The Fated Dance: Bound to the Shadow Dancer Read Online Free PDF Page A

I was nearly eaten away. I’m as good as I’m ever going to be, and my fitness levels are right up to scratch.
    Jenkins did his bit. The routine of preparing me for the worst case. Dishing out pamphlets on alternative therapies and counselling sessions. I attended one of those self-help groups when I was first diagnosed, and came out of there in a worse state than when I went in. To talk is to accept; to recognize that time is fickle. I don’t want to know how many days, weeks, or months I have. All that matters is the here and now, and that’s good enough for me.
    Steam surrounds me in my wet room. The haze upon the glass reminds me of the screen Jen danced behind all those years ago. She hasn’t called, and I had no expectations she would. She clearly sees me as a man with deplorable taste. I noted the concern on her face in that room. I can’t blame her. She has no idea that my true intent is not sexually inclined. Looking back on how I went about the matter, I’m not at all hopeful she’ll be here when the clock strikes eight tomorrow. But perhaps I planted the idea. It’s simmering inside her, and maybe I should have a little faith.
    I won’t admit to not being attracted to her. I’ve seen her soft skin and her sensual movements. And being consumed by this illness, hasn’t done great things over the last twelve months with the ladies. I, like any man, have needs and urges. But, I have a newer prospective of how I need her.
                                             ***
    Henry comes through the front door as I sweep back my damp hair. He’s carrying his white hardhat and the blueprints of the new plans for the hotel restaurant.
    “Henry, I told you to take the afternoon off.” I take a drink of my high supplement organic smoothie. “Are you going to follow my request?”
    He offers me a bemused look for a moment, stuck with his next words. I know exactly why he wants to stick around. To be here when I receive the dreaded news. After all, he is the only one aware of my circumstances. My own Father thinks I’m well on the road to recovery. And my estranged Mother, well, I’ll be expecting a rare call from her soon from afar as she basks in the sun aboard a luxury liner, having some young Spaniard rub oil on her back.
    “Sir,” he says. “I thought I would look over these plans for you, see if the contractors are worth the small fortune you’re paying.”
    “Henry, that is my job,” I exhale. “If you’re looking for something to do, you can make some preparations for tomorrow evening instead.” He frowns, unaware I may have a guest dinning with me. “I would like a dozen red roses to be delivered to five-seven-five, fifty- fifth Street.”
    “And what name do I put?” he asks, suspicious.
    “Jenifer Conner.”
    He strolls to my workstation and drops the rolled papers beneath the lamp. “Anything else?”
    “Yes, I would like a meal for two to be delivered by seven forty-five from my good friend, Chef Larson, tomorrow evening,” I hum. “Err, starters: spinach ravioli. Main: rack of lamb, and dessert: raspberry cheesecake.”
    He stiffens on the spot. He’s waiting for more information; information I’m not willing to give.
    “Henry, it’s you day off tomorrow, so let’s keep it that way.” I wink as I make my way into the bedroom to change.
                                                    ***
    I slip my reading glasses further up my nose. I’ve been over and over these plans now. And the measurements for the colossal walled fish tank my father wants fitted, simply don’t add up. Each layout has a different measurement for the corresponding wall. This means I’m going to have to do it myself and call my architect. It also means I’m going to have to put on hold the floor screening and speak to my father. A task I’ve been trying to avoid.
    My cell illuminates and vibrates under the lamp light. I