The Ballerina's Secret. Teri Wilson
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thought back to the moment she’d crashed into him before rehearsal, the utterly blank look on her downturned face when he’d told her not to worry and the brush-off she’d given him when he’d tried to help her up. He remembered the way her head hadn’t moved at all when he’d spoken to her on the train. She hadn’t been slighting him. She’d never heard a word he’d said.
He shook his head. No. It just wasn’t possible. “How does she even do it? How does she know what’s being said in class? How does she dance?”
“She reads lips, and she counts the beats.”
She reads lips.
Without realizing what he was doing, Julian ran his fingertips across his own lower lip. Then he made contact with the scar tissue near the corner of his mouth, and his hand fell away.
He glanced at the window again, even though everything within him told him to turn around. Turn around and walk away. While he still could. None of this was his concern. In the silvery light of the mirrored room, Tessa’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze fixed with his, and Julian knew it was already too late.
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