himself. Standing near the windows with a black expression.
Oh, Seamus.
It was the last thought Rory could afford to give any of them. At the moment, she needed to focus on Desert. Rory echoed her friend’s movements, following through backward figure eights, taxim and clock floreos, and then Samantha followed Rory’s movements, and again Rory became connected to the tide of movement, in rhythm with her partners. Goddess arms behind veils, then the twirling aside of veils, a giant pinwheel of silk.
She would not look at Seamus Lee again.
* * *
“D OES IT BOTHER YOU , seeing your daughter doing that?” Seamus asked Kurt Gorenzi during a break.
Kurt’s stern expression didn’t change. “Which part?”
“Any of it. The fire. The costumes. Sensual dance.”
“It’s belly dance, not stripping,” Kurt answered tersely. “It’s an ancient art form and Rory says it’s a celebration of femininity. It’s people with their minds on one thing, who insist on interpreting it as something different. Rory and her friends are professional dancers.” He was silent. “Anyhow, I’ve not exactly set myself up to have a say in what she does with her life.”
“Do you regret that?”
Kurt slid his eyes sideways to look at Seamus but didn’t answer.
The music turned fast, and Seamus stood spellbound at the skill of the dancers, who could isolate each muscle, each bone. They were beautiful, all of them, and their skill at this tempo left him feeling like an idiot for suggesting to Kurt Gorenzi that the other man ought to have a problem with his daughter’s appearing on stage in a coin bra and flared black pants, her hair trailing beads and feathers and cowrie shells.
Seamus knew he was in trouble. It had happened without his awareness. He was captivated by Rory Gorenzi, spellbound and enchanted. He thought about her dozens of times every day.
His feelings were involved to an extent he’d not have believed possible. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way about a woman.
Quite simply, he was certain that he wanted her to be a permanent part of his life, a permanent part of his children’s days and nights. He had found someone precious and already he knew that he didn’t want to lose her.
Yet she wasn’t his to lose, and she showed no sign of becoming so. In the past several days, she’d become more aloof, though she treated his kids as thoughtfully as ever. The fact that she cared about them couldn’t be plainer.
Nor could the fact that she had no time for him.
When Caldera’s performance ended, he wandered back into the lobby, to make sure she didn’t leave before he’d had a chance to speak with her.
“Dad!”
It was a strangely unfamiliar cry, and he turned to see Caleb running through the corridor toward him.
“Are you leaving?” Caleb said. “I want to ride with you.”
“Fiona has the car keys. I walked.”
“Then, can I walk with you?”
“Not now. I want to talk to Rory.”
Something slipped over his son’s face, a mask that said Caleb understood nothing, except that he was being brushed off by his father. That his father didn’t want his company.
Seamus felt the rejection bounce back and strike him, as if he somehow felt the same pain Caleb had just experienced. Yet he couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say.
“Where’s Fiona?” Seamus managed to ask his son.
Caleb said, “In there. Are you coming back in?”
“I don’t know. I’ll see you at home.” He turned, then, and saw her. She’d emerged from the kitchen with two carryalls, in the pants she’d worn for her performance, her parka covering her top. Her hair was still adorned with feathers and shells, and she was wearing snow boots and her down jacket. “Rory.”
But she was already hugging Caleb.
“You have to meet Fiona!” Caleb said.
“I want to very much. Can I do that tomorrow, Caleb?”
“Okay,” Caleb said happily, in contrast to the way he’d reacted to Seamus not walking home with
Oh, Seamus.
It was the last thought Rory could afford to give any of them. At the moment, she needed to focus on Desert. Rory echoed her friend’s movements, following through backward figure eights, taxim and clock floreos, and then Samantha followed Rory’s movements, and again Rory became connected to the tide of movement, in rhythm with her partners. Goddess arms behind veils, then the twirling aside of veils, a giant pinwheel of silk.
She would not look at Seamus Lee again.
* * *
“D OES IT BOTHER YOU , seeing your daughter doing that?” Seamus asked Kurt Gorenzi during a break.
Kurt’s stern expression didn’t change. “Which part?”
“Any of it. The fire. The costumes. Sensual dance.”
“It’s belly dance, not stripping,” Kurt answered tersely. “It’s an ancient art form and Rory says it’s a celebration of femininity. It’s people with their minds on one thing, who insist on interpreting it as something different. Rory and her friends are professional dancers.” He was silent. “Anyhow, I’ve not exactly set myself up to have a say in what she does with her life.”
“Do you regret that?”
Kurt slid his eyes sideways to look at Seamus but didn’t answer.
The music turned fast, and Seamus stood spellbound at the skill of the dancers, who could isolate each muscle, each bone. They were beautiful, all of them, and their skill at this tempo left him feeling like an idiot for suggesting to Kurt Gorenzi that the other man ought to have a problem with his daughter’s appearing on stage in a coin bra and flared black pants, her hair trailing beads and feathers and cowrie shells.
Seamus knew he was in trouble. It had happened without his awareness. He was captivated by Rory Gorenzi, spellbound and enchanted. He thought about her dozens of times every day.
His feelings were involved to an extent he’d not have believed possible. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way about a woman.
Quite simply, he was certain that he wanted her to be a permanent part of his life, a permanent part of his children’s days and nights. He had found someone precious and already he knew that he didn’t want to lose her.
Yet she wasn’t his to lose, and she showed no sign of becoming so. In the past several days, she’d become more aloof, though she treated his kids as thoughtfully as ever. The fact that she cared about them couldn’t be plainer.
Nor could the fact that she had no time for him.
When Caldera’s performance ended, he wandered back into the lobby, to make sure she didn’t leave before he’d had a chance to speak with her.
“Dad!”
It was a strangely unfamiliar cry, and he turned to see Caleb running through the corridor toward him.
“Are you leaving?” Caleb said. “I want to ride with you.”
“Fiona has the car keys. I walked.”
“Then, can I walk with you?”
“Not now. I want to talk to Rory.”
Something slipped over his son’s face, a mask that said Caleb understood nothing, except that he was being brushed off by his father. That his father didn’t want his company.
Seamus felt the rejection bounce back and strike him, as if he somehow felt the same pain Caleb had just experienced. Yet he couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say.
“Where’s Fiona?” Seamus managed to ask his son.
Caleb said, “In there. Are you coming back in?”
“I don’t know. I’ll see you at home.” He turned, then, and saw her. She’d emerged from the kitchen with two carryalls, in the pants she’d worn for her performance, her parka covering her top. Her hair was still adorned with feathers and shells, and she was wearing snow boots and her down jacket. “Rory.”
But she was already hugging Caleb.
“You have to meet Fiona!” Caleb said.
“I want to very much. Can I do that tomorrow, Caleb?”
“Okay,” Caleb said happily, in contrast to the way he’d reacted to Seamus not walking home with
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