Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I bent, the shoulder pads of the machine sliding with me.
“Roll up on demi-pointe,” Kenna instructed.
I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet, focusing on the articulation of my foot and stabilizing my ankles. Everything below my waist filed a complaint that I didn’t bother listening to. It was my second workout of the day, and after the full sessions I’d put in yesterday, my body was loudly reminding me how out of shape I was.
“Up to relevé,” she ordered.
My right ankle threatened to tremble, but I extended, straightening my legs as the jumpboard added resistance to simulate my weight. Sweat beaded on my forehead. “I kind of hate you right now,” I squeaked out.
“Blah blah. Lower back down.”
I slowly brought my heels to the board. “Feels like it’s going to wobble.”
Footsteps sounded toward the front of the studio, their rhythm telling me it was Anne.
“You’ve got to start trusting your body at some point.” Kenna stood, folding her arms across her chest. “Do it again.”
“Are you sure she should be up on relevé?” Anne’s brow furrowed as she reached Kenna’s side.
“I’m sure I’m the only doctor in the room,” Kenna countered.
“Don’t fight.” I separated myself from the pain and pushed through another repetition.
“It’s not a fight when I automatically win. Go again.” Kenna studied my ankle as I repeated the motion. “You look steady.”
“She’s in pain,” Anne protested.
“And? Name one time dancing didn’t bring you pain.” Kenna shifted to my right side and crouched as I did another rep. “I examined her yesterday morning, and again last night after working her out. She’s nowhere near a hundred percent, but she’s ready to start climbing. It’s been almost five months since surgery, and she’s done a great job of building back her calf muscles. She’s just short on confidence.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here.” I breathed through the next rep, and my phone buzzed on the gym mat to the right side of my head.
“You keep going and I’ll check the phone.” Kenna picked up the device as I pushed up to relevé. “Ooh, if it’s not the fourth text message from one Hudson Ellis since I got here.”
“What does it say?” Anne leaned in.
“Love being a spectator in my own life,” I muttered, lowering myself slowly.
“Then stop spectating and do something.” Kenna handed me the phone.
Hudson: Can we talk?
Hudson: Please?
Hudson: Did I mention that I’m sorry?
Those had all come in the last thirty-six hours.
Hudson: To clarify, the things I’m sorry for do not include kissing you.
Ugh. It would have been easier to ignore him if I didn’t relive that kiss every time I closed my damn eyes. I sighed and sat up, straddling the machine. “Let’s have lunch.”
We ate at the kitchen island, and I left the text messages unanswered since I didn’t know what to say.
“This is really good, Anne.” Kenna forked another piece of salmon on my right. “Thank you for cooking.”
“You’re welcome. It’s nice to be useful,” Anne answered from the left, stabbing her entrée. “And you know what? I’m not an enabler.”
I groaned and bent down to adjust my leg warmers since I had a feeling Kenna would put me at the barre after lunch.
“Still thinking about that one, are you?” Kenna said.
“She was dying in New York,” Anne fired back, leaning forward to look past me.
“Was she?” Kenna asked. “Or were you?”
My fork clanged against my plate.
“She’d do nothing but work out, ice her ankle, and sleep. Eva couldn’t get her to socialize, or even go to the studio for a little human interaction. So yes, I brought her to our beach house, where there’s a full gym with the same rehab equipment the Company has, a full ballet studio, and a fresh change of scenery. If you think that’s enabling, then fine.” Anne threw out her hands. “I’m an enabler.”
“Anne,” I lectured.
“And to think, you’ve always been the stable one,” Kenna muttered.
“But you and I both know I would do anything for Allie,” Anne continued. “Including leave Manhattan and juggle everything for the gala from here. And yes, I want her to recover, I want her back on the stage if that’s where she wants to be, but it’s far more important to me that she’s happy than if she’s a principal.” She sat back.
“Do I need to be here for this discussion?” I asked.
“All valid points,” Kenna agreed. “Still enabling. You’re a great sister, Anne. You’re just not a ballet instructor.”
“That, I can’t deny.” Anne sighed and went easier on the fish. “But Allie has outgrown Madeline’s,” she joked.
But Madeline’s couldn’t be the only studio out here. Not with the afternoon-only schedule she kept.
“Who else teaches around here?” I asked. “Not for me, just wondering which studios get invites for the Classic.” It was two months away.
“There’s a few.” Anne nodded. “Gerard’s, Winnie Waters, Quinn Hawkins—”