“You’re pretty good at this.” She laughed. “Maybe we should go into business together, ripping off strangers with fake drink fortunes.”
She placed the cup on the table again and looked at him, her mouth open as if she was about to say something. Before she could, he cut her off, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Dance for me.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“I want to see you dance.” He swallowed against the dryness of his throat. “Do you have any of your old ballet costumes here?”
Shadows and clouds danced across her face. “Yes.”
“Put one on. Put on one of your CDs. I want to see you dance ballet again, Ellie.”
He didn’t know where any of it came from, just that he needed to watch her dance. What she did at the club was appealing to the eye—among other things—but it wasn’t Ellie. She was elegant, graceful as a swan, agile as a gymnast. It had come out of left field, but he suddenly knew he couldn’t leave without watching her be a ballerina again.
“I can’t.”
She rose from the sofa and walked across the room, pausing in front of one of the bookshelves. Aimlessly running her fingers over the spines of the hard covers, she let out a shaky breath, her back to him.
He stood up and approached her. “Why not? Don’t you want to dance again? You love ballet, you always have.”
Her lips tightened in a firm line, her jaw tense. “I still do, Luke.”
“Then dance for me.”
“I can’t.”
He took a step toward the CD rack and pulled out the first case he saw. “Come on, Elenore. Here, Swan Lake. Just one song.” He held out the CD.
She stared at the disk as if it were a bomb. Breathing deeply, her chest contracting, her blue eyes darkening to cobalt. Then, to his shock, she grabbed the CD and threw it across the room. The case shattered against the wall, breaking apart then falling to the hardwood floor. A dull silence descended over the room, save for Ellie’s ragged breathing.
Her eyes were wild, angry, and all he could do was stare at her in utter disbelief.
“Get out, Luke.”
The sharpness of her voice shocked him. “I’m sorry I asked you to dance. I didn’t think it would be a—”
“I can’t!” She nearly roared at him, her brown hair flying in all directions as she stalked past him. She began to pace, quickly, desperately, while her dress swirled like a tornado over her thighs. “Don’t you get it? I physically can’t.”
He’d never seen her look this volatile. He watched as she stopped pacing and stood there shaking in front of him. Her hands balled into fists, her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. And all he could say was, “What?”
“My foot, Luke.” She looked at him as if he was a complete imbecile. “Remember the foot I broke in the accident?”
“But it healed.”
“Healed, yeah.” She gave a harsh laugh. “But it’ll never be strong enough again. You know that thing we ballerinas do, standing on our tiptoes and fluttering around? That’s called en pointe. And I can’t do it anymore. I can’t dance ballet. So if you think I’m going to put on a tutu and lunge across the room in graceful pirouettes, you’re a fool.”
She finished with a long, trembling breath. Slowly, she uncurled her fists, her fingers falling limply, hands dangling beside her hips. Shock filled his entire body as her revelation swarmed his brain like an army of bees. She couldn’t dance? Like the pieces of a puzzle fitting together, he understood. That’s why she’d left the ballet company. Not because she didn’t want to be there. But because she couldn’t.
The pain in her eyes cut him to the core. The spark in there had burned out, leaving deep blue pools laced with sorrow and…shame? Staring into her pain-filled face, his heart squeezed and ached. He knew how important dancing was to her. Since she was a kid, all she’d talked about was how she would be a prima ballerina someday. He imagined her devastation at learning that could never happen, and suddenly felt like a complete jerk for what he’d done.
Dance for me.
I can’t.
“Ellie, I’m sorry.”
When she didn’t answer, he walked toward her, eliminating the distance between them. Her cheeks were red, flushed from her outburst, and he could feel the heat emanating from her body. Stepping even closer, he cupped her face with his hands, ignoring the way her eyes widened again.
“Is that why you left San Francisco?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“You should’ve told me. You should’ve told Josh.”
She shrugged his hands from her face. “What would that have achieved?”
“We could have helped you.”
“How?” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Can you fix my foot? Make it all better? Amazing, because I went to three physical therapists who couldn’t do a damn thing for me.”
His nostrils flared. He didn’t like the way she was talking to him. Cold, sarcastic, as if she’d given up, as if not being able to dance implied her life was over.
“So please, don’t patronize me.” She huffed out a breath. “In fact, just go. I want you to leave.”