Distraction

Bonus Chapter #2

♥♥♥ Author's Note ♥♥♥

So here's another 'bonus' chapter - this time I'd really like your opinion. My very first Beta reader of Distraction said she was a little underwhelmed with why Libby gave up ballet. Okay, it's believeable, but she was expecitng something a little more dramatic. So I had this idea... Check it out and let me know what you think!

Oh, this is Chapter Twenty-Four, when Libby tells Patrick about being a ballerina.

♥♥♥ Happy Reading ♥♥♥

Saturday night. He could've done anything, gone anywhere. He could've got drunk, got stoned, rang Miss Haverton and got laid. Instead, Patrick had chosen to visit Miss Olivia Wilde and now he sat willing her to speak. What the hell was wrong with him being English? And what was with the secrecy over being a ballerina?  

Libby opened her mouth, no doubt to voice her usual none of your business response, but instead she ate a forkful of potatoes, never dropping her eye contact with him. What was going on behind those pretty grey eyes?  

'I grew up in Brize Norton.' She took a sharp breath, as if the admission shocked her. 'It's honestly not that interesting.' 

Oh, it is. 'Go on.' 

'My mum was a senior officer in the RAF, my dad god-knows what for the MOD. I learned not to bother asking.' 

'Brothers or sisters?' 

'Two brothers, Lucas and Connor, but they're ten years younger than me, so I was an only child for ages. Originally, I wanted to fly planes, like Mum used to, so she taught me to toughen up. Judo, kick-boxing, generally how to take someone down-' 

'Like Andy?' 

She laughed a little. 'Like Andy. But she didn't want me to grow up a tomboy, so she picked girly hobbies. Horse-riding, Brownies, piano lessons and ballet. I was eight when I saw my first ballet. The Nutcracker. I took one look at the Sugar Plum Fairy and decided to be a ballerina not a fighter pilot when I grew up. I worked hard, took it seriously and got into the Royal Ballet School.' 

'Is that where Zoe went too?' 

'We met on the first day and we've been best friends ever since. God, I missed her when she left London, but we stayed friends. She went to university and I turned professional. I joined the corps of the English National Ballet.' She sipped her wine, smiling at the ceiling. 'It was like some kind of fairy tale and I was starring in it. They paid me to dance and by the time I was twenty-two I was a senior soloist, well on my way to being a principle.' 

'What happened?' 

She dug into her steak, her frown deepening, but she wasn't crying and after several mouthfuls she carried on. 'One day, we were rehearsing and my dance partner... he dropped me. I landed badly and fractured my ankle in three places.' 

'Ah, the ankle that hurt when I mowed you down. Surely they pinned it?' 

'Yes, but it was never the same. When you're in a company, you work hard. Class, rehearsals, performances. It adds up to eight hours dancing a day.'  

'Jesus.' 

'And my ankle couldn't take it. It hurts too much to dance.' 

Something was off. Her tone had turned monotonous, as if she were reciting a script, and she'd become fascinated with her French beans, picking at them with her fork. How many owners had he questioned and seen that same guilt over the half-truth they'd answered with?