Dance Again (Dancing Styles Sequel)

Chapter 1

"Higher Bella!" I heard my mum's voice call out from her little corner of my private dance studio.  

I rolled my eyes, lifting my leg up higher into the air, above my head, and curling my toes into the position I knew that she desired.  

Giving a curt nod, she turned to leave.  

"That's all for today. Shower quick, your father is taking us out. We have a meeting." And with that, she was gone.  

I sighed, sliding my pointe shoes off of my feet.  

No "good job bells" or ''you did great today.'' it was cold hard business with my mother. If I could even call her that. Wasn't your mum supposed to tell you she loved you? To go shopping with you?  

I get that not all teenagers got along with their parents. But that was the whole "misunderstood teenager" thing. I wish I could say I felt misunderstood by my mother. But I didn't. I felt like she was using me to relive the dream she lost. Because of me.  

I took a moment to massage my aching feet. I loved dancing. I truly did. I had loved it since I was a little teeny girl. But...when my mum decided to be my personal trainer, because she was well qualified to; she just...took all the fun out of it.  

I had to be perfect though; to keep up with my perfect family image. I mean, come on! My dad was Harry freaking Styles. I practically lived with the four other lads. Well minus Louis. But I didn't want to discuss that. But Liam and Niall and Zayn were like...my backup dads. And then there was my mum, who was a star dancer, and then a singer. I HAD to be perfect. No matter what.  

It's all about image, Bella dear.  

I remember when she told me that. I was six. And couldn't understand why my mum wanted me to do things. Dress a certain way. Talk a certain way. She was always primping a prodding me, making me sit up straighter. Yes ma'am. No ma'am. Yes sir. How do you do sir? It's lovely to meet you. 

I had to be the perfect, polite little princess.

Carefully shutting the studio door behind me, I limped down to my bedroom, carelessly throwing my bag across the floor, knowing that our housekeeper Lydia would pick it up, as always.  

I switched the hot water on and giving it a moment to heat up, peeled off my sweaty dance clothes, before stepping into the steam.  

The water pounded against my aching muscles, smoothing out the knots, and the tension. I just stood there, letting the water massage my body, before it kicked in the my mom told me to hurry, and that always meant I only had 20 minutes. I hurriedly shampooed and conditioned my hair with my favourite green apple hair wash, and once it was rinsed, I shut off the water, wrapping a plush white towel around me, and went back into my room.

Like I had predicted, my bag was emptied, and placed neatly in the corner, my dance shoes back on my rack, but this time, there was an outfit laid out on my bed.  

Rolling my eyes, I was grateful that at least this was a better outfit choice, something I would have chosen for myself.  

It was just a simple white strapeless dress, that was formfitting, and accentuating my tan. The shoes were my brand new green "Little Mix" Christian Louboutins that my dad had gotten for me last month when he was in Paris.  

I slipped the dress on, doing the zipper up in the back myself, leaving the shoes next to the bed, I'd put them on when I was done.  

My hair and makeup was what would take the longest. I decided I would curl it, so I set the curling iron on, and while that was heating up, I started on my makeup.