The Prince's Ballerina

5 - The Rising Sun (2)

After that night, Kitty and Brad grew even closer. Something had shifted between them-the old nervousness, the awkward pauses, had softened into a quiet familiarity that only long-time friends ever seemed to share. Kitty found herself noticing how much she had grown used to having him in her days, how natural it had become to speak her thoughts aloud without fear. She spoke of her dreams, of her struggles, and even of the childhood she had kept locked away in Ireland, a place no one had ever really known.

And Brad-oh, Brad-was the only other person, aside from her parents, who seemed to truly understand her. He didn't just tolerate her hopes or admire her talent; he supported it, quietly and unconditionally. He listened with care, remembering everything-the small details, her likes and dislikes, her opinions, the way her passions flared. Kitty marveled at him for it. In such a short time, Brad had become a balm for her long-pent-up heart. She found herself sharing everything, daring to bear her soul, and in his steady presence, she felt both seen and safe-more than she had ever felt with anyone else.

A few weeks later, Brad began noticing something strange about Kitty. She wasn't the same carefree, glowing dancer he had come to know. Her eyes looked duller, ringed with shadows. Her body moved slower. Her once-effortless charm now felt... strained. She no longer appeared at night. Brad would wait after her rehearsals, hoping to walk her home, but she never came. After her night practices, she simply vanished, leaving only the echo of her absence.

"Kitty... you alright? Is something the matter?" he asked softly. "Where've you been after practice? You've been... gone."

Kitty's green eyes, usually so bright, flicked away. Her lips pressed into a thin line as if she were holding back more than just words. "I'm fine, Brad," she said curtly, her voice sharp. Then, without waiting for his reply, she turned and walked away.

Brad watched her go, his chest tightening. He didn't push. He gave her space, just as he had promised once in passing: I'm here if you ever need me.

Days passed, and Brad noticed her gym bag, a pillow, and a sleeping bag left in the corner of the opera house dressing room. He suspected what it meant-Kitty had been staying there-but he didn't confront her. She wasn't ready, and he didn't want to frighten her further.

That night, as Brad finished his shift and stepped outside, he found her waiting. Tears shimmered in her eyes, regret written across her face looking very penitent. Without a word, he reached out and wiped them away. She leaned into him, seeking comfort, her hands clutching at his coat as if it were the only thing keeping her steady.

After a few minutes, Kitty pulled back slightly, her voice trembling. "I... I need to be honest with you."

He followed her to the opera house parking lot, where she led him to a small van. Its interior was cluttered with clothes, a makeshift bed, and the remnants of someone trying to make home out of nothing. "This... this is where I've been sleeping," she admitted, voice breaking. "Since... since I lost the apartment."

Brad's heart ached at the sight, but he didn't scold or question. He simply stayed close, offering his steady presence. Kitty exhaled shakily, leaning against him, grateful for the one person she could trust in the chaos of her life.

Brad, who had been quiet until then, let out a soft chuckle. "Well... since we're being honest with each other, I suppose I ought to show you something too."

He pointed to an old, dented car parked a few spaces away. "That's my car," he said with a small, shy smile. "I usually came back here after walking you home. My flat's further along, but... I like making sure you get home safe-and, well, to have a bit more time with you."

Kitty blinked, a mix of surprise and warmth flooding her. The gesture-small, unassuming, utterly Brad-made her chest ache with something tender she didn't want to name. She hadn't expected honesty from him in such a quiet, unshowy way.

"I... didn't know," she said softly, her voice barely above the drizzle. She reached out, touching his arm lightly. "You always think of others first, don't you?"

Brad shrugged, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I just... you matter, Kitty."

Kitty smiled, tears threatening to spill again, but this time mixed with something lighter-relief, gratitude, and the first flicker of trust that she could let someone truly see her.

They sat together on the back of the van, the night folding around them, and at last Kitty came clean. She told Brad everything-about the life she had lived as a sugar baby, how it had begun, how unashamedly she had enjoyed the luxury, and how it had all come crashing down. The man she'd relied on was now tangled in a messy divorce, the apartment sold from under her, and she was left with nothing but a van to sleep in.

Her voice cracked as she went on.

"I'm just... I was so ashamed to tell you. Brad, you're like my Saint Brigit pendant, you are. I couldn't keep wearing it while I was humiliating myself like this. I suppose I just wanted you to see me in a certain light... because if you knew the truth, I thought you might not like me anymore."

Brad gave her a soft smile, a playful glint in his eye. "What's the pendant got to do with it, then?"

Kitty let out a shaky laugh, blinking away fresh tears.

But Brad's voice grew gentler, steadier.

"Kitty, I've no right to judge you. I'm no saint myself. And you're wrong about thinking this defines you. What you did-it was survival. But who you are, who you've been with me... that's something else entirely. You're a dancer, a dreamer. And whatever mask you've worn out there, I think I've been seeing the real you all along."

Kitty blinked in surprise. Her heart swelled, and she felt like she might burst from the relief and the new warmth spreading through her, all because of the man sitting beside her. His words settled inside her, undeniable in their truth. Out there, with her daddies and benefactors, she had always performed-every smile, every word, every gesture carefully chosen. But with Brad? Somehow the mask had slipped, without her even noticing. She had shown him the raw, uncurated self she had hidden from everyone else.

And that marvelled her. It left her wondering-what was it about Brad that drew the truth from her so easily? What did he have that made her forget to pretend?

Brad looked at her with such kindness in his brown eyes that Kitty's breath caught. It made her want to kiss him-desperately, achingly. All she wanted in that moment was to fall into his arms, to press her lips to his and let the world disappear.

But she held it in, biting back the pull of her own longing. With a small, steadying breath, she turned her head away, fixing her gaze on the wide stretch of the car park before them, letting the cold spread of asphalt quench the fire his eyes had lit in her.

Brad hesitated a beat, then said quietly, "Look... I've got a small flat in Waltham Forest. Nothing grand, but there's space. If you need somewhere-for a while-you'd be welcome."

Kitty's head snapped round, her eyes wide. "Brad... that's-" She faltered, her voice catching somewhere between gratitude and disbelief. "Are you sure? I don't want to turn your life upside down."

"You wouldn't," he said simply, his gaze steady. "You'd have the bed. I'll take the couch."

A laugh escaped her, low and a little shaky. "Always the gentleman, aren't you?" Her eyes softened, glimmering with something unspoken. She leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek, her lips warm against his skin.

It wasn't the kiss she wanted-her heart burned for his lips, for the weight of his arms around her-but this would have to do. A kiss on his cheek was safer, second best perhaps, but still hers to give.

Brad went still, his breath hitching, colour rising hot under his collar. He blinked rapidly, caught between composure and the rush of something far deeper.