LITMIR.BIZ

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remembered reading the clause in the old contract that had mentioned wraparound care for any child, presumably because he expected her to go back to work.

      Sophie wouldn’t care if she never danced again. The thought of putting her pointe shoes on and performing made her feel all tight inside.

      ‘We’re not having a nanny,’ she told him flatly, her brief moment of joy gone.

      ‘Of course we are.’

      ‘We are not. I’m not letting someone else raise my child.’

      ‘A nanny would not raise it. A nanny would do the mundane chores.’

      Now she was to use the tone that meant he could argue with her but she would not bend. ‘This is our child and I’m not palming it off on a stranger.’

      His face darkened. ‘You are prepared to care for it 24/7?’

      ‘It’s called being a parent.’

      ‘What about work? How are you going to return to dance with a baby? Do you expect to pirouette with it strapped to your back?’

      ‘I’m not going back to the ballet.’

      He stared at her as if she’d just announced an intention to fly a car to the moon. ‘Why on earth not?’

      ‘I don’t want to.’

      Not want to? Javier had never heard such words from a ballerina’s mouth. His own mother had returned to the stage four months after giving birth to twins. To be a professional dancer meant a life of dedication and single-mindedness. His father had driven himself to alcoholic despair when the work had dried up, admittedly because of his drunken rages and violence against fellow dancers and choreographers. Javier didn’t know a single ballet dancer who had quit before the age of thirty-five, most usually only doing so reluctantly when their bodies failed them, all the injuries sustained through their careers finally taking their toll.

      Sophie was twenty-four. She hadn’t even reached her peak.

      ‘But you’re a dancer.’

      ‘And now I’m going to be a mother.’

      ‘You can be both.’ He shook his head, trying to comprehend this woman he was beginning to suspect he would never understand. ‘Carina, you’re young. You’re in excellent health. There is no reason for you not to be able to continue to dance.’

      ‘I don’t want to,’ she repeated with an obstinacy he’d never seen before. ‘I’m done with dance. It’s not as if I was particularly good at it.’

      ‘What are you talking about?’

      ‘I only got into ballet school because my parents paid the full fees.’

      ‘Did you not have to audition?’

      ‘Well...yes, but my parents still had to pay. I’m not saying I’m a bad dancer but I’m never going to be the best. I only got the job with your ballet company because Freya put a good word in for me.’

      ‘Rubbish.’

      ‘It isn’t rubbish...’

      ‘Compania de Ballet de Casillas does not employ second-rate dancers. I should know; it’s my company. You think anyone would dare go above my wishes for only the best to be employed?’

      She gaped, a crease forming in her brow. Then she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and grimaced. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

      ‘It does. You’re a dancer. You’re an excellent dancer. It’s in your blood.’

      ‘It isn’t,’ she insisted. ‘I love the ballet but... I’d been thinking of quitting before I joined your company. I think I would have done if Freya hadn’t needed me here. She was having a hard time, really struggling with being so far from her mum—you know how ill she is—and I wanted to support her. Just be there when she needed a shoulder to cry on.’

      ‘You were already thinking of quitting?’

      She nodded, a wistful look on her face. ‘I love the ballet, I really do, but dancing was never... My heart was never in it. It was not what I wanted to do in my life.’

      ‘What did you want to do?’

      ‘I wanted to be a vet.’

      ‘A vet?’

      His wife, a professional ballerina, who’d dedicated her life to dance had never wanted to do it. She’d wanted to be a vet.

      He could hardly wrap his brain around the notion.

      He thought back to their wedding night and her comment that her parents would have lived in a shed if it had meant Sophie getting into ballet school. At the time he’d treated it like a throwaway comment but now it began to resonate... Had Sophie spent her life working for a dream that wasn’t her own?

      What kind of a person did that?

      The answer stared back at him. His wife. The only person in the world who he suspected was capable of such self-sacrifice.

      Before he could question her further his phone buzzed. Catching the time on it, Javier blinked and hauled himself to his feet. ‘I have to go. We’ll finish this conversation when I get home.’

      Downing the last of his coffee, he contemplated Sophie one last time.

      It suddenly came to him that he wouldn’t see her for another five days.

      ‘Call me if you need anything.’

      She nodded but the easy smile that was usually never far from her lips didn’t appear.

      Was she angry at him for giving his opinion on her career?

      He didn’t have time to worry about that now. He had a flight slot to fill.

      Taking hold of his briefcase, he walked to the dining-room door.

      ‘Have a safe trip,’ she called to his retreating back. ‘Please call or message to let me know you’ve got there safely.’

      He took one last look at her.

      ‘I will,’ he promised.

      Now she did smile but nowhere near enough for it to reach her sad eyes.

      As his driver steered them out of the electric gates, Javier put his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh.

      Leaving his home had never felt like a wrench before.

      * * *

      Whoever had coined the term ‘retail therapy’ could not know how right they had been.

      Sophie had prevented herself bursting into tears at Javier’s leaving by a thread.

      He wouldn’t have wanted to see her cry. It would probably have repelled him.

      She didn’t understand why his leaving left her feeling so heavy and wretched. They were hardly in the throes of a traditional honeymoon period. They hadn’t even had a honeymoon!

      An hour after he’d left, his PA had turned up at the villa with a credit card for her.

      By what magic or trickery Javier had made it happen so quickly she could not begin to guess but it had lifted the weight off her considerably and brought a genuine smile to her face.

      He’d thought of her. He’d flexed his muscles for her and made the impossible happen. For her.

      The minute Michael, his driver, had got back from the airport she’d coerced him into taking her shopping.

      She had an unlimited credit card, a nursery to fill and prepare, and a new dressing room of clothes for herself to get. Javier’s observation that her clothes were getting tight had been correct. Only four months pregnant, she wasn’t yet large enough for maternity wear but clothing she could breathe in easily would be welcome.

      So

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