Page 24 of The CEO Alpha’s Substitute Mate

“Yes, I can. Now get out of the car. I will pick you up once you’re done.”

I have a few choice words to say to him, but I notice the driver is paying a little too much attention to the discussion. Scowling, I mutter, “Fine.”

I get out of the car and make it to the door of the studio, where one of my colleagues is standing. Priya is holding the door open with her foot, looking over my shoulder. “Is that your car?”

“Yeah.” I take too long answering. “Sort of.”

“Ariela.” Marisol has come up behind her with a stack of mats. “Wow. You got a new boyfriend?”

There’s nothing true I can say to her on this pavement. My nephew, not my son, is a billionaire’s son, his father is a control freak, and I live in a house where the staff wants me gone by Thursday.

“Something like that.”

Both of them lean out past me for a longer look, then both of them start laughing. “So handsome. You sure got lucky.”

“Luck.” I walk past them into the corridor. “Yeah. That’s what it is.”

The students have already begun to arrive, and I get changed. I trained in both contemporary dance and ballet, and while I mostly teach contemporary and that is what I did on stage, ballet is what I love. Today, the six-year-olds waiting for me are wearing their hair in tight buns and have pointed shoes. A beginner ballet class.

I don’t have to do much, but the girls always get excited when I show them a few steps at the end of class. By the end of the class, my shirt is stuck to my back, the bad leg has started aching under the kneecap, and I’m the happiest I’ve been in a while.

I wait for the parents to come pick up the girls. Once the last one leaves, I’m about to get changed when I catch my reflection in the mirror. Hesitating, I take a few steps back and then begin to dance. My body still moves gracefully, the steps ingrained in my muscle memory. My arms lift and open, my head turning after them, and one foot slides out along the boards and back. Two running steps, both knees bending, and I push off with my bad leg.

Then the floor isn’t under me. My chest lifts, my back arches, and for about a second, I’m twenty-two again with eleven hundred people out there in the dark. Exhilaration fills me, and then the floor comes back, and my right leg gives the second it takes my weight.

I collapse to the ground, and instead of getting up, I lie on my back, gazing at the ceiling, my heart pounding. The injury to my leg was not just a physical one. It broke something in me, taking the one thing I loved doing the most. I’ve always tried not to think about it, never had the time, but there are days when the grief settles in my heart like a lodged bone, and all I can do is breathe around it.

I lie there a few moments in silence, trying to remember that the past is over. Finally, I head to the changing rooms, dragging my throbbing leg a little. By the time I’m done, the car hasn’t arrived. I wait on the steps, but the smell of pork sandwiches from the cart across the road makes my stomach rumble. I already know how long the drive back is going to be, so I cross the street and get two for myself. With an afterthought, I get one for Luca as well. He loves these. I’ve got one halfway to my mouth when the car comes around the corner. The dark Bentley comes to a stop before me, and I sigh, lowering the sandwich back into the paper bag.

I get in, and the first thing Callum does is frown. “What is this?”

“Food.” I open the bag and offer him a sandwich.

“I don’t eat street food.” He turns up his nose, and I roll my eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I take a bite. “I didn’t realize it offended your sensibilities. You’re missing out, but that’s your problem.” I lean forward between the seats. “Petrov, would you like one? I’ve got three.”

Petrov opens his mouth to say something, but the sandwich I’m holding out to him is snatched out of my hand. I blink as Callum takes a bite of it, his eyes never leaving the tablet as he reads some financial report. I sit back and scoff.

The first stop is Luca’s school. He comes out through the academy gates at a run with his bag banging off one hip, the teacher from this morning jogging to keep up with him. I’m out of the car, and he throws himself into my arms. “Mommy!”

I pick him up in my arms, uncaring how badly my knee hurts or how heavy he is. His arms lock around my neck, and he beams at me.

“How was your first day?”

“Great.” His smile is infectious. “I made two friends.”

“Two friends?” I pull back to look at him. “That’s so many, Luca. Come on, I got you a pork sandwich, and you can tell me all about it in the car.”

He gets in the car and stiffens when he sees Callum. I can tell he forgot all about his father’s existence while enjoying himself in school.

“Luca, you should greet him,” I urge.

“Hi,” my son mutters.

Callum is just as bad. For all his talk about having an heir and Luca being his, he doesn’t know the first thing about how to talk to the boy.

The silence that falls in the car is suffocating, both father and son eyeing each other cautiously. I hand Luca the sandwich, and he bites into it with relish. “Didn’t you have lunch?”