I took off through the rain, running harder than I ever had before. I saw nothing but her.
And then she was in my arms, safe. She fought me, begging me to let her go.
But I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
This was the pact we’d made—the four of us—she was our responsibility. Ours to love. Ours to protect.
I kissed her cheeks and next to her lips, tasted the way the rain mixed with her tears. My heart was in my throat, my knees jelly, but still I held her.
That night, I would still be shaking when we found a hotel room, but I’d try to hide it.
And years in the future, I would have nightmares. My feet in mud, the sound of a gunshot. I wouldn’t get to her in time. Her eyes would stare, sightless, into the rain.
But then I’d wake up, and she’d be safe. Wrapped in my arms.
No matter what dream I had, when I woke up, she was always there.
Eighty-Five
Landry
I was never as mad at anyone as I was with Betsy, but I’d never loved anyone like her either. In the days after Gordon’s arrest, it was hard for me to look at her, and I knew that worried her. But God help me, every time I did, I saw her barreling down the sidewalk. I saw Westin tackling her in the nick of time.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was small.
I lifted my head from my hands, staring at her across our quiet living room. She sat on the sofa and tucked her legs under her. “I had no choice.”
She did. She did have a choice. She could have listened to me. Let me be the one to risk my life.
“I couldn’t live without you,” she said, wrapping her arms around her waist. She looked tiny, holding herself that way. And young. Her face was makeup free, and dark circles marred her pale skin. “Don’t you understand?”
I did, but because I felt the same way, I couldn’t accept that apology.
“How was I supposed to go on if something happened to you?” I asked.
I’d already lived without her once. I couldn’t do that again. It was at that moment that everything came to the surface. As if they could sense what was happening, my friends appeared. Westin came in from the kitchen, Josh from upstairs, and Brant opened the outside door and slid inside.
“How was I?” Bright spots of color erupted along her cheekbones. For days, she’d been subdued, but now a spark of fury lit her up. “You made decisions without including me. About me!” Her voice lifted. “Again.”
It was the first time since childhood the five of us would really tie up. It’d be an argument for the ages—with Bets going up one side of us and down the other.
“Why?” she yelled, “why are you so damn certain you’re always right? And why do you do it alone? I’m here! If we’re together, we’re together. You have to include me.” Then her voice got soft and hurt. “Aren’t we a team?”
My friends and I came to the same conclusion at the same time—yeah. We were a fucking team. And she was the heart of it. We were stronger together. You’d have thought we’d learned that lesson when we left her the first time.
She came up to me, toe-to-toe. “I love you, but we’re supposed to be equals.”
We had to do more than protect her, because that wasn’t what Betsy wanted. From the time we were kids, all she wanted was to be included. She wanted to be part of the solution.
For the rest of our lives, that’s what would happen. It was the scariest realization I ever had, and it was the one that took a gunshot to truly grasp, but I had gotten it.
Finally.
I deflated. Fuck. Collapsing onto the couch, I shook my head. Fuck.
Betsy knelt at my feet, resting her cheek on my knees. I touched her, smoothing my hand over her hair.
“You’re right.”
It wouldn’t be the last time Betsy would call me to the carpet, and it wouldn’t be the last time she did something I didn’t like.
But we loved each other. And that was enough to get us through.
Eighty-Six
New York Post
Stripped! Betty Belle Reveals Everything in Jonathan interview! “I’m in love with four men.”
TMZ
Read our exclusive interview recorded hours before she raced into New York City to save her true loves from enraged ex-dancer.
New York Post
Country Strong! Take a Peek at These Exclusive Photos of Betty and Her Country Boys!
New York Post
Ding Dong! Are Those Wedding Bells Ringing for Betty Belle and her Four, Fine Fellas?
New York Post
Naked Truth! Ex-Dancer, Gordon Chase, Sentenced in New York Superior Court.
Epilogue
Betsy
I stood on stage, waiting for the curtain to rise. This was it. My last performance. Ten years of dancing. Ten years of Belles of the Ball in all its incarnations.
But this was it.
The music started, and I smiled. My last dance was dedicated to the people who loved me. Country music swelled, and a husky, rough voice sang about a girl with a body like a back road and a boy who knew it like the back of his hand.
I twirled, leapt, and spun, but ten years out, I kept my clothes on.
Don’t get me wrong, I still wore very little, but I’d had two babies and no plastic surgery. Those titty-tassels had been retired after a year of breastfeeding.
Retired for the public, that was. Sometimes I broke them out for private dances.
The spotlight was hot, and sweat dripped down my back, but I stayed cool and collected. The music morphed from the longing lyrics of a first love to something hopeful and upbeat.
Out there were my husbands, my baby girls, my best friend and manager and his husband (and my former makeup artist), and a room full of fans.
I danced for all of them.
The music wound down, but the voices in the audience lifted, higher and higher, drowning out the last beats of the song. But I didn’t need the song. I had the counts in my head.
I stood there, catching my breath, and the house lights came up. Pressing my hands to my lips, I blew kisses at the crowd, who hooted and hollered.
A flash of movement caught my eye, and I went to the edge of the stage. There two blue-eyed baby girls with sweet dimpled hands and golden curls held fistfuls of violets for me.
I sat on the edge and hopped off, pulling each one of my babies into my arms to kiss their cheeks. Then I searched for their daddies. Just like I thought, they weren’t far away.
Their whistles were the shrillest, their hoots the loudest.
They clapped and stomped their feet and smiled bright. Their love for me louder than the fans. Louder than the music.
Louder than everything.
Afterword
Boys and Burlesque was inspired by Camille, (The Lady of the Camellias), by Alexander Dumas fils.
Acknowledgments
The author would like to acknowledge the following musical artists, acts, and productions:
Ginuwine,
Sam Hunt,
Chris Young,
On the Town,
Bing Crosby,
and printed and online publications:
New York Post,
TMZ.
About the Author
Ripley Proserpina spends her days huddled near a fire in the frozen northern wilds of Vermont. She lives with her family, three magnificent cats, and a dog she doesn’t deserve.
On the web: www.ripleyproserpina.com
Sign up for her newsletter here: http://bit.ly/2yfGRnV
Also by Ripley Proserpina
Midnight’s Crown:
Briar
Shadow of Thorns
Diadem of Blood and Bones
Daylight’s Crown:
Rose
Echoes of Blood and Glory Coming soon!
The Searchers Series:
Finding Honor
Finding Nora
Finding Valor
Finding Truth
Finding Courage
Finding Strength
Finding Unity: coming soon!
The Replacement Duet:
Forge and Fire
Iron and Ashes Coming soon!
Wishes and Curses Series:
Wrath and Ruin:
Revolution and Rising
Valos of Sonhadra:
Whirlwind
Standalones:
Just Jayne
The Darkest Fall
The Ice Bride
Missing Linc
While Beauty Sleeps
Co-Written with Rebecca Royce:
The Storm Series:
Lightning Strikes
Thunder Rolls
The Deluge
The Coveted:
Eyes in the Darkness
Voices in the Darkness
Wards and Wands:
Meow, Baby
Boys and Burlesque Page 35