Only the Brave Try Ballet

by Stefanie London

  Then there was the lack of photos in his house, and he’d never taken a phone call or a text during their time together. Surely it wasn’t possible that someone who was a household name had not a single person to call his friend?

  She rolled over, watching as he stirred into wakefulness. A sleepy smile passed over his lips as he blinked, the lure of slumber pulling his eyes closed.

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Very good morning,’ he replied, ducking a hand under the sheets and finding her naked breast.

  ‘You’re an animal.’ She laughed, swatting away his hand and shrieking when he rolled on top of her.

  ‘I prefer finely tuned athletic machine.’

  His grin all but melted her bones, and she could feel him growing excited again.

  ‘Can I be the one to propose coffee this time?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t think I’m going to forget about this.’ He pushed up, giving her space to wriggle out of the bed. ‘I’m dragging you back in here after breakfast.’

  ‘Deal.’

  Though her limbs were aching, and the memory of his touch still burned brightly, the thought of coming back to bed with Grant was no less thrilling. She looked around for something to wear. Her leotard and tights were still in a pile where she’d stripped them off last night.

  ‘Here.’ He pulled a T-shirt from his drawer and tossed it to her.

  Grateful, she slipped the fresh cotton over her head. The hem skimmed the underside of her bottom and the fabric swam around her.

  ‘Now, that’s a sight to wake up to.’

  They wandered out to the lounge room and Jasmine made herself at home on a bar stool while Grant fired up his coffee machine. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the apartment, combined with his scent on her skin and the clean cotton of his T-shirt. She was in heaven. Cosy, new relationship heaven.

  She frowned. This was supposed to be casual. She’d been the one to label it such last night... It felt anything but casual. Could she possibly trust him to see if there was anything more between them? Anything deeper?

  Blowing a stray stand of hair out of her eyes, Jasmine pushed the confusing questions from her mind and watched as he moved effortlessly around the kitchen. He made the coffee on a big, fancy machine that had probably cost more than she’d be able to spend on a car.

  ‘So you could afford the swanky apartment but not a decorator?’ she asked, accepting a coffee cup and blowing on the steam.

  ‘Ouch.’ Grant chuckled. ‘You sure know how to hurt a guy’s feelings.’

  ‘I only ask because it’s so plain. No photos or anything.’

  ‘I have a fruit bowl.’ Grant gestured lamely to the single apple that looked lost in the giant metal bowl. ‘I don’t have any pictures to put up.’

  ‘None at all? No family pictures? None of you goofing around with mates at footy training?’

  ‘I’m a bit camera-shy.’ He shrugged.

  His face was expressionless but she’d learned to watch out for the tell-tale tightening of his shoulders. He gripped his coffee mug a little too tightly.

  ‘That’s sad.’

  Silence descended on the kitchen.

  ‘The papers do their best to take lots of photos. I don’t need to do it as well.’ He took a gulp of his black coffee. ‘I get a bit sick of being in the spotlight, to be honest.’

  A sad smile played across her lips. ‘I don’t think I’d ever get sick of the sound of an audience applauding.’

  ‘An audience applauding and the paparazzi harassing you while you’re trying to have a night out are two different things.’

  ‘Aren’t your family upset when they come here and see you’ve got no photos of them up?’ It was a loaded question, but she couldn’t keep herself from wanting to confirm her suspicions.

  ‘Like I said before, our relationship is a bit strained.’ He shrugged. ‘They’ve never been here.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head and attempted a smile, but emotion flickered close to the surface. ‘My family lives a long way away. It’s too far for them to visit.’

  ‘Do you go and visit them?’

  ‘What’s with the Dr Phil act?’ He pushed a few buttons on the coffee machine and filled up another cup.

  ‘I figured since you’re so interested in my future with dancing that maybe I could help you with something.’

  ‘You have helped me with something.’ He blew on the steam curling from his cup. ‘My hamstring is in the best shape it’s ever been, thanks to you. I might finish the season without injuring it again.’

  A satisfied smile curved Jasmine’s lips. ‘Good. So the next thing you need to work on is the family stuff.’

  He didn’t need to respond—the guilt on his face was response enough. She wasn’t exactly the best person to offer advice on this kind of thing—she hadn’t seen her folks in a while either, but she was planning on mending that, along with making another visit to her physio to see if her ankle had made any progress.

  Still, she wrote emails and called her parents once a week, and they knew better than to ask about her injuries. It would take time for her guilt to ease, but at least she was on the right path. Grant, however, was a different story. Her heart clenched for him.

  This can’t just be casual sex...not with feelings like this.

  ‘Jasmine, I...’ He trailed off, looking down to his coffee cup.

  ‘You should call them some time, before it’s too late.’

  ‘I wish it were that simple.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ They couldn’t possibly blame him for what had happened with the court case. ‘Surely they know you didn’t hit those men?’

  ‘It’s not about that.’ He shook his head, his eyes focused away from her.

  ‘Talk to me, Grant.’

  He hesitated. ‘I had a huge fight with them when I left to come to Melbourne to play footy. I never managed to fix it.’

  ‘What was the fight about?’

  She waited, biting back the urge to say anything else. It was a trick she’d learned a long time ago: the less you said the more others would want to fill the silence.

  ‘Well, my father wasn’t exactly supportive of my decision. He’d always thought I’d go into the family farming and veterinary business. I had the brains to do it but I just wasn’t passionate about it.’

  ‘That’s fair enough.’

  ‘Not in his eyes.’ Grant sighed. ‘Mum was always the supportive one—the buffer between Dad and me. After she died and I decided to give footy a go...it all fell apart. He said that I had a choice. I could choose football or my family, but I couldn’t have both. My sister was left to pick up the pieces. She gave up her dreams of being a model to stay with Dad and help out with the business. I think she’s always blamed me for it.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ He shook his head, playing with his coffee cup.

  ‘Did you ever try to make amends after you moved here?’

  ‘Yeah, things were getting better at one stage. I’d reached out to Annabel and she was starting to come around. We were close growing up and she missed me. She’d even started working on Dad—we spoke a few times when he picked up the phone at their office.’

  She sensed the ‘but’ before he had a chance to say it.

  ‘But then everything turned to crap after I started drinking again and those charges made the news. He said I’d dragged the family name through the mud, that I was a bad egg and a poor example to my nephew. Even Annabel turned her back on me. She said she didn’t want her son growing up to be like me. She said I’d hurt Dad too many times for her to forgive me.’

  When he didn’t continue she asked, ‘And that was it?’

  ‘Yep. Haven’t heard from them
in over six months.’ He drained his espresso and set the cup down on the bench with a loud clink. ‘Country men don’t do so well with sharing their feelings.’

  ‘You seem to be doing a good job.’

  He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I guess that’s what happens when you’ve bottled things up for so long. It has to come out some time.’

  ‘Then maybe your father is feeling exactly the same way,’ she pointed out. ‘Have you tried calling them?’

  ‘They made it clear they want nothing to do with me.’

  The pinch of his brows and the faraway look in his eyes almost broke her in two. His hands were white-knuckled on the edge of the breakfast bar, and there was a slight shake in his grip.

  ‘You should try, Grant. What if something were to happen?’

  ‘I said they don’t want anything to do with me.’

  Jasmine leant over the breakfast bar, almost knocking her coffee over in the process, so she could plant a kiss right on Grant’s lips. Somehow she thought it might actually be possible to kiss his problems away.

  He met her hungrily, his teeth nipping at her lips as she braced herself against the countertop.

  ‘I’m going to stop this now.’ He eased her back gently. ‘Otherwise I won’t have the will power to leave and get us breakfast.’

  ‘Be quick.’ She slid back onto the bar stool. ‘Actually, I would love to take a shower.’

  ‘Towels are in the cupboard by my bedroom.’ He came around the side of the bench and planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘I won’t be long.’

  When he left the apartment she was engulfed by the silence. What was she doing? The whole thing with Grant had spiralled so quickly out of control and now she was here, in his place, feeling far too much as if she wanted to hang around, knowing far too much about who he was. She was thinking things she had no right to be thinking...feeling things she had no right to be feeling...things that indicated something more than what they’d agreed upon.

  Abandoning her coffee cup, Jasmine went in search of towels. She found the linen closet in the hallway, where Grant has said it would be. The shelves were stacked with all manner of football equipment—guernseys, footy boots—and there was a single shelf dedicated to towels.

  A gold box sat on the lowest shelf, its ribbon sparkling and drawing her eye. Curious, she bent down and slid it from the shelf, her breath catching in her throat when she saw her name in his handwriting. It was light, and the packaging was free of any branding. The box itself was smooth and expensive-looking, with large gold swirls embossed on the thick cardboard.

  A small card was tucked into a fold of the ribbon. It read simply: ‘Jasmine, come to the Brownlow with me. Grant.’ She slipped the lid off and placed it next to her. Inside there was something wrapped in fine apricot tissue paper.

  It was a dress—possibly the most divine dress Jasmine had ever seen off a mannequin. She lifted it up, treating it as though it were made of delicate crystal.

  It was long—floor-sweepingly long—and made of pale pink silk the exact colour of ballet shoes. The neckline was intricate—a refined tangle of plaited silk and tulle strands embroidered with tiny seed pearls.

  For a moment she couldn’t breathe. It looked as though a designer had deconstructed a tutu and turned it into an elegant gown. The body itself was plain, simplistic, but the attention to detail in the neckline elevated it to a piece of art.

  It was so perfectly her.

  Jasmine’s head pounded. She hadn’t even said yes and he’d bought her a dress, given his written command. Come to the Brownlow with me.

  It was an instruction, not an invitation. There was no question—as though he assumed she could not possibly refuse him. Her cheeks heated as she placed the gown back in the box, folding the tissue paper gently over it, tucking the card neatly back in its place.

  She carried the box to the kitchen table, her hands shaking. This was precisely why they couldn’t be together—he couldn’t take no for an answer. While she was sure his intentions to take her to the Brownlow were good, the fact that he couldn’t accept her refusal was not.

  Whatever this thing was between them, it had to stop. She’d promised herself long ago that she wouldn’t be anyone’s arm candy. She was done with that. Memories of her accident came flooding back. Her gown had been beautiful that night too. They’d had to cut it from her, and the bloodied silk had ended up in a trash can as a sickening symbol of the life she’d ruined.

  She looked around the apartment, her stomach somersaulting as she decided what to do. She knew her feelings for Grant had grown, but it wasn’t enough to make her backflip on her promise to herself. If she said yes this time who knew where it would end? It had started out the same way with Kyle, and a little persistence and persuasion had ended with her being a living, breathing trophy.

  Grabbing the envelope with her name on it, she flipped it over and borrowed a pen from the kitchen bench. Scrawling a note to Grant, she fought back the rise of bile in her throat. She couldn’t go on pretending they had something when she wanted nothing to do with such a large part of his life...the largest part of his life.

  She had to end it before it had even started.

  THIRTEEN

  Grant rolled his shoulders back and stretched his arms out in front of him. He stood outside the ballet studio, mixed emotions flowing through him hot and fast. The thought of seeing Jasmine was setting him on edge, and he fought the urge to turn around and leave her behind.

  He’d raged when he’d come back to find a note telling him she didn’t want the dress and she didn’t want him. The rejection had stung—not only because he’d thought there was something between them, but because she’d left him in exactly the same way as his ex-fiancée.

  She had fled by leaving him a note. A goddam note. She hadn’t even had the guts to say it to his face. Heat flared within him, his fists clenching by his sides. He had to do it—he had to know if this was really the end.

  He marched into the ballet studio, channelling all his energy into driving him forwards. This was it. If he couldn’t resolve things with Jasmine he was going to swear off women for ever.

  The building was deserted, and she was packing her bag in the front room. At the sound of his unceremonious entrance she snapped her head up, eyes opening wide. She sucked in a breath.

  ‘You weren’t going to wait for our lesson?’ he asked, gesturing to her packed bag.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be coming.’ Her voice was steady but she looked poised to make a break for it—like a spring forced down, ready to release at any second.

  ‘I can’t leave things with a note.’ He sat down on the couch and folded his hands in front of him. ‘I need an explanation.’

  ‘I don’t have to explain anything.’

  ‘No, you don’t. But tell me you don’t think I deserve an explanation.’

  Silence. She assessed him, her eyes roaming up and down as though she expected him to lash out at her. He didn’t want to think about her being so badly treated she couldn’t even have a conversation without expecting the worst.

  ‘I promised myself that I wouldn’t let another man own me, and I’m sticking to it.’ Her face was full of false bravado. ‘Now, will you leave me alone?’

  ‘Only if you tell me what the deal-breaker was.’

  ‘You wanted to parade me around at some stupid footy function and when I said I’d think about it you took that as a sign to give me a dress that probably cost more than my entire savings. You can’t buy me.’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to buy you.’ Her accusation settled in his gut. He was not that kind of guy.

  ‘Then explain the dress.’

  ‘I wanted you to be my date to the Brownlow. It’s one of the most important events in my career and I wanted you by my side.’ He couldn’t help the wave of emot
ion that rose within him. He threw his hands up in the air. ‘God, so many women would kill to be in your shoes right now.’

  He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his mouth.

  ‘Listen to you,’ she said, getting to her feet and planting her hands on her hips. ‘I’m not so many women, Grant. I’m me. And I don’t want to go to the Brownlow or any other stupid event. No dress will make me change my mind, and if you can’t understand that then I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t try to make it work between us. Why don’t you just take someone else?’

  ‘Judging by the look on your face, I’m going to assume you don’t mean that.’

  Her brows were pinched, her lips were drawn into a flat line and her skin was lacking its usual lustre.

  ‘I do mean it. This thing—whatever it is—it’s over.’

  ‘How can you be such a coward?’

  * * *

  The words scythed through her with an intensity that almost made Jasmine lose her legs. She couldn’t believe that he’d arrived here demanding an explanation and then had the audacity to call her names when she didn’t comply. It was exactly the reason they shouldn’t be together. Why, then, did she want to curl up into a ball and cry?

  ‘Coward?’ She jabbed a finger in Grant’s direction, cheeks aflame and eyes unblinking. ‘You have absolutely no right to come here and call me a coward. You are the one who can’t get up the guts to reconcile things with your father and you call me a coward?’

  ‘You don’t want to bring my family into this.’

  She wondered for a second if his eyes might actually set her ablaze. They were almost electric with fury, but his voice was icy and calm. He rose slowly from the couch, his sheer size dwarfing her by comparison.