“Not in the front row,” she retorted. “You can save her a seat in the back. You only get the front if you’re here in person.”
His gaze narrowed. So did hers.
“Sydney Greene-Seymour had an emergency. Do you know her? And her daughter, Becca? I’m sure Sydney will be appreciative of your flexibility—it really is an emergency.”
Uh-oh. He’d figured name-dropping would help, but her face got all scrunched up, and a venomous glee glinted from her eyes. “I see. Are you a friend of Sydney’s?” she practically sneered.
“Yes.”
“Well, friends can’t save seats, either. My daughter Lucy is the lead, and I plan to sit in this seat.” With a sharklike smile, she reached out to move his jacket.
His hand shot out to keep it there. “Sorry. This seat is saved.”
She gasped. “I tried being polite. Now I’m getting Ms. Benneton. Stay here.” She jabbed a sharp bloodred fingernail in his direction and stalked away.
Was he in trouble? His stress level shot up. This was supposed to be a supportive, creative community, yet he felt like he’d gotten dropped into the Hunger Games arena. Then again, he’d seen clips of the movie Bad Moms. He figured it was fiction, but maybe it was reality? PTA moms going psycho and blackmailing others not in the clique? He fought a shudder. Still, no one was getting Sydney’s seat without a fight. He’d managed to battle Realtors, developers, and clients that would scare Satan himself. No local ballet mother was getting the best of him.
A few minutes later, a tall woman with dark hair twisted into a bun and kind features appeared before him. She looked a bit stressed, so he pegged her as the head teacher. “Here! See, he’s saving a seat for Sydney, and he’s just the boyfriend.”
“Friend,” he corrected patiently. He gave Ms. Benneton his best smile and oozed extra charm into his voice. “Forgive me for causing any trouble. Sydney had a flat tire, and she’ll be here soon. She asked if I could take Becca to her recital and save a seat. I’m sure you understand.”
“There are no exceptions to the rule,” Bad Moms Lady snapped out. “One exception leads to another, and then it is unfair to us all. I insist you give up this seat so I can watch my daughter dance the lead.”
Ms. Benneton looked like she’d rather get a root canal than be next to Bad Mom, but she managed to pat her arm and keep her patient expression. “We do have that rule for a good reason, but this is a special circumstance that has never occurred before. Cynthia, how about we set up one extra folding chair in the front row, and allow—”
“Tristan,” he cut in smoothly.
“Tristan to save Sydney a seat. Will that satisfy everyone?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
They glared at each other. Ms. Benneton glanced back and he saw a crowd was gathering over the debacle. Shit. He didn’t want the bad moms to target Sydney, but he wasn’t giving up this damn chair.
“I demand you move,” Bad Mom aka Cynthia hissed.
“I’m sure the other chair will be perfectly fine, and you’ll be able to see your daughter,” he said reasonably.
She leaned in. Ruthlessness gleamed from her eyes. “Then you take the other chair. I’m taking this one.”
She grabbed his jacket and tossed it to the side. Then started to sit.
He immediately threw his leg up and over to take up the empty seat.
She yelped in outrage.
“I don’t have time for this right now,” Ms. Benneton practically wailed. “Cynthia, I need you to be reasonable. Help me. I have girls who need help with their costumes, and hair ties have broken, and I am begging you to be the voice of reason and the leader you always are. Please.”
Wow. She was good.
Tristan caught the look the teacher tossed him, and he realized the reverse psychology was actually working. Bad Mom Cynthia seemed to calm, composing her features in a mask of reason and hiding the crazy. Giving him one last murderous glance, she nodded and straightened her sweater set. “You’re right. This isn’t worth it when there’s so much to be done. If you keep that extra seat open for me on the aisle, I’ll help you and then sneak back quietly to my special seat.”
His lips twitched. Ah, now it was a special seat, huh? Ms. Benneton nodded and escorted her away, leaving Tristan alone with his leg hiked up on the metal folding chair and a throbbing headache.
Son of a bitch. This was more stressful than real estate.
When the lights went out, he realized he should be videotaping the show, so he took out his iPhone and began recording. About ten minutes into the performance, Becca still hadn’t danced, and he was falling asleep. All the little girls looked similar, and it was no Swan Lake. At times, it was almost painful.
A warm body slid beside him. Her breath whispered in his ear. “Thank you so much for helping me out. Any problems?”
He studied her in the flickering shadows. The fall of her fiery hair, the soft dew of her white skin, the smattering of freckles bridging her nose. She was wearing an interesting outfit of tight, bright leggings, furry boots, and an oversize shirt. She was sexy and adorable, and in that moment, he had so much respect for her for raising a daughter on her own and doing a slam-dunk job of it.
’Cause after only a few hours, he was ready to raise the white flag.
Slowly he smiled and reached out to squeeze her hand.
“Everything was perfect.”
She relaxed and let him hold her hand for a little while longer.
And he remembered.
“My mother is dead.”
He uttered the words with a numbness that caused a flash of guilt. He should be more upset. It had been two weeks of nonstop chaos, grief, and anger, and then nothing. He hadn’t cried at his own mother’s funeral. Cal had. So had Dalton. Not him. He’d just stood there on the muddy ground, staring at the casket while the priest muttered words that meant nothing. Her death should have brought him closer to his brothers and healed the growing rift between them.
Instead, the rift had only widened, until they could barely stand being in the same room with one another. They fought and blamed, and their father was in the background, muttering about their beloved mother’s betrayal.
She’d left them all. Left her family. Left him.
For some strange man he didn’t even know. She was going to run away with him with two tickets to Paris found in the wreckage.
One-way. She wasn’t planning on coming back.
His entire life swiveled on its axis and shattered into fragments. He didn’t know what was real any longer or what to believe in. He had no one to talk to. He had nowhere to go with this burning emptiness that slowly ate at his gut and devoured his soul.
He’d come to Sydney because she was the only one who’d loved his mother with a depth that shadowed his own. His secret affair with Syd had started off as a sexy, intense interlude that lasted through the summer months, but when fall returned and it still raged on, his brothers had discovered the secret. After an explosive fight during which he’d punched Dalton in the nose and Cal had given him a black eye, they’d reached an understanding. They stayed out of his business and backed him up by not telling his father. He’d convinced them he and Syd were friends, respected and cared about each other, but it wouldn’t be a long-lasting relationship. Sydney had confirmed it. With a blush on her cheeks, she told his brothers to mind their own damn business.
Eventually they stopped giving him a hard time. The months drifted into almost a year, and he and Syd were still going strong. Tristan didn’t like to think about it or classify what they had. Yes, she was young. Yes, sometimes they fell into ridiculous arguments because she was jealous of every other woman he talked to. Yes, she was insecure, and sometimes clung a bit too hard despite her guise of not caring.
But then his mom had died, and everything had changed. He was floating out there in space with no anchor to Earth, and for the first time, he was scared of who he was becoming.
There’d always been a coldness deep within him, an ability to shut himself off from the world to avoid messy emotions. But lately he’d been living in that place. His mother had always been able to pull him out.
So had Sydney.