Chapter 2

***Kenya***.

"Thank you, Sir. But I wasn't the lead ballerina. I was just a backup dancer." I confessed, nervously. His laugh, soft, reached my ears and I found myself settling into the warmth.

"I know that you weren't the lead ballerina. But in a building, the hidden pillars give the strength." I heard again. The allusion and calm voice, inducing a gasp from me. Those words reached somewhere deep in my center, filling me with a sense of welcome. A sense of belonging. All these years since I begun performing for my dance company, I had never been seen as anything but the side ballerina. The backup. Many times, I had wanted to quit dancing for the company. To focus on my job as a ballet teacher for 'J'aime,' ; a small dance school, where I taught young girls. But each time, I found myself staying back, because dancing was my identity. It was who I was. It was who I had become. Because in spite of the slight limp in my right leg, which was caused by a birth defect, I still loved to dance.

"Are you still there?" I heard Mr Ruthford's voice break into my thoughts.

"Yes, Sir. I am. Sorry. I was deep in thought," I said, quietly.

"It's no worries. Do you like the roses?" I heard him say. It seemed his breath hitched, as he waited for me.

"Yea...Yeah...Sure. Who wouldn't?" I chuckled. I was nervous. I was not used to speaking to important dignitaries like this. Levi Ruthford wasn't supposed to talk to me. He was supposed to talk to sweet, beautiful likes of Odette Withers, the lead ballerina. I on the other hand was to be in the dim light. The background, where I belonged. Mr Ruthford, was making me very uncomfortable. I hoped this conversation ended soon, because it seemed I wanted to haul out all I had eaten earlier today. I felt sick to my stomach.

"Alright. And this brings me to my second reason for calling you." I heard him pause. I hoped this Mr Blake's suit didn't cost a fortune, because it seemed I was about to cast out all my insides on him. I nervously poured out a glass of water from a glass jug that was seated with some refreshments. Taking a sip, I quietly listened to the next words Mr Ruthford had to say.

***Levi***

"I want you to have dinner with me, one of these nights."

Kenya choked as she swallowed the water. I stilled, alarm creeping over me, as I heard her coughing. There seemed to be a commotion on the other end. I couldn't tell. I was helpless and worried, as I heard Blake's voice, asking her to take some water.

"Are you alright? Kenya? Blake?" I asked, worriedly.

"Am fine, Sir. I was just...caught off guard." I heard her confession. I heard her cough again,.

"Am sorry about that. I couldn't help it...You are extremely beautiful, Kenya." My words seemed to make her quiet, because I heard no sound, except her breathing for moments. I wondered at her silence. She was a beautiful woman. A great dancer. I frowned, wondering if I had said something wrong. I was a persistent man. Something I had perfected in all my years as a business man. And I never relented. It was something ladies swooned over, when they saw me. And men cowered at, like wet roosters. Pressing on, I said.

"And I wanted to just sit down with you. Talk and eat. Most times am busy in the day, so I couldn't suggest lunch. Dinner was the best that I had." She still said nothing for another second. I could hear her breathing . She hadn't hung up. Christ! Her silence was unnerving me. I had never seen a woman waste a second in accepting dinner with me. Forgive me if I was suddenly anxious. Even though I was trying to put on a cool facade.

"Sir, I have a slight limp in my right leg." I suddenly heard her blurt out without restraint. I was taken aback by the earnest admission. My mind, mentally assessing the words. The reason behind them. *Was this her plot to throw me off her scent?* I wondered.

"I suspect you have only reminded me of that to throw me off." I remarked, amusement hinted beneath my voice, as I found her attempt futile. She trying to dissuade me from finding her as desirable as I already did was cute.

"I..." She hesitated.

"I noticed your limp, while you danced. But it didn't stop you from interpreting the art so, talentedly and gracefully." I confessed. Indeed I had noticed the limp in her leg. It wasn't obvious. One only needed to have a keen eye to notice it. Yet I wondered why she assumed I would be thrown off by her limp.

"Can I ask you a question?" I pressed.

"Yes, Sir." Kenya's sweet voice came. I loved her voice. It was quiet, had this song song tone.

"Am I to assume that men don't ask you to dinner because of that limp?" I bluntly asked. I heard Kenya's breath hitch. My thoughts randomly guessing hers. Perhaps my question had hit a mark. I couldn't be certain. I suddenly felt upset. My thoughts going to her. Had she been bullied because of the limp. Belittled, just because of that insignificant flaw. Something that didn't even matter. I wanted to reach her. To comfort her. My heart suddenly twisted, as I wished to equally hurt those that had ever disparaged her. Then her voice broke into my thoughts. The crack and thickness beneath, confirming my earlier suspicions. I heard pain as she spoke.

"Sir. I am grateful for the roses. But I am afraid that I have to go. I have some errands to run on my way home." Her voice was crisp.

"Perfect. Let me drop you off." I hastily suggested.

"No, Sir. Good night Sir."