Chapter 15
Chapter 15
The car pulled up in front of the dance studio, but Rosalie suddenly gripped the door handle, refusing to get out. “Ali, can we maybe do this another day? I’m… I’m not ready for this.”
Alistair’s expression softened, though his tone remained gentle but unyielding. “Not today, Rosie. He’s been waiting for you for so long. Now that you’re finally back, he can’t wait another day.”
Rosalie paused, surprised. “Waiting for a long time? Has he… had feelings for me for a while?”
Alistair simply gave her one of those reassuring smiles that had always made her feel safe, even as a child. “Trust me on this, just once more. When have I ever steered you wrong?”
She couldn’t argue with that. Reluctantly, she allowed him to come around and open her door, his hand warm and steady as he helped her out. Despite her anxiety, there was something comforting about Alistair’s certainty, his unwavering confidence that this was right.
The moment she walked in, Rosalie stood frozen in awe. The dance studio was beyond anything she could have imagined–and yet, somehow exactly what she’d always wanted. The sprung hardwood floors were the perfect shade of honey–gold she preferred. The mirrors were positioned at the precise angle she had once casually mentioned created the best visual feedback for technique. The lighting was soft yet clear, avoiding the harsh fluorescents so many studios used.
Most touching of all, one entire wall displayed framed photographs of her performances through the years, arranged in a beautiful timeline of her dance journey.
“Ali, this is…” she whispered, emotion catching in her throat. She remembered mentioning these specific preferences to Dante once–details he’d dismissed with casual indifference, more interested in getting her clothes off than hearing about her passion. But Alistair had remembered every casual comment, every offhand wish she’d ever expressed.
“You remembered everything,” she said softly.
Alistair smiled, satisfaction clear in his eyes. “Of course I did. Every word you’ve ever said matters to
me.”
He gestured around the space. “Take your time. Look around. I’ll go get him.”
As Alistair disappeared through a side door, Rosalie wandered the studio, running her fingers along the ballet barre, testing the floor’s give beneath her feet. The sound system was top–of–the–line, with
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The Ultimate Payback: When I Married Your Enemy, My Stepbrother
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Chapter 15
acoustic panels positioned exactly how she’d once explained would create the perfect sound
distribution.
Unable to resist, she scrolled through the pre–loaded playlist, smiling when she found all her favorite pieces. She pressed play, and as the opening notes of Debussy’s “Clair de Lune” filled the space, her body responded instinctively.
For the first time in months, Rosalie danced without restraint. Here, in this space created with such attention to her needs, surrounded by evidence of someone’s genuine care, the armor she’d built around herself in New York fell away. Her movements flowed like water, unbound by the tension and guardedness that had become her constant companions.
She lost herself in the music, spinning and leaping, letting the melody carry her emotions where words couldn’t reach. In this dance was her pain, her relief at being home, her gratitude–all the feelings she couldn’t yet articulate.
As the final notes faded, she became aware of a presence. Alistair stood leaning against the doorframe, watching her with eyes that held nothing but warmth and something deeper, something she’d always seen but never fully recognized.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked, suddenly self–conscious.
“Long enough,” he replied, his voice soft with admiration. “You’ve never looked more beautiful than
when you’re dancing.”
Rosalie smiled, then remembered why they were there. She glanced behind him, expecting to see someone else. “Where is he? I thought you were bringing my potential fiancé.”
Alistair moved further into the room, his steps deliberate. “He’s already here, Rosie.”
Confusion crossed her face as she looked around the empty studio. “But there’s no one else here. Just
you.”
“Exactly,” Alistair said simply.
The realization hit her like a physical force. “Ali, are you saying… you’re the one? You’re my
intended fiancé?”
Alistair didn’t speak immediately. For all his usual confidence, she could see a flicker of vulnerability cross his face–that rare uncertainty she’d glimpsed perhaps three times in her entire
life.
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Chapter 15
“This isn’t a joke, is it?” she whispered.
He shook his head, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen it. “Rosie, I’ve never been more serious about anything. You were too young to understand before, but I was adopted into the Lima family when I was four. We don’t share blood. And all these years I’ve cared for you… did you really never sense there was something more than brotherly affection?”
Suddenly, countless memories rearranged themselves in her mind, clicking into a pattern she’d
somehow missed:
How Alistair would cancel important meetings if she so much as mentioned feeling under the
weather.
The way he’d researched every dance company in New York before she moved, creating detailed files on their reputations, their treatment of dancers, their safety records.
How during her first year away, care packages would arrive weekly–always containing her favorite snacks, books she’d mentioned wanting to read, specialty teas for her voice.
The tension in his voice whenever she mentioned Dante on their calls, the subtle shift in his tone, as if he was physically restraining himself from saying more.
That time she’d had pneumonia in college, and he’d flown across the country, camped out in her dorm room for a week, cooking her soup and monitoring her medication with more dedication than her actual boyfriend had ever shown.
All those moments when she’d thought to herself: “This is how a partner should behave. This is what real care looks like.”
It hadn’t been her imagination after all.
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