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‘Sounds fancy,’ I teased.
The penthouse was just the beginning of the fancy, though. He whisked me to a restaurant in Central Park, where we ate delicacies and drank champagne and then walked through the park as the sun went down.
He woke me up by going down on me. I have no experience outside of Michael but I have to believe he’s unnaturally good at oral sex, because no sooner do his lips touch me down there than I begin to feel like I’m about to fall apart. Surely that’s not normal. I don’t want to get my hopes up that the next guy I meet is going to have his skills and prowess. He is some kind of sexual magician.
I would have stayed in bed with him all day, contenting myself to see Manhattan from the spectacular view afforded from his bedroom windows, but we went out instead, walking the streets, catching the ferry, shopping, looking, discovering.
When we got back to his gorgeous apartment, I walked into the bedroom to find a dress laid out on the bed. Upon closer inspection, I recognised a couture label discreetly stitched into the seam. The dress is a perfect fit, pale pink and floaty to just above my knees. It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn.
There were shoes too. I styled my hair into a loose chignon and filled my metallic clutch with the essentials. I feel like Cinderella, I’m not going to lie to you.
‘Are you ready?’
I turn to face him and my heart stutters in my chest. Dressed in a black tuxedo with a white bow tie, he is the definition of sophisticated bachelor. And for the next little while, he’s all mine.
‘Uh huh.’
In the car he leans forward and knocks on the glass divider. A moment later, the driver opens my door. I step out, looking up at the building, a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies looping through my belly. He puts a hand in the small of my back and moves me towards the stairs.
‘Thank you for this, Michael,’ I say, pausing on the bottom step to look at him. And I smile, and something catches in my chest.
‘I have something for you.’
‘Something other than this dress, this ballet, this whole weekend?’
He nods, reaching into his pocket. The box he pulls
out is small and a familiar turquoise colour, wrapped in a shiny white ribbon.
I hesitate before taking it.
‘It’s just a trinket,’ he explains, understanding my reason for hesitating. Because gifts are complicated, and valuable gifts even more so. Then again, this is a man with the world at his fingertips. To him, a jewel is probably no more significant than giving a magazine out is to anyone else.
‘Should I open it now?’
His eyes crinkle at the corners, as if he’s laughing at a secret joke. ‘No sense in waiting.’
I look towards the building. Well-dressed guests are milling at the doors. I pull on the white ribbon, releasing it from its hold and then lift the top off the box. Inside is a delicate bracelet, white-gold, with a single charm hanging from the clasp. A cherry made of white gold, with a diamond at its core.
‘It’s lovely...’ And then my cheeks flush pink as the significance of this man giving me a cherry dawns on me.
‘It seemed appropriate,’ he says and he laughs.
I laugh right back, hitting his chest. ‘Subtle.’
‘As a brick.’ He takes the bracelet from me, looping it on my wrist. ‘It’s something to remember me by.’ He winks and I laugh again, ignoring the strange breathlessness stealing through me.
The ballet is perfection. Our seats are not simply seats, of course, and I don’t know why I’m surprised when we’re led to a box with six seats—and no one else joins us. Champagne is served, gelati at the intermission and, despite the fact Michael Brophy is beside me in all his stunning, distracting hotness, I find myself completely enthralled by the ballet.
In the final act I settle back in my seat, watching, and, out of nowhere, a memory dances on the periphery of my mind, intangible, like a whisper through a wall at first, but stronger then, pulling at me, demanding attention. I watch the ballet but I see my mother. Not as she was at the end, wraith-like, so pale and weak. I see her as she will always be in my mind. Strong, with silky blonde hair, a quick smile, watchful eyes and freckles across her nose. A body that is strong and has not yet betrayed her with its weakness.
‘And spin around, Millie Mouse, just like that.’ She claps as my little body turns in the air, and in my mind I am every bit as graceful as the ballerinas I saw on stage earlier that day.
I leap into the air and she gasps, then shakes her head in apparent wonder. ‘How did you get to be so clever, darling?’
Euphoria fills me, and love too. I am a ballerina, and my mother is proud of me, prouder than ever before.
* * *
