Broken Butterfly: MMF Bisexual Romance (Mundane Magic Book 1)

by Maxene Novak

  She imagined herself walking away from them. It’s been lovely, fellas, but I’ve got big dreams and you don’t fit in them. The thought made her desperately sad, and she pushed the image from her mind. What then? she asked herself. If she couldn’t leave, or wouldn’t leave, then the only other option was to stay—but stay for what? Once again she returned to the list she’d made with Tassie. Pottery was relaxing, but it wasn’t her calling. She wasn’t good enough to do it professionally, and she wasn’t invested enough to put in the time it would take to become good enough. It worked well enough as a hobby.

  Cooking had become easier. She’d taken a couple of courses at the high school in the evenings, and she was starting to get the hang of it again. But she couldn’t see herself as a chef in a busy kitchen; just working with other students at the high school had been overwhelming and anxiety-inducing. She’d spent the entire class absolutely certain that someone was going to spill something hot or light something on fire.

  Which left her first and final choice. She could teach ballet.

  “Colt,” she said suddenly, interrupting a conversation that she had tuned out. “What certifications would I need to be a dance teacher?”

  “Hm… I’m not entirely sure. I think it mostly depends on where you want to teach. If you were to teach a class at the gym, for example, I think you would only need a personal trainer certification. If you wanted to teach at the school, or at a dance academy, you’ll probably need a proper Master’s degree in teaching dance.”

  “Oh,” she said. She studied her fork for a long moment, turning that over in her mind. “Master’s degrees are four years, right?”

  “Mhmm. Plus an internship, most likely.”

  “So I could either do that, or buy a house, a boat, and a brand new car,” she said wryly.

  “You could probably get a scholarship, with your background,” Ruger piped up. “I can help you look for one later if you like.”

  “Alright,” she said. “It’s a place to start, anyway.”

  “So… does that mean you’re thinking about staying a while?” Colt asked.

  “Yeah… yeah, I think so,” she said. “Oh, why does that give me butterflies?”

  “Because you’ve decided to make a change,” Ruger said quietly. “And there’s really nothing scarier than changing your own direction.”

  “Speaking from experience?” Colt asked casually.

  Ruger cleared his throat. “I, uh… didn’t want to say anything right away, but I looked up that therapist. I’ve been going for about a month now, I guess. You were right about her, Colt, she’s pretty smart.”

  “She is,” Colt said with a grin. “And effective, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been much more bearable the last couple weeks,” Belle told him with a smile. “You’ve been working hard, it’s noticeable.”

  Ruger blushed shyly, and Belle warmed to him the way she had the first night she met him.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Time seemed to be warped in the cottage on Maple. Days dragged on as the occupants slaved over their bodies, minds, and work; while the weeks whipped by, drawing June first ever closer. At some point, they had all decided—individually and together—that June first was the deadline. Even Tassie was in on it. Her epic novel was due to be completed that day, and the closer it came, the more she unraveled. By the middle of May, the tension from all corners of the house was palpable.

  Belle had taken her first steps on dry land without her cane or apparatus, and it had ended miserably. She’d fallen, and had stormed out of her physical therapy session at a hobble, taking to her bed for the remainder of the day.

  Ruger had reached a plateau in his therapy, and since there was nothing concrete to measure himself by, he was in a foul mood. He snapped and snarled under the guise of speaking his truth, and eventually grounded himself to his room to play a first-person shooter game at full volume.

  Tassie had reached the final chapter of her novel only to realize that the big dramatic finish she’d planned had fallen flat as one of her character’s personal growth was unrealistic and asinine, and she’d threatened to burn the entire manuscript and wipe her hard drive.

  When Colt arrived in the evening, an icy silence had fallen over the house.

  “Hello the house! Anybody home?”

  “Nobody fit for man or beast!” Ruger shouted from his bedroom.

  Colt knocked on the office door and Tassie opened it. Her hair was an utter disaster and her eyes were ringed with red.

  “Cheer up, buttercup!” Colt said brightly.

  “Fuck off,” she snarled and began to close the door.

  “Hold on, hold on, hold on!”

  “What do you want?” she sighed.

  “I have a surprise for everybody. Come out here while I dig the other two out of their holes.”

  Tassie rolled her eyes, but she followed him into the living room. Colt knocked twice on Ruger’s door, declared that he was coming in, and pushed inside. Ruger was slouched in his bean bag chair, glowering at the TV.

  “Come on out here, I have a surprise for everybody,” Colt told him.

  “What surprise? There are no surprises. Everything is patterns, and they all suck.”

  “Come be nihilistic on the couch, I still have to go roust Belle.”

  “Ugh, why. Rooms are imaginary. Like barriers and borders and money.”

  “Come on, get up,” Colt sighed, yanking Ruger from his chair.

  He deposited him on the couch beside the deflated Tassie and moved on to Belle’s room.

  “Belle? You awake?” he asked, cracking the door.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “You decent?”

  “Yeah, but I could change that in a heartbeat if you ask nicely.”

  “Hm. Brazen when depressed, I’ll make a note of that for later. Get up, I have something for you.”

  “Is it alcohol?”

  “It can come with alcohol if you want it to.”

  “I want it to.”

  “Done. Come on, come out here. You’re the last curmudgeon on my list, let’s get this party started.”

  Belle rolled out of bed and limped grumpily into the living room where she plopped down gracelessly beside Ruger. “Okay, you’ve got us cornered. Out with it,” she demanded.

  “I got us all tickets to a show tonight,” Colt said with a grin. “We’re gonna get some culture!”

  A flicker of interest crossed Belle’s face. “What show?” she asked.

  “That’s the surprise. It starts at seven and it’s a forty-minute drive, so everybody go get your fanciest schmanciest clothes on! And, you know, shower. You all stink of despair.”

  “I don’t wanna,” Tassie groaned. “I’m gonna be a fourth wheel, and… oh, I guess that’s not so bad. Cars have four wheels. And wagons, trucks…”

  “Yes, all the best things have four wheels,” Colt said impatiently. “Go on, then! Get dressed up, we’re going to have fun. I gotta go change into something classier than gym clothes. I’ll be back in half an hour, so go! Hurry!”

  They groaned as they peeled themselves off the couch and disappeared into their various spaces. Colt wasn’t hoping for much, but he knew he would get a satisfying reaction from Belle once they got there. He hoped they’d at least put in a little effort.

  The atmosphere in the house was a little friendlier when he returned. He was a huge believer in the positive mood-altering benefits of getting dolled up. Ruger was the only one ready when he returned, and he looked fantastic. He wore a wine-colored fitted dress shirt under a cropped blazer, and had paired it with sharply pressed black slacks. Tassie appeared moments later, wearing a low-cut red and purple striped bodycon dress with black boots and a choker. She wore her curly hair loose and wild around her shoulders, pinned back from her face with a big, sparkly bow.

  They waited several minutes, but Belle didn’t appear.

  “Anybody talk to her while I was gon
e?” Colt asked.

  They shook their heads. Colt knocked on her door, and got a muffled, frustrated response.

  “Do you need help?” he called.

  “Yesh!”

  He opened the door and had to force himself not to burst out laughing. Poor Belle had gotten stuck halfway into a dress, and she couldn’t seem to contort quite enough to get back out of it. He helped her, yanking the starchy material back over her head.

  “Jeeze, thank you. I thought I was gonna suffocate in there,” she said, blowing strands of hair out of her face.”

  She stood there in her lace panties and matching bralet, huffing and puffing, and suddenly Colt was having a crisis. She was still his client for a couple more weeks, but he couldn’t help but notice that her body had changed significantly. She’d softened in all the right places. Curves had replaced the angular cuts of her body, and while she was still perfectly fit, she was also perfectly feminine. It took every ounce of strength he had not to trail his fingers over the smooth, soft curve of her waist, over her barely-covered and perfectly rounded butt.

  “I see you,” she said playfully.

  His face heated and he quickly looked away. “Sorry,” he said. “You look amazing. Maybe you should just go like that.”

  “You’re hilarious,” she said. “But seriously, none of my formal wear fits anymore. I think my boobs grew. Is that even possible after puberty?”

  “Sure,” he said, putting his clinical hat back on. “Body fat and estrogen go together like peanut butter and jelly. You didn’t allow yourself any body fat, so you didn’t produce as much estrogen. Now that you aren’t torturing yourself day in and day out, your body is returning to factory settings.”

  “Factory setting should come with a wardrobe app pre-installed,” she sighed. “Come on, help me find something.”

  Colt felt a little self-conscious rifling through her clothes, but he got into the spirit of things quickly.

  “How ‘bout this?” he asked, holding up the black bodycon dress she’d worn at the first party.

  “I don’t know… do you think it’s fancy enough?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Sure! Black goes anywhere. Pair it with something sparkly, and voila! Classiest girl at the show.”

  She giggled at that and took the dress from him. She managed to get it on without a problem; the stretchy material forgave her new shape, and, to Colt’s delight, even enhanced it.

  She slipped into a pair of glossy flats and pulled out a drawer of her jewelry box.

  “You don’t have to stay now if you don’t want to,” she told him. “I’ll only be another minute.”

  “I’d like to stay, if that’s alright,” he said. “I kind of like just being here.”

  “Alright.” She smiled at him in the mirror, and he felt pleasure wash over him.

  He was virtually itching for her rehab to be over. Not that he was expecting anything, or that he would demand anything. But he was hoping, with every fiber of his being, that she wanted to be with him as desperately as he wanted to be with her. She was ready as quickly as she said, and she grabbed her cane.

  “Well? How do I look?” she asked.

  “Like a fairy queen,” he said dreamily, taking a step forward.

  It was one step too far. Before he knew what was happening, she was in his arms and their lips were pressed feverishly to one another’s. She moaned low in her throat, and it pushed him beyond all reason. His hands roamed her newly soft and supple body, pressing her curves, groping her contours. She responded enthusiastically, running her hands over his back and down his ass, pulling him close.

  “I say we skip the show,” she gasped as his lips fell over her throat.

  The show. He’d almost forgotten.

  “No, no, we can’t do that,” he said, almost panicked. “No, it’s important.” He checked his watch. “And we’re running late.”

  She gazed into his eyes, wearing an expression of pure arousal.

  “Rain check,” he said huskily.

  “Promise?” she asked as she kissed his fingers.

  “Promise. God yes, I promise. Let’s go, I really don’t want you to miss this.”

  “If you insist,” she said.

  Colt practically vibrated with nervous excitement through the drive. They’d taken Belle’s car, as it was roomier than the truck and more economic than the Impala, and they were making good time. Belle drove with Colt beside her, and Ruger sat in back with Tassie.

  “Okay, still don’t know where I’m going,” Belle said, laughing as they hit the highway.

  “Just keep going east, I’ll give you a heads up a couple exits before,” Colt told her.

  She shrugged and kept driving.

  “So what’s so special about this show anyway?” Ruger asked. “I thought maybe you were taking us to a rock concert or something, but we’re a bit too spiffy for that.”

  “You’ll see,” Colt said with a secretive smile.

  They pestered him about it for the rest of the journey, but his lips were sealed. His excitement was contagious, though, and they were all amped and eager by the time Belle pulled into the parking garage he directed her to.

  “Alright, just a little bit of walking now,” he told her.

  He offered her his elbow, and the foursome walked down the street. They turned the corner, and there, bedecked in glittering lights and surrounded by posh-looking people, was the theater. Belle froze, the color draining from her face.

  “Persephone?” she gasped. “You brought me to a ballet? Why?”

  She looked betrayed and heartbroken, and Colt felt for a moment that he’d made a terrible mistake. But there was a good reason he’d brought her there, and he was still convinced that it had been the right thing to do.

  “Have you ever heard the name Cordelia Kindi?” he asked her.

  She frowned, searching her memory. “It sounds familiar, sort of. I remember hearing the name in passing, but I can’t recall any details about her. Why?”

  Colt brought her close to one of the posters that advertised the ballet. “Look at the starlet,” he told her.

  She examined the picture for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t understand what you want me to see,” she told him.

  “That’s alright. Do you trust that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you if I could possibly avoid it?” he asked.

  She thought for a heartbeat, then nodded.

  “Then come inside. I got us seats right up front. There’s something you really need to see.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Belle was filled with trepidation as she made her way down the aisle on Colt’s arm. This was the first ballet she’d ever watch without an eye for gleaning useful hints or viewing the dancers as potential competition. She almost couldn’t bear the thought of sitting passively while strangers lived out her dream in front of her.

  Colt patted her hand as if he could read her mind, and led her to her seat. She was sandwiched between him and Ruger, and Tassie took the aisle seat. She felt sick as the lights fell, and her heart nearly broke when the music began to swell. She tried to detach, to go anywhere else in her mind. She was so distracted by her internal turmoil that she almost didn’t notice the glint of steel at the ballerina’s ankle.

  Suddenly intrigued, she watched more closely. Not the ballet itself, but the starlet's feet. Her right foot didn’t move quite right, and there was an unnatural sheen about the leg above it. It slowly dawned on her that the woman before her was dancing on a prosthetic. She ripped the program out of her bag and looked for the mini biographies.

  Cordelia Kindi was born in Yemen, it told her. At the age of five, her town was attacked, and she lost the lower portion of her right leg. By age seven, she and her family immigrated to the United States, where she received a proper prosthetic. She had always been fascinated by ballet, and began training as soon as she was physically able. Despite warnings from her teachers and parents that she would never be able to reach a professional status
with her disability, Cordelia has risen to the top time and time again. Now, at the age of nineteen, she has achieved her goal. We are pleased to introduce the astounding Cordelia Kindi to the ballet community.

  Tears spilled down Belle’s face, and she turned her attention back to the stage. She watched Cordelia’s face, and saw pure, ecstatic joy. She felt at once shamed and inspired, and the conflicting emotions nearly tore her in two. She sacrificed them to the gods of dance, and allowed herself to be swept away by the sweet tragedy of Persephone’s story.

  She didn’t notice that she’d been crying until Ruger handed her a pack of tissues. She dabbed at her eyes absently, utterly absorbed in the fluid, gravity-defying movements of the dancers. For the first time since her accident, Belle truly believed, down to the depths of her core, that she could create a reality that she could be proud of.

  The heady intoxication didn’t dissipate as the lights came up, and she hardly noticed her cane or the steady ache in her leg as they walked back to the car. She drove home in a hazy, happy silence as her friends chattered around her. She pulled up to the cottage and they piled out; she stayed, staring off into the darkness, watching the little ballerina with the false leg twirl across the darkened street.

  “Hey,” Colt said quietly, sticking his head back in the car. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she sighed, but she was still far away.

  Colt slid back into the car beside her and touched her hand. “I’m sorry if that backfired. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, no… it didn’t. It was glorious, and I’m utterly in love with Cordelia Kindi. I’m high on it, can’t seem to come down. My god, did you see the way she danced?”

  “I did,” Colt chuckled. “And I have a confession to make.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve been looking up your old videos. You are an astonishing dancer.”