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I shrug.
“I’ve not felt very good with myself recently. August has been trying to change that, though. I just need time before I feel comfortable dancing in front of other people again.”
“Iama sick child,” he says. “You have to listen to my wish.”
I laugh.
“Oh, that’s technically emotional blackmail, Ethan. And, according to August, as of today, you are no longer sick.”
“Please dance for me, Emma. August really said you were so good.”
I smile.
“Okay, then. Just for you, Ethan. But don’t you dare tell August or he might get jealous. I think I actually have my portable speaker in my bag here.”
I take out the speaker and connect it to my phone.
I start the music.
And I start to dance my favorite part from Swan Lake. I do it as seriously as if I’m doing it for my dance school audition. I hold my body together and control myself. It doesn’t matter if it’s for an audience for one, or for a child – I am professional. I perform how I would like to perform if I were on the stage of the downtown theatre.
I spy Ethan watching on eagerly. He’s loving it.
I love to do this for an appreciative audience like him.
I move and twirl around the room and the boy’s bedside until I’m back in the center of the room and it’s right at the end of the song.
I spin around and catch someone standing at the door.
I stop.
It’s not just anyone standing there.
It’s Alda Penmayne.
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“What are you doing here?” I ask Alda, coming to an immediate stop.
The Penmayne matriarch stands there in the doorway, looking at me with an expression I’ve never seen on her face before. Wait. Is it...curiosity?
Whatever it is, she seems very different somehow. I think it might be the fact she’s in this hospital under harsh lights – a long way away from her domain in Crystal River or her helicopter surrounded by security.
“I’m looking for August,” she replies, her voice still as dripping with refinement as when I was younger. That is one thing thatisn’tdifferent about her.
“Right,” I reply. “Well, he isn’t here.”
“Are you a dancer?” Alda asks me.
“My name is Emma. And yes, I am a dancer. Or, at least, I’m trying to be one.”
Alda’s eyes drift from me to my portable speaker by Ethan’s bedside, and to the music it’s currently playing.
“Do you like Swan Lake?” she asks. “That’s where that music is from.”
I nod tentatively.
