The Heart’s Choreography

Chapter 2

It was six o’clock in the morning when Nathan Fletcher’s alarm went off, but he had already been awake.

As he took the first sip of coffee, he gazed out at Manhattan through the floor-to-ceiling window of his office. It was early October, and the trees in Central Park had already begun to dry into shades of gold and amber. Soon, the entire park would be painted orange.

Nathan allowed himself a faint smile.

Fall had always been his favorite season.

But there was no time for daydreaming.

His MacBook screen displayed graphs that fluctuated by the second. Though the numbers looked intimidating, Nathan understood their language as fluently as his own native tongue. His father—and life itself—had taught him everything he needed to know.

After several minutes of identifying profitable opportunities hidden in the market patterns, he closed the charts, reviewed a few contracts, and replied to an email from the London branch.

A timid knock sounded at the door.

His smile returned.

“Daddy?” Emma’s sweet voice called.

She stood in the doorway clutching a teddy bear, wearing pale pink pajamas covered in colourful kittens. Her brown hair revealed she had only just gotten out of bed, and the green eyes she’d inherited from her mother were still heavy with sleep.

“Good morning, Princess.”

“Martha said I have to brush my hair.” Emma walked over to him. “But I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because it hurts.” She pouted.

Nathan couldn’t suppress a quiet laughter. He loved it when she pouted, even though he knew he’d have to find a way around her stubbornness. Emma had a strong personality—one he couldn’t help but admire. He liked to think she’s inherited his determination.

“Then we’ll have to figure out a way to brush it without hurting.”

“You…” She hesitated, her eyes suddenly uncertain. “Can you do it?”

For a brief moment, Nathan’s smile faltered.

Georgia had brushed Emma’s hair every morning, and Emma had never complained. On the contrary, she had loved trying different hairstyles to impress her classmates. She never wore the same hairstyle two days in a row.

Now she almost always left it down.

Nathan silently promised himself that he’d learn how to do hairstyles as soon as he found the time—even if it meant watching endless YouTube tutorials.

“Of course, Princess. I’ll do my best.”

“I want a ponytail.”

“Perfect.”

He knew how to make a ponytail.

Together, they walked to Emma’s bedroom suite. The room was far too spacious for one little girl, decorated in a unicorn theme with soft shades of pink and white. In the bathroom, a small step stool was already waiting in front of the sink. Emma climbed onto it and looked at herself in the mirror for a moment before handing her father a glittery lilac hairbrush.

Nathan held it as though he had been handed a particularly difficult equation to solve.

Five minutes later, Emma was ready.

And she had barely complained at all.

—- —- —-

Breakfast passed in comfortable silence.

When Nathan finished reading an article about the economy on his tablet, his brown eyes drifted toward his daughter. He smiled as he noticed Emma completely absorbed in drawing on a paper napkin, as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Her pancakes sat almost untouched on her plate.

Despite her young age, Emma had already shown remarkable intelligence, a vivid personality, and an undeniable talent for drawing. She had probably inherited her artistic side from her mother’s family. Georgia’s mother had been a painter, and several of her works still decorated the apartment.

“What are you drawing?” he asked.

Emma held up the picture.

A little girl wearing a pink dress and ballet slippers.

“She’s a ballerina. Her name’s Tiffany.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Did you know my friend Lilian started ballet?”

“Is that so?”

“I want to take ballet too.” Emma beamed. “Can I, daddy?”

Nathan fell silent for a moment.

He had never considered enrolling Emma in ballet—or any form of dance, for that matter. In general, he avoided anything that reminded him too much of Georgia.

She had loved dancing.

She had gone to ballet performances whenever she had the chance.

Until she was diagnosed with cancer.

“Ballet, Princess?” he asked gently. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“You’re already taking piano lessons. If you start ballet too, you won’t have much free time.”

“I will! Please, Daddy! Please!”

“Why ballet?”

“Because it’s my dream!”

“What about tennis? Or swimming?”

“Ballet, Daddy!”

Nathan laughed, defeated.

Perhaps he spoiled Emma more than he should by giving in to nearly everything she wanted. Still, ballet had countless physical and mental benefits. It wasn’t a bad idea.

Emma jumped out of her chair and began dancing around the table on the tips of her toes, moving her arms like a real ballerina.

“Please,” she sang with every twirl. A radiant smile lit up her face.

“All right.”

“Yay! You’re the best daddy in the world!”

Emma ran over and threw her arms around him.

“And you’re my princess,” Nathan said, hugging her back.

“When do I get to see my ballet school?” she asked, bouncing with excitement.

Nathan smiled.

“Tomorrow.”