Page 69
I let out a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles whitened.
“I just need some fucking space.”
Hurt flashed across her face, lasting less than three seconds. Then it disappeared. She took several cleansing breaths and tugged lightly at the waistband of her lavender flared leggings.
Isabella would look good in a pair of those. I was half tempted to ask Kinsley to order her a pair, but in black when she looked up.
“I’m going to say this as nicely as I can. You’ve spent the last few hours glaring at everyone. Nina was almost in tears. Tears, Pasha.”
I rolled my eyes.
“We don’t make women cry, especially on the dance floor.”
I scoffed, the sound rushing out of me. She was going to lecture me on tears. Her? The queen of them. How ironic. She crossed her arms.
“Now, you nearly dropped me twice. Clearly, something is bothering you. You don’t want to talk about it fine. But you’re acting like a toddler who missed his nap.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yup. And you could fix it by doing us all a favor.”
My fingers pressed into the bridge of his nose once again. My breath came out uneven. “Yeah, what the hell would that be?”
“Be a good boy and go take one. You’re cranky.”
The fuck?
She pointed toward the couch. My mouth fell open. The heat from my checks rose into outright anger. My nostrils flared, and it took everything in me to keep from snapping.
“Are you fucking serious right—”
“Dead serious.” She held up a hand, looking at her freshly manicured fingernails. “I won’t have this level of pitiful effort in my studio. Not from you. Not from anyone. Our students learn by example. You know better. Or you should.”
Fuck, she was right. “Kinsley—”
“I said, take the damn nap,” she roared, then startled like the noise didn’t come from her.
Then she walked toward the door. Once she got to it, her expression had adjusted back to the serene-looking face I was more used to.
“And when you’re done throwing your mantrum, you can rejoin society.”
The door slammed hard enough to rattle the picture frames. I stared at them, then the couch, and finally the door again.
Mantrum. What the fuck was a mantrum?
A reluctant laugh escaped me despite everything. Somehow, she had embodied not only my deceased parents, but Nik, Marcel, and Tori, too.
“Lucky me,” I muttered to the empty office.
The silence that followed grew increasingly uncomfortable. I practiced some breathing techniques, and eventually gave in and stretched out on the couch. Kinsley wasn’t entirely wrong.
Exhaustion was practically my middle fucking name. My body felt heavy. Every muscle ached from teaching all day, and yet my mind refused to quiet. I closed my eyes. Immediately, I saw Isabella.
Tears running down her face, her pretty blue eyes swollen but so clearly showcasing the hurt. The fear had reduced her words to nothing more than a whisper. The feeling of her hand pulling on my shirt when she looked at me and asked me not to tell anyone.
The sorrowful way she’d looked away when I admitted I wanted the baby. I swallowed hard, trying to push down the storm rising inside me. With a frustrated groan, I sat back up and grabbed my phone. Maybe mindlessly scrolling would do what sleep couldn’t.
The first few posts were harmless enough. A video of someone attempting a dance trend. Then a fucking recipe. Damn algorithm. Like one stupid video and suddenly it thought you’d taken up a new hobby.
