I take every bite Dashiell offers me, and together, we finish the whole giant portion on his plate. Lizzy takes a magazine and heads to the living room while Dashiell and I sit alone at the eight-person dining room table.

“I’m sorry about Lance,” I start.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve dealt with my fair share of Lance’s in this lifetime.”

“I don’t like him. I never did,” I don’t want Dash to think it was my choice to bring Lance into my life. If I don’t do what my mother says, there will be hell to pay, and following her plan has always been easier than paying the price.

“You have your own place now, Sam. You don’t have to do what she says. You can hang out with whomever you choose,” Dash says. He polishes off his wine and looks at me pointedly. “Have you ever thought about cutting your parents off completely?”

I have, but I’m embarrassed to admit that I’d never go through with it. They’d cut me off financially and I’m not ready to fend for myself.

I shake my head and look down in embarrassment.

“Ballet Arts Studio Company pays, Sam. Not a killing, but it’s something. Maybe you could work out a deal where you’d get some type of financial support from them?”

“I’m their only child, Dash. I’m literally what Mother lives for. She already hits the booze and pills too hard. I can’t imagine what cutting her off would do to her.”

“Sam, the question you should be asking is what will not cutting them off do to you?”

Dash is right. My relationship with my parents borders on abuse. I honestly believe it was Shareen who kept me safe all those years, the only person Mother would listen to and the only one able to keep her in check.

I want to talk about the bracelet, but I’m not sure how to broach the subject. At least I know that they used it, that it kept them somewhat safe no matter how paltry a consolation prize it was.

“I can’t take it back. The bracelet,” I say.

Dashiell’s head is tilted down as he stares at the stem of his wine glass and swivels the crimson in a slow circle.“Are we talking about a bracelet or something else?” He looks up at me as I stand in nervousness. “You can’t live with the idea that you didn’t rescue the poor kid, didn’t ease his suffering?”

I stare at him, his lips blood red with the wine. I want them on me, devouring me, biting into my flesh.

I put my hands on the back of a chair and lean into Dashiell, who stays seated at the table. “If anyone needed rescuing, it was me, Dash, and you know it. I’m not saying you didn’t suffer. I’m not saying that at all, but you were the hero. To me, that bracelet signifies our bond. A connection like I’ve never experienced with anyone else. If you give it back to me, it feels like you’re denying its existence,” I tell him candidly.

“Just because two dancers partner together well doesn’t mean they like one another in real life. That Real Housewives tap dancer I was assigned to on Dance Props? I couldn’t stand her guts. Empty as a shell, dumb as a doornail, but she could dance.”

I know in my heart he’s being defensive. I know he’s not comparing her to me, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.

Dashiell looks at his wine glass instead of me.

“So I’m replaceable. Is what you’re trying to tell me?”

Dashiell’s eyes dart to mine. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.”

I walk toward the door to leave. I can’t stay here even though they offered. What if all of this time I’ve spent magnetized by our chemistry is good acting on Dash’s part, a role for him to play? Am I that out of touch? As starry-eyed as the rest of his fans and deluded about how he feels about me? Is our connection imagined on my part?

I wish the floor could open up and swallow me. I wish I never had to see Dash again, let alone dance with him. An exchange I thought was monumental was just another stepping stone on his way to success.

“I’ll see myself out. Tell your mom thanks for dinner.”

The diamond bracelet is in my pocket, but I can’t bring myself to give it to him. I move it nervously through my fingers like ominous prayer beads.

Dash doesn’t rise to stop me or call out my name.

It feels like the theater just went dark and not a single round of applause sounded from the audience.

Three days pass with no sign from Dashiell. No texts or calls, no accidental run-ins in the hallway. I do find a box of chocolate-covered granola bars in my locker, and they could only be from him. They’re full of peanuts. The gesture both softens and angers me. I love that he’s thinking about me and looking out for my well-being, but I’m also angry at his mixed messages, his insistence that I’ve got it all wrong when our connection happens to be the only part of my life that feels right.

Tags: Mila Crawford Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net