The Billionaire's Ballet: A Contemporary Billionaire Friends to Lovers Romance (Friends with Benefits) (10 page)

The curtains were tied back this time, and I watched the mansion recede. The carriage went the long way around, down the drive for service vehicles, past the stable and the catering trucks, and then across the grass to my mother’s house.

When we stopped, I picked up the box and waited for the door to open.

“Thank you,” I said to the driver.

He took off his jaunty leather cap and bowed.

Only when I was safely inside the house did I sit on my bed with the gift. Mother was long asleep.

I pulled the sparkling blue ribbon off the box. I didn’t miss the fact that it matched my dress, as if Quinn had waited to see me to have it wrapped.

When I lifted the lid, I had to smile. Inside, tucked in tissue paper, was a soft ballet slipper made of silver fabric so sheer that you could see right through it to the stitching. Beneath it was a note.

On the side facing up, it said, “I have your other slipper. We’ll have a proper fitting when the moment is right.”

I kicked off my heels and slid the ballet slipper onto my foot. It fit perfectly, flexible and strong despite being so delicate.

I picked up the note and turned it over. And sucked in a breath. On the back was a name I hadn’t expected.

Bennett.

Chapter 12

I had to know if Quinn was really gone. While passing the open gate the next afternoon, I spotted Amelia clearing dishes from a table on the back patio. I broke my self-imposed rule by marching right inside the wall.

She didn’t blink an eye at my intrusion. “Miss Juliet! How was your party last night?”

“Lovely. Did Quinn actually leave on the plane?”

“I believe so. Usually I would have seen him by now.”

“I see.” I sank down onto a patio chair.

“I saw your carriage,” she said as she stacked plates. “That Quinn is a rascal, isn’t he?”

I wasn’t sure if she meant a good rascal or a bad rascal. “It was quite the way to enter the party,” I said.

She loaded the plates onto a tray. “Keep your head on straight around that one. He’s a charmer for sure.”

“I will.” I hesitated. “Amelia?”

“Yes, child.”

“Does Quinn…work?”

She laughed a little. “If he does, I don’t know it. He’s always here, doing something. Tennis or swimming or tapping away on a computer.”

I seized on that. “Working from home, then?”

Amelia patted my shoulder. “Boys like Quinn do not need to work.”

“But Bennett does.”

She picked up the tray and balanced it on her hip. “Men like Bennett appreciate power. They do not easily enjoy the fruit of their labors.”

I realized I was keeping her and stood to press a kiss against her pillowy cheek. “Thank you.”

I hadn’t told anyone about the slipper. But when I woke up that morning, my thoughts were definitely more about Bennett than Quinn. I shook that memory off and hurried back through the gate and to the studio door.

It was unlocked.

Mom must be there.

The door opened with a soft click. Inside, music swelled, a waltz.

“You’re getting better than me,” my mother said. “Now sweep and turn and back to the step.” She counted out the timing.

I slid along the wall of the entrance where the boxes had once been piled. Then I peeked around the corner. Mom was dancing.

With Bennett.

He crossed the floor in long bold steps. Mom looked small and dainty in his arms, the ties to her head scarf fluttering behind her.

Bennett wasn’t casual, even on a Saturday afternoon. Pressed khakis and a button-down shirt. But a short-sleeved one. Probably his one concession to the weekend.

His arms were powerful, the arm muscles bulging when he turned Mom out and away from him. They were arresting, beautiful to watch. We must have looked like that last night. Until he spun me in the dress.

I remembered his hungry look and shivered all over again.

But with Mom, his expression was relaxed and easy.

The song came to its conclusion. Rather than hide, I stepped out and clapped, like Quinn had for me just the day before. “Lovely footwork!”

Mom pressed her hand to her chest. “I swear keeping me in shape like this is what’s kept the cancer in check.”

I swallowed at her mention of it. I could see she was tired. She said she would get better, as more time passed since her treatments.

“Why don’t you take Juliet around the floor a few times?” Mom said. “Give the old woman here a break.”

“You’re not old!” both Bennett and I said at the same time.

Then “Jinx!”

My face grew hot. I had always called jinx with Quinn, but obviously it was something he had also done with his brother.

“You can tell we grew up together,” Bennett said easily. Another waltz began. “May I have this dance?”

I set my toe shoes against the wall and kicked off the Crocs. I wasn’t in a leotard today, just fitted shorts and a tank. But Bennett’s hand on the small of my back was as hot and distracting as it had been the night before.

“Start with the basic step,” Mother said as we began. “And another.”

I moved with Bennett, learning the length of his stride, the angle of his body.

“Now outside roll,” Mom said, “Promenade.” She waited a few beats. “And back into the step.”

We returned to the one-two-three.
 

“Now again,” she said. “Outside roll, promenade.”

Bennett and I moved with more confidence now. I felt the power in his step like last night.

“And HAIR-pin-now, ONE-two-three, MOST-ly good, TRY-a-gain.” As the steps got trickier, Mom kept the count with her instructions.

We ran through the tricky hairpin syncopation and improved the second time.

“Now run her through what you know without my help,” Mom said.

Bennett pulled me a little closer. His step between my feet was sure and his turn swept me along. His arms held me in place as we circled the studio.

I began to relax into the dance and let him lead without concern that he would falter. The music was easy and light. I kept my head tilted away in ballroom fashion, so we didn’t make eye contact.

He spun me away and stepped through the move, picking me back up on the other side. He was good. But I knew that from last night.

“You get this from your dad?” I asked him.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I never saw him dance.”

“He did,” Mom said. “When your older sister, Estelle, was little.”

Both Bennett and I halted. “Really?” we both asked.

Then “Jinx.”

This time we both laughed.

Mom stood up from the chair with difficulty. I could tell her muscles had tensed up quickly after the hard work. She moved to the barre to stretch.

“What did he dance?” I asked.

“Everything. But he had a particular fondness for the cha-cha,” she said. She lowered carefully into a plié.

“Cha-cha?” I asked. That didn’t sound very Claremont.

“The faster, the better,” Mom said. “But he quit after the third Mrs. Claremont.”

“My mother,” Bennett said.

“Yes,” Mom said. “She fought harder than the previous ones about the pre-nup. Sold things to get a lawyer. Went to jail violating the protective orders. Gave him a lot of grief. He lost his interest in lighter pursuits.”

I turned to Bennett. “Do you talk to her now?”

“After what she cost the estate?” Bennett scoffed. “I’ve seen the ledgers.”

“She’s your mother!” I said.

“They all were mothers,” Bennett said. “And they sold their rights. They cared more about money than kids.”

“Not Carrie,” Mom said quietly. “She lost everything trying to get you.”

“She shouldn’t have signed the deal in the first place,” Bennett said.

His voice was angry and his expression hard. But I could see the boy underneath. The one who wanted his mother.

“So you’ve never contacted her?” I asked. “You brought Rose’s and Pearl’s mothers back.”

My mom shot me a look. I probably wasn’t supposed to mention that I knew.

But Bennett didn’t seem surprised. “Worthless, both of them. Did more harm than good.”

Mother shifted away from the barre and back to the sound system. “We’re losing our joy. I think a slow easy number would finish out this lesson beautifully,” she said.

Bennett’s face was still dark with anger. I wondered if anything could thaw that frozen heart of his.

The “Dreamcatcher Waltz” began. Mom could always pick just the right thing. After a piano introduction that brought to mind the tinkling of a music box, the violin wound a musical ribbon through the room, heart tugging, like a lonely child looking for his mother.

Bennett’s jaw tightened, but he took my hand and resumed the ballroom position. He swept us into the steps.

For long minutes, he played it simple, the box steps and easy turns. But as it went on, the intensity of the music worked its magic. He moved with its rhythms, sliding along the sorrowful chords and turning me into its aching refrains.

The room spun past my vision, a blur of light and mirrors. I saw us briefly in the reflections, two people whirling through the room.

By the time the song came to its longing conclusion, we were both breathing hard. When it ended, the room fell silent.

Mom had left us alone.

“You dance like the music was made for you,” Bennett said, his voice full of emotion.

“And you dance like you were made for music,” I said.

He let go of me and cleared his throat. “It’s a beautiful thing in its place.”

I rubbed my arms, feeling a chill now that I had left his embrace. “It surprised you to learn your father loved it too,” I said.

“We all know the family lore. The dancer my father loved. The baby who took her from him and died anyway.” Bennett shrugged. “I’m not my father.”

“Thank goodness,” I said. “He made a mess for all of you.”

Bennett’s eyes were hard as he stared straight at me. In that moment, I felt like business partners probably did when having to deal with him. Outsmarted. A little afraid.

Then he shook it off and straightened his already-impeccable shirt. His expression relaxed. “Thank you for the dance. Today and last night.”

“I would dance with you anytime,” I said. And I meant it. I worked with some of the most talented men in ballet, and I recognized a dancer’s heart when I saw it. Bennett had it, even as he tried to deny it.

“You are just as talented as your mother,” he said.

He watched me with eyes that made parts of me burn. I stepped to the barre to stretch, not wanting my muscles to get cold and tighten without a proper routine. And to escape him, just a little. He was so intense.

“I wish Mother could have gotten her chance on the stage,” I said. “I don’t think I’m as good as she could have been.”

“I for one am glad she ended up here.” His eyes caught mine in the mirror.

My throat tightened up again. I had to look away. I was here for Quinn. He would be back soon, maybe even later today. Surely tomorrow.

“She has taught you well,” I said. I laid my cheek against my knee, ankle on the barre, my face out to the room. Bennett still watched me.

That tendril of desire curled through me again. What was it about him? He could sear me with just a look.

“There’s an exhibit in a small art gallery that might interest you,” he said.

I lifted my head. “Really? Why?”

“It’s an artist who took the works of Degas, the ballerina paintings, and rendered them in iron.” Bennett moved to the barre, a few feet from me, and leaned against it.

I switched legs. “It does sound intriguing.”

“I can get us in,” he said. “If you’d like to see them.”

I lifted my head. Quinn might get home soon. I wanted to be here. “When?”

“Whatever fits in your schedule.”

I sat down to switch shoes. Bennett watched intently as I traded out the slippers and adjusted the toe shoes to my arch.

“When will Quinn be back?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. I stole a look at him via the mirror. His jaw was set tight, his hand jammed into a pocket of his khakis.

“I can’t spare the plane to fetch him until Tuesday,” he said with measured calm. “It was promised to an associate.”

“Oh.” I failed to keep the disappointment from my voice. “He won’t take a commercial airline?”

Bennett barked out a gruff laugh. “Hardly. He’s completely spoiled.”

The tension got thick again, so I continued to stretch on the floor. I pressed my forehead down and flexed my toes.

Bennett’s shadow crossed me as he approached. Then he sat beside me. His voice was much lighter and easier as he said, “I’m sorry if that is a sore subject. I’ll message Quinn and see if he would like a chartered flight. In the meantime, I’d love for you to come to the gallery tonight. Just as two people who appreciate dance.”

I lifted my head. His face was calm now. “As friends, then?” I asked.

His expression didn’t even flicker as he said, “Of course. I wouldn’t ask anything else of you.”

“All right, then. I’ll come. Will you be sending a carriage?” I grinned at him foolishly.

His eyebrows lifted. “Anything for the Claremont ballerina.”

I laughed. “Bring some big fancy car that will make me feel like a superstar.”

“As you wish.” He stood up. “Eight o’clock?”

“It’s a date,” I said. “Only it isn’t.”

Bennett nodded. “Fair enough.” He started to walk away then stopped. “Can you indulge me in one thing?”

My heart skipped, but I said, “What is that?”

“There’s that move — I have no idea what it is called.” He hesitated. “Where the male dancer sort of spins a ballerina around on one toe.”

I smiled. “I think I can manage that.” I stood up and headed over to the box of powdered rosin in the corner of the studio to make my shoes slip proof on the polished wood floor. “It’s called ‘attitude derrière’ and isn’t so difficult.”

“Now that’s a name,” Bennett said.

I flashed him a snide look. “There are a lot of funny ones in ballet.” I ran through a few warm-up movements to make sure my muscles were prepared for en pointe.

Then I extended my arm. “You take my hand and walk in a circle. I will follow.”

Bennett rose easily from the floor and held my fingers. “Like this?”