I could feel his intense displeasure radiating off him, but nestled in his arms, I was just confused.
“What’s wrong, Horace? Are you in a bad mood? If you don’t like my singing, I can… I can dance for you. I’m a beautiful dancer, you know. You used to say that whenever I danced for you, you’d feel better.”
I struggled to get down, and despite his strength, he couldn’t hold me back. His face was a thundercloud, his jaw tight with restraint.
“Zephyra, don’t move!”
“It’s okay, I can really dance…” Dizzy and disoriented, I managed a few simple moves from a classical piece. A simple turn was manageable, but a more complex leap nearly sent me crashing to the ground. He caught me in an instant, his arm locking around my waist to steady me.
The sudden movement made my head spin even more. I looked up at him, but the harsh fluorescent light blurred his features until it looked like he had five or six heads. I let out a little yelp and closed my eyes, burying my face against his chest with a silly laugh.
“See, Horace? Wasn’t that beautiful? Are you… are you feeling any happier?”
Back when my father’s business was just starting to take off, my mother insisted that a young lady needed to learn an art, so she forced me into classical dance classes. I was never more than mediocre, but after years of practice, the fundamentals were ingrained in me. During the time when Horace’s leg was injured, I never knew how to comfort him. He said my dancing was beautiful, so I danced for him.
Every time, it made him happy.
But this time, he seemed to be simmering with a deep rage. He swept me back into his arms, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line, his voice strained.
“It wasn’t beautiful. And stop talking.”
He placed me in the passenger seat and buckled my seatbelt. As I stared at his handsome, stormy face, he started looking more and more like Steven.
*Smack.*
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