I bob my head woodenly. There is no real reason to alarm Ella and I certainly do not want to draw any more scrutiny to myself.
“Let’s go again!” Basil calls out. “Same combination. Same lines. Let’s go, first group!”
I line up in the second group, automatically taking fifth position. I raise my arms and begin with the rest of my group. Somehow, though, the magic that I felt only a few minutes ago has disappeared like smoke. Now every leg lift is harder, my grand jetés less exaggerated. Even my pirouettes seem to take forever.
Everything slows down.
Knowing that I’m being watched by those searing deep blue eyes just makes all my steps clumsier, all my lifts less impressive. I can feel myself powering down.
Is this really happening to me right now?
I finish the combination a good four steps after the rest of my group. Basil looks me up and down, pushing out his lips in a dissatisfied expression. “Do better,” he warns.
I nod at him quickly, glancing out at Calum and Emma. Neither has much expression on their face. But Calum’s gaze is burning a hole through the middle of my torso.
I scurry to the side of the stage, turning away from that gaze. Ella comes to stand next to me, raising a brow as she glances back at our audience.
“Do you know him?” she asks in a hushed whisper.
I take a breath, trying not to panic. “Who?” I ask, all innocence.
She narrows her mahogany gaze at me. “Obviously I’m talking about the sexy guy standing next to Emma. He’s been glaring at you since he got here.”
Not wanting to risk a glance over my shoulder at Calum, I just shake my head. “Nope. Never seen him before.”
The lie burns as it leaves my mouth. Ella gives me hard look, knowing that something is up. But Basil claps his hands together, drawing her attention away.
“All right! Now it’s time for your solos. I know that you weren’t expecting to perform them quite so soon…” He shoots a cool look off the stage. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but he quickly moves on. “Anyway, we need to see them now. You can line up right here and give the pianist your music. Then we’ll start.”
For a long second, nobody moves. It’s a sea of inexperienced, wide eyed kids, all looking to the others for reassurance. Then Ella clears her throat, grabbing my hand. “Right away, Basil. We’re ready to go with our solos.”
My cheeks flush as I let her pull me over to the other side of the stage. Everyone hurries to line up after me. Basil smiles coolly at Ella.
“Thank you. Are you ready?”
Ella nods, dropping my arm. She turns to the pianist and tells him to play a selection from Romeo and Juliet. The woman starts playing the beginning notes of the piece and Ella strides to a starting point, lifting her chin and smiling.
As I watch her dance, my stomach drops. She’s better than most of the dancers I know, better certainly than me.
Who isn’t better than you, little mouse?
I swallow against the whisper of my dad’s voice. Blinking rapidly, I glare out off the stage, where Calum is staring me down.
I won’t cry.
I can’t.
This is my only chance.
Ella finishes her routine, bowing elegantly. There is a smattering of polite applause. Basil nods and turns to me. “Next?”
I clear my throat, turning to the pianist. “Would you please play the beginning of the second act of Giselle?”
The accompanist arches a brow at my choice of music; I’ve chosen one of the hardest pieces to perform for my solo.
She starts playing and I hurry to my place at the back of the stage. My heart is beating like a drum in my ears. It’s almost hard to hear the music over it.
Luckily, I have practiced this exact piece thousands of times. Using nothing but muscle memory, I smile as I parade out, doing a dizzying number of pirouettes as I dash across the stage. All time stops. Everything just becomes about my breath, my limbs, my feet. Making sure I push myself into the next movement.
The music is very upbeat and I smile along as I do the arabesques and grand jetés that are required. I am moving too quickly to see any one particular person.
But when I come to center stage and pause for a moment, Calum is still standing there, staring at me like I am an insect to be crushed.
Holy shit.
The judgment I see written all over his expression is terrifying. I turn, pirouetting once more before I complete my three grand jetés off stage.
Somehow, I land slightly off balance coming out of the pirouette. Then I’m forced to try to overcompensate as I carry that force into the first jump.
And everything slides off kilter, suddenly. My timing is off; my feet don’t seem to land in the place that they should. My legs are heavy, my arms near useless.
By the time I finish my solo, I can feel tears brimming in my eyes. I still turn and curtsy to signal that I am done. And there is a scattered bit of applause. I look toward Basil, my heart thundering in my ears.
He looks at me, his mouth twisting like he just ate something bitter. “Your ending could really use some work, honey.”
My heart wrenches. The sob that has been barely contained in my chest flows up and out of my throat.
I crumple, turning and running offstage.
I finally had my big chance… and I fucking blew it. Openly sobbing, I run away from the stage, pointe shoes and all.
12
Calum
I climb out of my limousine on a busy street, pulling my coat closer and blinking into the blinding streetlight. Night has fallen and the city is teeming with the late night crowd, especially this part of Hell’s Kitchen. There are a lot of bars, strip clubs, and massage parlors right around here.
I round the corner, heading into a dark alley. Music throbs as I jog down a few steps that lead to the entrance of Club X. A bouncer sits by the club’s heavy front door, his sharp gaze taking me in. I’ve shifted to a black hoodie, black leather jacket, and black jeans, There is no trace to indicate my wealth or status.
Then again, I suspect he’s used to seeing that, working the door here.
“Password?” he asks.
I stare him down. “Apricot.”
He slides off his stool and rolls the door aside. Music pours out of the doorway. As I step through into the hallway, the floor glows faintly, leading me back into the depths of the club.
Rap music grows louder and louder until I’m awash in it. I turn the corner and see the main floor of the club: the black tables sprinkled here and there, the sleek black bar, the center stage and pole, a naked redhead grinding on it.
I look around, my gaze landing on one of the managers lounging at the bar. As I stalk over to him, he straightens up, his eyes widening just a bit. He sniffs several times. Between that and his pupils as dilated as dinner plates, something tells me that he’s on a shit ton of coke.
“Cerise,” I bark at him.
He starts. “What?”
I step closer to him, folding my arms across my chest. “Cerise. Where the fuck is she?”
His adam’s apple works convulsively in his throat. “In the back, man.” He looks at me, glassy eyed. “Are you going to cause me a problem tonight?”
Ignoring his question, I reach inside my leather jacket, pulling out a fat wad of hundred dollar bills. I roll a few off, slapping them down on the bar. “I want to see her in the Platinum Room in two minutes. Got it?”