“He never stopped talking, not from the minute I picked him up from school. I think he broke his own record.”

“Wait till you try trans-Atlantic. Nine hours trapped on a plane with Max and Kelsey.” He shuddered. “Do you know how many questions can be asked in nine uninterrupted hours? No, let’s not think about it. It’ll give us both nightmares.”

At Nick’s gesture, Brody sank gratefully into one of the chairs. “It’s a great place you’ve got here. I guess when I think of New York, I think of little apartments where the windows all face a brick building, or big, sleek skyscrapers.”

“We got all of that. When Freddie and I started writing together, I was living over my brother’s bar. Lower East side. Great bar,” Nick added, “and not a half bad apartment. But it’s not the kind of place you want to try to raise a couple of kids.”

He glanced up, grinned. “Ah, here’s the prima now.”

“Sorry I’m late.” Kate rushed in, gave Nick a quick peck on the cheek, then turned, bent and gave Brody a much longer kiss. “And sorry I couldn’t pick you up. Davidov’s having one of his moments. The man can drive you to drink. Nick, my hero, if you get me a glass of wine, I’ll be your slave.”

“Sounds like a deal.”

“Tell Freddie I’ll be back in after I catch my breath.”

“Sit,” he ordered, and nudged her into the chair he vacated. “Rest those million-dollar feet.”

“You bet I will.” She groaned, and leaned over to slip off her shoes as Nick left the room.

Brody swore and was instantly on his knees in front of her, lifted her foot in his hand. “What the hell have you done?” Her feet were bandaged, and raw.

“I danced.”

“Until your feet bleed?” he demanded.

“Why yes, when necessary. With Davidov, it’s often necessary.”

“He ought to be shot.”

“Mmm.” She leaned back, closed her eyes. “I considered it, a number of times over the last couple days. Ballet isn’t for wimps, O’Connell. And aching, bleeding feet are part of the job description.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s the life.” She leaned over again, kissed his forehead. “Don’t worry. They heal.”

“How the hell are you supposed to dance on these tomorrow night?”

“Magnificently,” she told him, then let out a huge sigh of gratitude when Nick came back. “My prince. Brody thinks Davidov should be shot.”

“So you’ve said, plenty.” Nick glanced down at her feet, winced. “God, what a mess. Want some ice?”

“No, thanks. I’ll baby them later.”

“You’re going to take care of them right now.” To settle the matter, Brody got up, plucked her out of the chair and into his arms.

“Oh, really, Brody, get a grip.”

“Just be quiet,” he ordered and carried her out of the room.

Nick tipped back his beer. “Man, he is toast.” He hurried off to find his wife and tell her.

“It was so romantic.” Freddie’s heart continued to sigh over it now, hours later, as she and Nick prepared for bed. “He just carried her right into the kitchen, with that wonderful scowl on his face, and demanded where he could find a basin and so on to soak Kate’s poor feet.”