“
Rubio’s Pet.
” He nuzzled his cheek against her. When he drew back, he looked sober, almost sad. “I want to ask you something, but I don’t want you to say no.”
She sighed. “If it’s about the peeing thing, I gave you my final answer. Not even in the shower.”
“No, no.” He covered her lips. “It’s something else. Something important.”
He was making her nervous. She traced over a small, light scar on his arm, one of many on his body that reminded her just how much he loved her. “Ask me. I’ll try not to say no.”
“You know, we’ve been together over a year now. I mean, over a year since we first met, and we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs. And you put up with all kinds of stuff from me and I think you love me.”
“Of course I love you, you big pile of silliness.”
“Not being silly,” he said, easing her up. “I’m not being silly now. I want to ask you...if maybe...if...you know...”
“Please, just spit it out.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I want to know if I got a ring and gave it to you, and asked you to marry me, would you say yes?” His face softened, a pleading note in his gaze. “I wanted to ask first, before I did it.”
Petra stared at him. “So this is like...a pre-proposal? Are you asking me if you can ask me to marry you?”
“Sometimes I don’t understand your English. But I think so. Yes. I want to ask you to marry me but I don’t want you to say no. So if the answer is no, I won’t ask.”
Petra hid a smile behind her hand. He looked so serious. Was he really afraid she’d say no? But then, she’d fought the idea of love and relationships for so long. He must have taken her pause as indecision, because he launched into a persuasive spiel.
“We already live together, you know? And it’s good. You make me happy, always. Even when we fight, an hour later I want to love you again because of your smile, and how you make me feel. And if you don’t want to make babies, is okay. I don’t care as long as I have you.”
Now she was the one silencing him with a finger to his lips. “You don’t have to talk me into it. The answer is yes. It’s absolutely yes.”
“Yes?” His expression brightened. “Yes, you’ll marry me?”
“Of course I will. I feel like we’re already married in our hearts.” She pressed her palm against his chest. “Although, in my opinion, this is a really shoddy proposal.”
“Is not the real one,” he protested. “Just feeling things out.”
“I see. Well, for the real one I think you should get some flowers, and romantic music, and maybe a ring.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “I was going to ask when I was fucking your ass over there.”
Petra burst out laughing. “That would have been worse. But, maybe, oddly appropriate.” Her laughter died away as she reached to caress his stubble-roughened cheek. “And when it comes to babies, we’ll see what happens. Maybe we can have a little girl like Ash and Liam, and we’ll call her Fernandina, and she’ll look exactly like you.”
“Oh, no,” he muttered. “Perhaps some other name.”
“And she’ll be a great ballerina. Or not. Maybe we’ll have a little boy. Maybe we can have both.”
“I think you would make pretty babies,” he said, toying with a lock of her hair. “Someday, if you want. No pressure. But how do you think they would look? I’m so dark, you’re so light. Maybe our babies will be medium.”
Petra had never wanted babies. That was never her dream until she thought about having a baby with Rubio, and then her feelings changed. He would make such a great dad, such a loving and sensitive parent. He loved Alanna and the baby adored Rubio, batting and squealing at him whenever he bounced her on his lap. Maybe they’d end up having “medium” kids, and maybe not, but she understood now that either way, there was a lot more to life than the spring and fall seasons and the summer tour. There was a lot more to life than class and technique and rehearsals.
She shifted on her sore bottom and looked into the eyes of the man she loved, the man who loved her the perfect amount. “Are you sure you want my babies?” she asked. “I’ve been told I have a tragically big forehead.”
“Aw, Petra,” he said, blushing pink beneath his bronze skin. “Your forehead is perfect. Really, I don’t know who told you such a thing. Your forehead is the most beautiful forehead in the world.”
Waiting parents lined the walls of the East London dance studio, their smiles reflected in the facing mirrors. If any of them noted the two ballet legends in their midst, they didn’t make a fuss about it. Petra had been retired five years now, though Rubio still danced with City Ballet on occasion. Both of them taught workshops and acted as consultants at various ballet companies.
But not this one. This little company was ruled by Madame Doubrovska, an eccentric old lady who lived and breathed ballet, even in her mid-seventies. “Chins up, children,” she chirped to the group of preschoolers as they took their places in front of the guests. They were mostly pink-tighted girls, but also a few boys in white shirts and navy tights, one of whom had jet black hair and shining dark eyes like his daddy.
Petra glowed with a mother’s pride. It was Federico’s first recital, a small affair held right in the dance studio. Ruby took her hand and squeezed it. “Look at him,” he whispered. “Such turnout at four.”
She shushed him, squeezing his hand back. Looking at her son, she had to agree. They hadn’t pushed Federico toward dance, but he’d seen daddy dance enough times to want to emulate him. The children demonstrated simple ballet steps to the applause of their parents. Their awkward
pliés
and wobbly
arabesques
were touching. Petra remembered her early classes, when dance was all about her teacher’s approving smiles and her soft, pink ballet shoes sliding across the floor.
The children did some gymnastics next, tumbles and cartwheels on multicolored mats. Petra didn’t think she was being biased—Federico was strong and coordinated, and more graceful than the other kids. Dread battled with pride. Ballet was a hard life, although they’d enjoyed it. She looked over at her husband and saw the same conflict in his speculative smile.
When the gymnastics exhibition was done, they pushed the mats to the side and the teacher called smaller groups of children to dance short pieces. Five little girls hopped and swayed to an upbeat song, and then a young boy and girl performed a short balletic version of a nursery rhyme.
Then Federico came forward with two young ladies. He took his place between them and did a pose so Rubio-esque in quality that Petra gasped. As they began to move to the classical music, it became apparent that Federico was fonder of one of the girls than the other. When he focused his attention on her, the other girl protested that he wasn’t doing the right steps. Madame Doubrovska tried to get them back on track, but by that point Federico had struck out on his own, moving boldly to the music.
“He’s a rebel,” Ruby whispered in her ear.
“He’s a diva,” she whispered back. “I wonder where he gets that.”
She watched, fascinated, as her son swayed to the music, making dramatic gestures. He was aping his daddy, certainly, but he was feeling it inside too.
Oh God, they had another Rubio on their hands.
The music concluded with the dancers in three completely different parts of the room. Madame Doubrovska herded them together for a very pretty
reverence
to the laughter of the spectators. “Make nice bow, make nice curtsy,” she said, clucking over the three of them like they’d done it exactly as she planned. Federico played to the crowd, bowing so low he almost fell over onto his knobby knees.
Later, when the program concluded, he came running over to them. He seemed energized by the applause, by performing in front of the intimate group. Rubio swept him into his arms. “You did very well,” he said. “
Muito bem, rapazinho
.”
Petra stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Mommy and Daddy are so proud.”
“Did you see me dancing?” he asked. “Out there?”
He pointed to the studio floor, now crowded with families taking photos and hugging their tiny performers. In the middle, the snubbed little girl gave Federico the evil eye.
“I did see you,” said Rubio, lowering his son back to the floor. “Did you follow the steps your teacher told you?”
“Kind of,” he said, with a copy of his father’s smile.
“I think you made your friend sad.” Petra pointed to the pouting girl.
“I don’t like her. I didn’t want to dance with her.”
Petra gave Ruby a speaking look. “Sometimes that happens. But you should still be nice.”
“Yes, Rico,” said Ruby with a sigh. “You have to be sweet to the girls. Go, tell her you’re sorry.” He led his son over to his classmate. Petra watched Federico murmur an apology and suppressed a giggle when the little girl scowled at him, twisting a white-blonde curl.
“Where have I seen that look before?” Rubio said to Petra under his breath.
She took his hand and gazed at him, taken back to a time they faced one another across a rehearsal studio, determined not to like each other. He was older now, his hair peppered with a smattering of gray, and the smile lines more prominent around his eyes. But he was as beautiful as ever, especially as a husband and a father.
And a dancer. He’d always be her partner, her other half in the ballet history books. Hewitt and Rubio were legendary, and perhaps Federico would be legendary too. It was early to tell. For now, he took his parents’ hands and skipped between them down the corridor, occasionally leaping with joyful abandon into the air.
I hope you enjoyed this second book in my BDSM Ballet series. Rubio played a supporting role in the first book,
Waking Kiss
, as Liam and Ashleigh fell in love, and I knew early on he’d need his own story. It was tough finding a heroine who could stand up to such a strong character, but fortunately I found Petra. I began with the slap in rehearsal and followed through from there, and I loved how things worked out for them. Perhaps I’ll write Federico’s story one day.
Many thanks to my Brazilian friend Maryara for inspiring the character of Rubio and helping me with the Portuguese phrases in this book, and in
Waking Kiss
. Team Rubio forever!
Thanks also to my wonderfully supportive betas and editors: Audrey, Lina Sacher, Linzy Antoinette, Doris, and J. Luna Scuro. I appreciate all of you more than words can say.
Coming in 2014
Annabel’s short story “The Neckcloth” will be included in the anthology
Best Bondage Erotica 2014
, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Available NOW for preorder at Amazon.com!
Sign up for Annabel's Naughty Newsletter at annabeljoseph.com to learn more about upcoming releases and promotions.
Other erotic romance by Annabel Joseph
Mercy
Cait and the Devil
Firebird
Deep in the Woods
Fortune
Owning Wednesday
Lily Mine
Comfort Object
Caressa's Knees
Odalisque
Command Performance
Cirque de Minuit
Burn For You
The Edge of the Earth (as Molly Joseph)
Disciplining the Duchess
Waking Kiss
Erotica by Annabel Joseph
Club Mephisto
Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold
Annabel Joseph is a multi-published BDSM romance author. She writes mainly contemporary romance, although she has been known to dabble in the medieval and Regency eras. She is known for writing emotionally intense BDSM storylines, and strives to create characters that seem real—even flawed—so readers are better able to relate to them. Annabel also writes vanilla (non-BDSM) erotic romance under the pen name Molly Joseph.
Annabel loves to hear from her readers at [email protected]