Page 9 of You Rock My World

JOSIE

September—Present Time

After leaving Dorian’s house, I swing by my niece’s dance studio to pick her up from ballet.

As I pull into the sun-drenched parking lot, my brain whirls with the tsunami of revelations it has received today.

I’m drowning in an ocean of Dorian’s secrets—the divorce, the long separation, everything he couldn’t tell me in the elevator.

I step out into the cloudless warmth, grateful for the contrast to the storm raging in my head as I join the gaggle of parents milling about the studio entrance.

Five minutes later, the doors burst open, and a pink hurricane barrels toward me.

Penny bolts past the other kids, her ballet bag flailing behind her.

I crouch down just in time to catch her as she flings herself into my arms with the force of a tiny cannonball.

“Auntie JoJo,” she squeals, nearly knocking me off balance. Her sweaty hair clings to her forehead, her smile unstoppable.

I hug her tight. “Hey, twinkle toes. How was class?”

“My feet hurt.” Penny slumps against my shoulder. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, same. It’s been a day.”

She frowns. “It’s always a day. The Earth spins, and the sun comes up every morning. That’s how days work.”

I laugh, grab her bag, and ruffle her hair as we head to the car. Once she’s buckled in, I ask, “Alright, little astronomer, what do you want for dinner?”

“French fries and a milkshake.”

“A true ballerina’s menu.” I raise a brow. “Wouldn’t you prefer something mysterious, like julienne carrots?”

Penny winces. “Nope. I want ketchup.”

I kiss her forehead and slide into the driver’s seat.

“Fine, but we need to include something green or your mom will fire me from auntie duty.”

Penny perks up. “We can buy a bag of M&M’s and I’ll eat all the green ones.”

I can’t argue with that logic.

* * *

I strike a dinner deal with Penny for mac and cheese but with the addition of a handful of peas to hit the green quota.

We eat at my sister’s place, a peach stucco complex with sun-bleached, peeling walls, a central courtyard, wrought-iron balconies dressed in potted plants, and an aggressively chlorinated pool.

Over dinner, Penny fills me in on the latest ballet drama involving casting wars for the Christmas recital.

Penny launches into a tirade about how all the other girls are fighting over who will get to be Clara in The Nutcracker .

“I’m not interested in Clara,” she declares between bites.

“She’s boring. I want to be the Mouse King. ”

I grin, spearing a handful of macaroni. “The Mouse King is pretty fierce. Do you have the evil laugh for it?”

Penny drops her fork and leans forward, scrunching her face into what she clearly thinks is pure villainy, cackling wildly. I pretend to be terrified, clutching my chest and gasping. “Okay, okay, you were born for the role.”

After dinner, the bedtime routine is a familiar rhythm: bath, brushing tiny teeth, untangling Penny’s hair, and wrangling her into her favorite princess pajamas, complete with a tulle skirt that she insists on twirling in before bed.

Penny climbs into bed, grabbing her favorite bunny plush toy, her eyes already heavy with sleep.

“Alright, sweetheart, what story are we reading tonight?” I ask, smoothing the blanket over her and tucking it around her shoulders. I expect her to grab one of her usual picks—a fairy tale or that book about the dog who loses his sock.

But Penny shakes her head, her curls bouncing against the pillow. “No books. Invent a story, Aunt JoJo, with a dragon.”

I arch an eyebrow, sitting on her bed. “A dragon?”

She giggles, clutching her stuffed bunny. “Yes, you’re good at telling stories.”

“Fine.” I sigh as I relax against the headboard.

“Once upon a time, a beautiful princess lived in a castle perched high on a mountain with tall spires that pierced the clouds, surrounded by a forest that whispered secrets in the wind. Her father was the king, and her evil stepmother, the queen. The princess was young and beautiful and also in love.”

“With who?” Penny interrupts, her eyes wide and curious. “A prince?”

“No, she loved the court minstrel. He sang with the most melodious voice, and even if she’d never seen him, she’d fallen for him just from hearing his songs. But that love was forbidden.”

“Why?”

I tap her nose. “Well, the minstrel wasn’t a noble, and he was already married to the candy maker’s daughter.”

“But who did the minstrel love, the princess or the other woman?”

“At first,” I say, smoothing the quilt over her legs again, “he loved his wife. But in time, she turned out not to be the woman he desired to spend his life with.”

“Why not?” Penny is incredulous, like she can’t believe such betrayals exist.

“She only wanted to eat candy and party,” I explain with a shrug, “and the minstrel grew tired of it. But they were still married, so he couldn’t leave her.

Then, one day, he got trapped by accident in a cellar with the princess.

He’d never laid eyes on her because the queen was an envious woman and never allowed the princess to attend the court banquets.

But the moment he saw her, it was love at first sight.

The princess already loved his music, which she listened to hidden on a grand stairwell at every celebration, and now she loved him too. ”

“Did they kiss in the cellar, Auntie?” Penny holds her bunny up as if the plush toy were as invested in this drama as she is.

I grin. “No, because the minstrel was an honest man, and he was faithful to his wife. But he sang for the princess, keeping her calm and making her feel safe until they were rescued.”

“They never get together?” My niece pouts, her bottom lip sticking out in a way that makes me laugh.

“Patience, my darling. After many days of lovesick stolen glances between the princess and the minstrel, a terrible tragedy happened. A fearsome dragon flew over the kingdom while the folks were out in the streets celebrating. He glided low over the crowd, opened his terrifying jaws, and devoured the candy maker’s daughter in a single bite. ”

Penny gasps, clutching her bunny like it might be next. “Why her?”

“Because with all the candy she ate, she was the sweetest of the realm, and the dragon had a fine sense of smell.”

My niece’s eyes narrow on me, suspicious now. “Are you just trying to tell me I should eat less candy?”

“You’re too smart for me, little bug,” I admit, ruffling her curls. “But you already know too much candy is bad for you.”

“Finish the story, Auntie,” she demands, her voice serious now. “Was the minstrel sad his wife was eaten?”

“Of course he was. While he no longer wanted to be married to her, he would’ve never wished for her to be wolfed down by a dragon.”

“But now he’s free to be with the princess.” Penny’s tone lifts with hope, and I feel sorry for what I’m about to say.

“No, he’s not. Because the evil queen, Nadine, discovered their secret love and threatened to banish the minstrel from the court forever if he and the princess were caught together.”

“But why?”

“The queen was envious. The king was an old man, hunched and shriveled, while the minstrel not only had the voice of an angel but was also the most handsome young man in the kingdom.”

“How did he look?” Penny asks, suppressing a yawn.

“He was tall and had dark hair the color of a raven’s feathers.”

“He sounds very handsome,” Penny comments through another yawn.

“He was.” I close my eyes, picturing Dorian’s face as I caress Penny’s hair backward.

“He had the face of a prince—a jawline as sharp as the edge of a sword. His nose was strong and straight, and his cheekbones could’ve been carved by the most talented sculptors.

His mouth had lips so full and soft they promised a true love’s kiss.

But it was his eyes that made him truly unforgettable.

They were the ice-blue of a frozen lake under a winter sun, with a depth that held a thousand secrets. ”

I pause, trying to figure out how to spin the story into a happy ending, but when I glance down, Penny’s head is tilted to the side, her eyes closed, her breathing soft and even. I lean down to press a kiss on her forehead. “Sweet dreams, little mouse.”

I flick off the light and leave the door slightly ajar.

I pause in the hallway, pressing my palms into my temples as if that will help clear the image of Dorian’s face, in all its chiseled perfection, from my mind.

Did I really compare him to a prince—a minstrel, technically—in a bedtime story?

It may have worked to put Penny to sleep, but my brain is wide awake and doing its best impression of a hamster on a wheel.

I push open the kitchen door and pull out the good tequila from its hiding spot behind the healthy snacks.

I grab the blender from the top shelf, set it on the counter, and start mixing margaritas.

After the day I’ve had, I deserve a drink.