”

Aidan’s gaze searches mine as his feet carry him closer to me.

“Do you want to stay here, Grace?”

I feel as if I’m standing on the edge of something, reaching for his hand and hoping he’ll jump with me.

“I want you to want me to stay,” I tell him.

He exhales, his posture relaxing. I close my eyes as he traces my jaw with the backs of his fingers, aching, burning for him to respond.

“I want you to stay, little one.”

My lips curve. I so enjoy being his little one.

“But,” he says, “if you’re going to live here, you’ll need a proper studio to dance in. There’s one close by that I hope you’ll find suitable.”

“Where is it?” One of the first things I did when I found out I was moving to Greenwich was Google nearby dance studios. To my disappointment, the closest one was an hour’s drive from Aidan’s house.

He motions for me to follow him out of the room. I trail behind him, curious.

We stop at a closed door at the end of the hall.

“Open it,” he says, and I do.

The first thing I notice are the bamboo floors. Then the mirrors covering the walls, and finally the barre at the center of the room.

My breath catches on its way into my chest.

“You did this for me?”

“A ballerina needs a place to practice,” he says.

Stunned speechless, I enter my new studio. The entire back wall is lined with windows, allowing natural light to pour across the butter-yellow floors.

Gratitude fills me like helium stretching a balloon. Aidan renovated an entire room in his house because he wants me to feel at home. I feel like I could float away as I run my hand over the barre.

“I’ve had Jen compile a list of potential private instructors for you both to interview,” Aidan says, joining me inside the room. “If there’s anything you’d like changed or customized, just let her know.”

My heart isn’t big enough to contain my appreciation. I throw my arms around Aidan as the tears begin to flow.

“Thank you, Sir,” I whisper.

I expect him to pat me gently and pull away, but he doesn’t. He inhales, breathing me into his lungs, as my tears sink into the fabric of his shirt. I take stock of his body and how solid he feels against me. How the top of my head rests perfectly under his chin.

This is the closest we’ve ever been to one another. I may have initiated the contact, but it’s Aidan who’s allowing it to persist.

“Why do I feel like everything is about to change again?” I whisper.

His lips brush my temple. “It already has, little one.”

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