Page 11 of Stick to the Deal (Friendship Springs Romance #3)

Black Swan

I check the time on my phone yet again. She’s cutting it a bit close, isn’t she? We really must be heading into town for the ballet.

Despite the ice pick width of my heels, my steps eat up the distance of the entryway. The white kitchen doors swing open as I push through to find our housekeeper and cook, Gloria, kneading dough. How many times did I rush in here after school to the same sight?

“Hey Glo, where is Grandmama? We’re going to be late.”

The older woman smiles as she wipes her brow with the back of her hand.

Her wiry curls are more gray than black these days, and her apron is looking tattered.

The smile on her face is exactly how I remember, though perhaps also a bit worn.

“Oh, honey, she didn’t tell you? Madam’s taken to bed.

I think she overdid it a tad this week. You should go on without her. ”

My brows pinch as I frown. “Is she alright?” Grandmama has always been a force of nature. When did she start slowing down? “Maybe I should stay and call for a doctor?”

Gloria waves me off. “Don’t you dare. She’d want you to still go. You’ve always loved the ballet.”

“Well, if you’re certain.” I had been looking forward to this all week.

The tickets are paid for, it would be a shame to waste them.

Leaning in, I plant a kiss on her pillow-soft cheek, the skin softer than velvet.

My fingers lash out and steal a piece of pie dough as I dance back towards the door and away from her weak censure.

“Make sure you bring her up dinner and some tea. Thanks, Glo.”

As I fold myself into the waiting town car, I replay our arrival home last night in my mind. Was Grandmama off even then?

The ride back had been silent, other than a muttered comment about letting anyone out in society these days.

In the foyer, Grandmama had stopped, one pump resting on the bottom stair and her gem encrusted hand on the railing.

Her eyes were clouded as she turned back to me over her shoulder.

“Thank you for attending tonight. I hope the company wasn’t overly rude,” she’d said.

It had struck me as odd. In the nearly two decades I’ve danced to my grandmother’s tune, I’ve never heard her apologize for her friends.

Not when they cast aspersions on my father’s background.

Or when they told her to ship me off to boarding school while calling her a saint for taking responsibility for my mother’s mistakes.

No, I’m much more used to being humiliated by her circle and then lectured for not apologizing for existing.

A warmth spread in my chest as I noted true concern in the lines of her face. “It was quite alright, Grandmama,” I’d said. “Only a couple of uncomfortable moments. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” I smiled, and she gave a start. Shaking her head, Grandmama made her way gingerly up the stairs.

Was it too slowly? Maybe it’s time she slowed down, did less of these events. God help whoever tells Vivienne Atherton that!

Before I can worry too much, the car stops and I alight outside the Royal Opera House. A crowd still mills in the lobby, so I mustn’t be overly late. Thank god.

I was only ten when I came to live with my grandmother.

In a moment, my entire life changed. I was suddenly thrown into a strange new world of expectations and rules.

Grandmama threw me into different activities to mold me into a young lady of her design.

The dance lessons were the only ones I didn’t hate.

I was much too tall and started much too late to have a serious chance at professional ballet, but I still love the art form.

A hard impact hits my shoulder, knocking me off balance.

I pitch forward and my heel slips. Why did I have to insist on wearing these toothpicks?

Just as I’m convinced I’m about to eat it on the Royal Opera House floor, strong fingers grip my elbow and pull me back upright.

Sandalwood tickles my nose and my heart rate, which had slowed, kicks up again .

“Careful there. Someone might think you’re stalking me.” Gray eyes twinkle in an otherwise placid face.

“Three times in one week? Seriously, how had we never met before?”

Reginald leans in and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Probably because we both avoid these things.”

“Speak for yourself. I never avoid the ballet.”

He briefly scans the surrounding area. “Flying solo, today? Or is someone going to smack me for monopolizing your time?”

“No, you are safe from smacking. Grandmama stood me up.” A pang of worry twists my stomach.

“You should come sit in my family’s box, then.”

“Truly, it’s alright.” I go to step away, but my arm is still firmly in his grasp.

“You just told me you are all by yourself. What kind of gentleman would I be if I abandoned you as well?” His hand releases my elbow and I feel cold. The warmth of his hand returns to my back as he herds me towards the stairs.

The idea of sitting with him is preferable to sitting alone, but the whispers around me are rising. I so do not need a scandal right now. “Bancroft, thank you, but I don’t need rescuing.”

“Then you can rescue me from a boring evening with my family.” His hand caresses my back and I realize I’ve tensed. “They don’t bite, but they’re certainly not as amusing as you.” His breath tickles my ear as he leans in. “You were going to have to meet them, eventually.”

Despite the murmurs that follow us, I relax in Reginald’s company. He’s looking especially handsome in a black tux. It must be the confidence. Head held high, he navigates the crowds without a care.

In the box, a stately blond woman I can only assume is his mother, already sits. “Reginald, it’s about time. What kept you?”

His hand presses more firmly into my back and I lean into it.

“Mother, may I introduce Nicolette Kato-Atherton?” She turns with a gasp as she eyes me from head to toe.

“Nic, my mother, Penelope Bancroft, the Countess of Silverbrook.” There is something familiar about her, but I can’t quite put my finger on what.

I’ve probably seen her before at one of the countless events I’ve attended with Grandmama over the years.

A younger man stands from the seat next to her. His blue eyes perform a similar perusal of my body. “Well, she’s certainly not your usual type. ”

“Monty. People are watching.” Countess Silverbrook’s tone is lacking any real censure, and Monty’s smile grows.

Reginald’s hand turns to steel at my back. “Please excuse my brother.”

Brother?

I study the man again. He’s slightly taller than Reginald, but narrower in the shoulders. Sandy hair sweeps in a perfect wave from his face. There is something similar about the clean-shaven jaw, but where Reginald is sharp lines, his brother is soft edges.

I much prefer the Bancroft brother I got.

The house lights dim, saving me from any further discussion.

Reginald guides me to the chair by his mother and sits on my other side.

The curtain rises and I am immediately transfixed as the dancers weave their tale.

Meddling guardians forcing a marriage. Maidens compelled to transform themselves at the whim of a man.

The prince throws down his crossbow and the lovers embrace before the swan princess is drawn away by her curse.

I am still applauding when Reginald leans into me. “You truly do love this, don’t you?”

I glance around to realize his mother and brother have slipped out already for intermission. “Yes. There was a lot I hated when I moved here, but the ballet was something new I loved.”

“The glitter used to delight me. It felt like a portal to a world from my books. Too late, I learned shards of glass glitter just as well as diamonds.” His hand clenches into a fist on the thigh by me. “I’m sorry there wasn’t more you loved about this world.”

There’s something haunted about his eyes as he stares at the curtain. Touched that he let me see this facet of him, unsure if he even realizes it, I rest my hand on his and squeeze slightly. His hand unfurls and twists in mine, entwining our fingers as our eyes meet.

“I was a grieving child, Ren. It was always going to be a big adjustment.” I lean forward and he mirrors my motion, meeting me halfway. “Boarding school brought its own fun. As does access to top designers. It’s not all bad. The money has its perks, but it comes with…”

“Strings,” he finishes for me. His eyes are so clear in that moment, a swirl of hope and frustration passes through them. “Nic, I…”

“Come now, Reginald, are you going to hog the lady all night? You haven’t even introduced us properly.

” My future brother-in-law claims his mother’s chair, grabbing my free hand in a farce of good manners.

“Montague, but you can call me Monty, Nicolette. Might I say, beauty like yours is wasted on my brother.” His lips brush my knuckles, making my skin crawl.

I know Monty’s type a mile away. Entitled, spoiled snots who never worked a day in their life or heard the word no. He thinks he’s a gift to women and they should line up for the honor of sucking his dick.

Basically, exactly the sort I asked Reginald to weed out of my matches.

My lips tilt up in a sensual smile. It’s practiced, but he’s too dumb to see the artifice as his eyes darken with interest. “I don’t know about that, Mr. Bancroft.

I find Reginald’s darker coloring more suited to my own.

We make quite the pair, don’t we, darling?

” The back of my hand glides over my chiffon skirts, removing any traces of Monty’s touch.

My face and body shift closer to Reginald, effectively cutting his brother out.

Satisfaction burns in his eyes as he captures the hand I ripped from his brother’s clasp.

Reginald’s thumb wipes over the offended spot, sending tingles rippling up my arm.

He lifts the hand and my breath catches, inspiring a wolfish smile on his lips just before they brush my skin.

The entire interaction is wholly different from the similar one mere moments ago.

“I trust your judgment, darling. You are the professional.”

“Professional?” Montague butts in.

“As a sought-after photographer, Nic’s eye for composition and color is unrivaled.” My eyes dip to his lips as he speaks, Monty all but forgotten beside me. Their mother slips back into the box as the lights dim for act three. Reginald’s fingers remain wrapped around mine.

On the stage, the ballroom scene plays out. The black swan enters and like the young prince of the tale, I have eyes only for her. The character Odile is painted as a villain, but I’ve always pitied her.

When your father is an evil, power-hungry sorcerer, what choices do you actually have in life? Better to just go with the flow.

The curtain sets again as the hero rushes off, realizing he proposed to the wrong girl.

“I’ve never liked this story. So depressing.” Monty leans back in his chair.

“I think the lot of them are stupid.” My eyes snap to Reginald as he speaks. “What idiot can’t tell his own supposed love apart from a stranger?”

“Well,” I start, “I think there was a magic spell involved. Plus, the black swan seduces him with her dance. ”

Dark brows furl over Reginald’s eyes. “I don’t care if they were identical. If his feelings were so true, he should have known instantly that poor scared girl wasn’t Odette.”

“Scared girl?” Monty scoffs. “Odile is the original femme fatale, brother.”

“You don’t see Odile as the villain?” I ask Reginald, ignoring his brother.

“No, Rothbart is the only villain. Odile is another victim, denied a full life just like Odette but without even a Prince Charming for hope.”

I smile, his words so like my own thoughts.

“How well can you get to know someone in a day, though?” Monty shatters the moment, continuing as if our side-bar didn’t occur. “That should be the moral. Don’t marry a man you just met.”

Reginald stiffens, perhaps the remarks hitting a little too close to home with our own situation.

I squeeze his hand, still holding mine. “You’d be surprised. You can see an entire person in a moment if you really look.” Monty turns to his mother to start a conversation, and Reginald and I sit silently, smiling at each other until the final act begins.