Home > The Dancer (Broken Slipper Trilogy #2)

The Dancer (Broken Slipper Trilogy #2)
Author: Vivian Wood

 

1

 

 

Kaia

 

 

Thirty one days.

Today marks precisely one month since Calum broke things off with me. I can still hear him, even now.

We are letting you go, Kaia. I won’t need your services anymore.

My services.

Which meant my body. My excitement. Even my virginity.

He was so cold and callous when he said it, so detached. It was as if I didn’t matter in the least.

Like I hadn’t laid against his chest, both of us fully naked, and listened to his heartbeat galloping frenetically.

Like we didn’t spend countless hours teasing, torturing, and tormenting each other with pleasure.

Like I never surrendered my virginity to him in the first place.

I swallow, tears pricking my eyes as I move through the afternoon heat. If I don’t hurry, I will be late. Even though I know that, I don’t move any faster. My hesitance about meeting up echoes around in my head as I stride onward.

I blow out a breath, turning my head to check my reflection in the mirror-like surface of the sleek downtown Manhattan skyscraper as I walk past. A stranger looks back at me.

Thin, blonde, wearing one of the little black dresses that Calum bought for me and oversized black sunglasses. She walks with grace, I would say.

But even as I toss my hair and look away, I know that I’m lacking. In what exactly, I can’t put my finger on.

Something that made Calum crumple me up and throw me away. I spent a week sobbing inconsolably, trying to parse out what exactly it was that made him end not only our agreement, but to terminate my employment with the New York Ballet. And after all that, all I know are the facts.

I’m not a ballerina anymore.

Not warming anyone’s bed.

Not a virgin, either.

I’m like a ship that has been cut free from its anchor, exploring the sea listlessly, unmanned and unmoored. In the mass of turmoil and uncertainty that have followed my firing, I only have one place to turn.

Acid sloshes around in the pit of my stomach at the thought.

The building that I am hurrying toward looms just ahead. I pull my sunglasses off as I open the doors. A sleek granite wall greets me, with a young woman standing behind an ultra-modern white hostess stand. She glances up, smiling pleasantly.

“Welcome to Feast. Do you have a reservation?”

I tuck my sunglasses in my handbag, nodding. “Walker.”

She bows. “Of course. If you will follow me…”

She leads me through a towering doorway into a very upscale restaurant. White linen tablecloths, luxurious black booths, a fancy bar that runs along the back wall. At this hour, the place is almost empty. But though I can’t yet see him, I can hear my father telling a story at full volume. His booming voice and bombastic style of speech are still very much intact.

I wince, steeling myself. The last time I saw my dad, he was fleeing out the back door of the theater. Running away from Calum, who I thought was actually going to kill him for laying a hand on me.

How long ago that seems now.

Following the hostess around a corner, I’m surprised to see my entire family sitting in a large circular booth. My mother sees me first, making a soft noise of pleasure. She gets up from her seat and opens her arms.

I gladly step into her embrace, hugging her hard. “Hey mom.”

She kisses me on the cheek. “Hello, Chickadee.” She pulls back, looking me up and down. “You look very grown up. And very thin.”

Her lips flatten a bit on the last word. She’s worried about me, as I suppose a mother should be.

I smile shyly, tucking a strand of my hair back. “You look good.”

Actually, there are shadows under her eyes that say she hasn’t slept well recently. But she’s still my beautiful mother. She gives me another hug and my heart squeezes against my chest.

“Serena!” my father bellows. “Christ, sit down, will you?”

She instantly moves away from me, obeying as she has for twenty years.

My sister Hazel and my dad are seated next to my mother. Hazel smirks at me, giving me a once over. She’s wearing a bright pink dress and looking like the cat that ate the canary.

My dad is dressed in his usual khakis and white polo, sprawled out in the booth with no regard for anyone else’s comfort.

“Dad. Hazel,” I greet them.

My dad looks at me, smiling coldly. “Kaia. Have a seat.”

He flicks his fingers toward the empty seat in the booth. I duck my head, swallowing as I do as he says. My mom sits down across from me, reaching across the table to take my hand.

“It’s so good to see you.”

Hazel rolls her eyes. “God, mom. You act like she’s your perfect little angel. You have blinders on where Kaia is concerned.”

Mom looks at her, her smile strained. “I think we’ve heard enough of your opinion, Hazel. Why don’t you go back to scrolling through your phone?”

Hazel shoots her a glare. Only a second later though, she does exactly that.

Dad adjusts himself against the black leather booth. “Did you bring me a check, Kaia?”

I flush. Of course that’s the first thing he’s interested in. Digging in my handbag, I pull out an envelope and slide it across the table to him.

He squints at me as he rips the envelope open. His eyes travel down to the dollar amount. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A jaw dropping amount of money, every penny that he asked for. He arches his brow and folds the check in half, putting it in his wallet.

I keep waiting for some kind of acknowledgement. Maybe even a thank you? After all, most daughters couldn’t come up with that kind of money.

Honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to either. But then Calum dumped me. And suddenly, I had nothing else to do with the money sitting in my bank account.

Dad looks at me skeptically for a half a minute. I squirm under his gaze.

“We should talk about you working out a payment plan,” he says at last.

My eyebrows fly up. “Excuse me?”

Hazel looks up from her phone, grinning at me. Dad ignores the sudden tension crackling from me, looking around the restaurant.

“Yeah, I’ve recalculated the costs of just what you owe me recently. You know, what with interest and balances accruing. I don’t want to fall into a trap where you disappear for a while and only come around when you can scrape together a little cash. I think it would be better to do something more frequent. Sunday dinners, you come over with ten thousand dollars every week. I mean, it’s only fair.”

My jaw drops. “Dad, you said that you owed three hundred thousand to the mob. I managed to get most of that money together at very great personal cost…” I pause, gulping. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to demand more!”

My sister raises her phone, snapping a picture of me. She giggles. “My friends are going to think it’s funny, watching you lose your shit.”

“Hazel, the adults are talking,” my mother sternly corrects her. “Another word and I’ll make you go wait in the car.”

Hazel sticks her tongue out at my mom. I’m too floored to pay attention to their bickering. All my focus is on my dad, who seems uninterested in the conversation. He’s busy trying to get some service.

He cups his hands to his face. “Waiter!”

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