Dreaming Of Christmas. Susan Mallery

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      “It was complicated,” Rafe admitted. “She was a lot younger, and I think she was a reminder of that one night for my mom. The four of us were used to being together, then Evie came along....” His voice trailed off.

      Dante had lost his mother when he’d been fifteen. While he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, a case could be made that he was responsible. They’d always been there for each other, and to this day, he would give anything to have her back. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to have family and not be close to them.

      “She’s your sister,” he began.

      “I know.” He sighed. “I was too busy being the man of the family. I figured the rest of them would worry about Evie. But that never happened. She was always an afterthought.” He shook his head. “There’s no excuse.”

      Dante had known Rafe a lot of years and trusted him completely. From what he’d seen, May was a sweet, loving person. So how had everyone managed to ignore what was going on with Evie?

      “She’s here now,” Rafe continued. “We want to make things up to her.”

      “Good luck with that.”

      “You think she’ll resist?”

      “If you were her, how forgiving would you be?”

      Rafe sighed. “Yeah, I see your point. I appreciate you looking out for her.” He stared at Dante. “That’s all it is, right? You’re not getting involved?”

      Dante knew exactly what his friend was asking. Telling Rafe he thought Evie was sexy as hell, from the way she walked to her hard-won smile, wasn’t a smart move. Instead he settled on the truth.

      “You know how I feel about relationships.” In his world, love had deadly consequences. He’d learned the lesson early and had never let it go.

      * * *

      THE FRIDAY AFTER Thanksgiving wasn’t a school day, so Evie had scheduled her dance classes early. She was done by three and showered, dressed and settled in front of her television by four. She pushed the play button on her remote, cuing up the DVD of the performance, then settled back on her sofa to watch it for the fortieth time.

      The story was simple. The Winter King had dozens of daughters. The girls wanted to go free in the world, but he loved them too much to let them go. So his daughters danced to convince him they were ready to leave. At the end, the girls were revealed as beautiful snowflakes and he released them into the world as Christmas snow.

      The girls danced in groups. They were mostly divided by age, with the younger performers having more simple choreography. Every student had a few seconds of a solo with the more advanced students having longer in the spotlight. Several styles of dance were represented. Modern, tap, clog and, of course, ballet.

      The sets were simple, the lighting basic. The music was a collection of classic holiday songs, leaning heavily on Tchaikovsky. What would the world have done without his beautiful Nutcracker? The biggest problem in her mind was the transitions. They were awkward in some places, nonexistent in others. Sometimes the girls simply walked off the stage, and the next group walked on. Every time she watched that part of the performance, she winced.

      Evie made a few notes, then rewound to the clog dancers who opened the show. Some of their steps were similar to tap, she thought. The sounds could echo each other. Slower, then faster. She stood and moved along with the girls on the recording. But as they turned to leave, she kept dancing, going a little more quickly, finding the rhythm of the tap dancers as they moved onto the stage.

      She paused the frame and wrote some more, then made a couple of quick drawings to capture the exact poses she imagined. She moved on to the next transition and made changes there. She was just starting the third when someone rang her doorbell.

      Her first thought was that it might be her mother. Dread coiled in her stomach. She wasn’t ready to face May, to deal with the family trauma again. Was hiding and ignoring the interruption too cowardly?

      Whoever was at the door rang the bell again. Reluctantly, she walked over and opened it.

      Relief was instant. Dante stood on her doorstep. He smiled at her.

      “You’re home. I didn’t hear any pounding above my head, so I thought maybe you’d finished early. Get your coat.”

      He looked good, she thought, studying his amused expression. He wore a leather jacket over jeans and a scarf. He had on boots. She could feel the cold of the rapidly darkening late afternoon.

      She put her hands on her hips. “Get my coat? Was that an order? Newsflash. I don’t work for you.”

      “Good. Because I don’t take anyone on my staff out.” He sighed. “Seriously, you’re going to be difficult?”

      “No. I’m going to ask where we’re going.”

      “Didn’t I say ‘out’? I would swear I did.”

      She laughed. “Out where?”

      “To the center of town. They’re decorating. Neither of us particularly likes the holiday season, so we need to be with people who are less corrupt. It will be good for us.”

      “Will it?” She stepped back to allow him inside. “When did you make this discovery?”

      “Earlier. So are you coming or what?”

      “Give me a second.”

      She turned off her TV and the laptop she’d hooked up for the DVDs, then stepped into boots and pulled them on. After shoving her house keys and a few dollars into her jeans pockets, she shrugged on her coat.

      “I’m ready.”

      Dante stared at her. “Impressive. Less than two minutes.”

      “You’ve never had to change costumes during a performance of Swan Lake.”

      “That’s true. How perceptive of you.”

      They walked outside. She locked the door, then followed him to the sidewalk.

      The couple across the street was putting up Christmas lights. Several other townhouses had wreathes on doors and lights twinkling from doors and rooftops.

      “We’re really going into town?” she asked.

      “Yes. The whole place has transformed.”

      “I noticed a few Christmas decorations being put up this morning,” she admitted, “but nothing that earth-shattering.”

      He took her hand in his. “You walked home the back way, didn’t you? Through the residential part of town.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      His fingers were warm and strong next to hers. His skin smooth without being too soft. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d held hands with a guy. This was nice, she told herself. She and Dante weren’t dating—she wasn’t that stupid. She knew better than to fall for her brother’s business partner. But some gentle flirting, a little handsome male СКАЧАТЬ