"Wow," she finally uttered. "That must've been quite the experience."
When she said that, I knew I'd accidentally mislead her to think that dancing was a thing of the past, which wasn't the case.
"Are you covered?" I asked, wanting to make sure she had the towel secured around her before I turned.
"Yeah," she answered, and the next second I was looking into her eyes, finding little there other than curiosity.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the sight of bare shoulders and wet skin made me realize I was about to finish this conversation with her standing in a tub full of cooling water.
"Listen, why don't you go get dressed, then come to my room and we'll finish talking."
She didn't have a problem with that, agreeing quickly. I let her use my arm to steady herself as she stepped out onto the rug. We separated at the door, going in opposite directions down the hallway, and I acknowledged the fact that I was actually nervous about doing this; nervous she might not look at me the same after I told her the rest. Maybe, after she knew I was still a dancer … she might not think I was good enough.
For her.
For our daughter.
My fears were irrelevant, though. This needed to be said and I wouldn't put it off any longer. Tonight, all my cards would be laid out on the table.
Brynn
I dressed on autopilot, spreading lotion on my arms and legs while I daydreamed. Marco's confession was … it was shocking. Tattoo artist, property owner-those were the things I knew about him. I had no idea he was a dancer in the past. It was hard to imagine.
I stood from the edge of the bed and pulled up a pair of shorts, tying the drawstring loosely at my waist. Next, I slipped into the button-down night shirt that matched. He was waiting for me, waiting to finish our talk, and I made up my mind before going to his room to have an open mind.
Flipping off the light in the spare room left the hallway pitch black. That probably wasn't the best idea now that I thought about it, but I made it to Marco's room without any trouble.
He'd brought the candles in from the bathroom and placed one on each nightstand. When he noticed me in his doorway, a smile warmed his thoughtful expression.
But I wasn't really looking at his face.
The dark jeans he wore had been traded in for a pair of gray sweats; sweats that rode low on carved hips just below the waistband of briefs that boasted the name and logo of an expensive designer. He lay there in bed, watching me watch him. I could see the imprint of his package through the material without trying. It was right there for me to see, and stare at, and fantasize about, adding to the many reasons I already had to lust after him. Marco was pure magnificence; every inch of him, from head to toe.
Harsh lines traced his shirtless torso as the candlelight created stark contrasts on his skin. Every peak, every valley, was smooth and carefully sculpted-all evidence of what I imagined had to be one hell of a workout regimen. Whatever he did in the gym was working.
"Feel better now?" he asked, referring to my bath.
I nodded with a smile, trying not to stare as I closed the space between us, making my way over to his bed. He patted the spot beside him once, inviting me to join him. I eased onto his mattress and propped my head up on a pillow, linking my fingers across my stomach. He stared at the ceiling just like I did.
"I don't wanna mislead you," was the way he jumped back into our conversation. "I worded my statement wrong earlier so I need to clarify."
The silky material of the pillow touched my cheek when I turned Marco's way, watching the range of emotions that crossed his face.
What was he trying to say?
"Brynn, I … " He paused, stammering. While I waited for him to say whatever was on his mind, my heart raced and I could feel each deep intake of air that made my chest rise. When Marco spoke again, the words, "I never quit," had me thinking I misheard him, but then he added, "I've been dancing at a club called Indecent Exposure for eight years."
My heart came to a screeching halt as I watched him. I don't … That didn't make sense. How could I have possibly missed that?
I stared so long my eyes were dry when I finally blinked again. He turned away from me and stared at the ceiling again. I had no idea what to say to him. There were so many questions.
"Believe it or not, in all the years I've been doing this," he started, " … this is the first time I've ever felt ashamed of how I earn a living. Right now. Telling you."
And I could see that all over him.
Inhaling deep, I stared at the side of his face as the candlelight cast shadows on his skin. He shifted as thoughts passed through his mind.
"I don't want this to change how you were starting to see me."
Those words struck me in a soft spot and hit home in a way I didn't expect them to. Recently, I'd been judged pretty unjustly, pretty harshly, by my now former employer. It was still fresh in my head how it felt for the headmaster of St. Ann's, and other school administrators, to sit across the table from me during that meeting and stare down their noses. They were so self-righteous in their swift decision to terminate me with little regard or consideration for the positive impact I had on my students during my years of employment there. So, yes, I knew what it felt like for someone to take one aspect of your existence and form an entire opinion about who you are.
And I wouldn't do that to him.
When my fingers slipped down the length of Marco's arm, he met my gaze, holding it as I gripped his hand. Being honest, his news was unsettling to me. I didn't necessarily like what he did for a living, especially considering the feelings I was developing for him, but we were still just taking this one day at a time. Because of that and my vow to remain open minded, I didn't speak on it.
"You left off saying you got into dancing to take care of your family," I stated, reminding him of his place in the story, letting him know it was okay to go on. He'd gone into defensive mode when he thought I might attack his character, but that wasn't my intention.
His eyes softened when he found mine and then he nodded. "Yeah … to help my mom and sisters with bills and whatever else they needed. It just … " he paused to get his thoughts together. "It got old watching them struggle, but I was a kid, you know? I didn't have any skills. Barely finished school. So my boy, Carlos, came to me one day with this idea. He wanted to go see about getting hired in at a club, so I figured, hey, why not. The worst they could do was laugh us out of the place," he said with a smile, relaxing a little more.
"The money was just so easy to come by." He zoned out for a moment. "I still remember what I did when I got paid from the club for the first time. I was staying with my sister, but I'd visit my mom just about every day to check in and make sure she was doing okay. Seemed like every time I went over there she had a load of laundry to do and there was this pipe that leaked in the basement of the house she and my father lived in back then. Whenever she would wash clothes, that thing would give her trouble," he stated, laughing at the memory. "She'd come back upstairs, yelling and carrying on, just pissed," he added. "So, as soon as I had some cash in my hand, I called a guy out and took care of it for her."
I listened, still clutching his hand.
"That was when I became addicted," he said next. "That was the moment I started doing the math-a few hours of performing could fix my family. Anything they needed, anything they wanted, I could do those things for them." He stopped talking and I found myself understanding how that kind of money in a young kid's hands could persuade him to stay in that life.
It all went back to Marco wanting to save everyone around him. I witnessed firsthand how it was second nature for him to want to swoop in and provide for someone he perceived to be struggling. The moment he found out I lost my job, it was just in him to want to jump in and take care of me. In gist, he knew hard times and had no plans to go back to it, had no plans to let it consume the ones he cared about most.
"I was able to save enough to eventually buy the shop I worked at part-time on the side, bought this house and invested in my income property," he added. "There's decent money coming in from those sources, but none of it comes as quickly or as easily as dancing," he added. "What I do at the club is the reason Marcela is almost done with her nursing degree, the reason Isobel was able to attend St. Ann's, and the reason Rosalina will be starting her first semester of college this coming fall," he explained. "Performing has never been about me. It's never been about the attention; it was never about the women," he explained. "It's always been for them."