The castle set slides across the floor in sections, locking into place around her. The set is incredibly detailed—Marnie’s work. Huge leaded glass windows give the walls a cage-like feeling, and there’s a tattered, aged, and neglected look to everything, down to the melted candlesticks in the chandeliers.
Inside the castle, Nessa meets the Beast.
The Beast is played by Charles Tremblay, one of the principal dancers at Lake City Ballet. Usually, he’s tall, fit, and friendly-looking, with a shaggy surfer’s cut of strawberry blond hair, and a slight southern drawl. Onstage he’s unrecognizable. Makeup and prosthetics have turned him into a monster—half-wolf, half-human, like a werewolf partway through its transformation.
Everything about his movement has changed, too. Gone is the confident swagger. Now he darts around the stage with unnerving speed, low to the ground, like an animal.
Nessa told me she chose him for exactly this reason—his ability to “act” as well as dance.
I know they’ve been rehearsing together for hours every day, something that would usually make me horrifically jealous. Except that every night when I visit her, Nessa runs to me like she hasn’t seen me in a hundred years. Like she can’t stand another second apart. So I know who she’s been thinking about, even when she’s dancing in another man’s arms.
The Beast entices Nessa to dance with him.
The beguiling strains of “Satin Birds” begin to play. I let out a long sigh. I didn’t know that Nessa even remembered that song, let alone that she planned to use it in the ballet. It brings my own ballroom into view before my eyes, and makes me vividly remember the first night I held Nessa in my arms.
The pair are waltzing across the stage, reluctantly at first, then with greater speed and intensity.
I see Nessa recreating that moment between us. I don’t mind that she’s portrayed me as a Beast. Actually, it’s fitting. I was a wild animal that night. I wanted to tear her to pieces and swallow her whole. I barely kept control of my desire for her.
What I didn’t realize is how strong her desire already was in return. I see it now, as she looks up into the Beast’s face. I see how intrigued she is. How drawn to him, despite her every natural inclination.
The ballet goes on.
It’s the classic fairytale of Beauty and the Beast. But it’s also our story, Nessa’s and mine. She’s mixed in pieces of what happened between us.
I’m reliving it all again.
I forget that I’m sitting next to her parents. I forget that there’s anyone else in this theater. I just see her and me, how we broke apart and came back together again, over and over, neither of us able to resist the pull of attraction that lured us in and bound us tight. She’s showing me our whole story over again, a dark fantasy retold through her eyes.
Finally there’s a duet between the Beast and Nessa that takes place on a stormy night. The stage lighting mimics the appearance of rain, punctuated by lightning.
At first the duet is like vicious combat—violent, and aggressive. The Beast dragging Nessa, pulling her back when she tries to escape. Even lifting her over his head and carrying her across the stage. But as the dance goes on, their motions become synched. Their bodies are locked tight together, so they become perfectly aligned, even in the most outrageous formations.
Soon they’re moving as one person, faster and faster. Nessa told me this is the most technically difficult dance. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep up with Charles.
She’s more than keeping up. She’s dancing better than I’ve ever seen before—swift, precise, passionate. She’s fucking incredible.
I can’t take my eyes off her. The theater is completely silent. No one wants to even breathe, in case they interrupt the pair whirling across the stage. It’s erotic and ethereal, all at once. It’s mesmerizing.
When at last they stop, locked in place in the center of the stage, wrapped up in a kiss, the crowd erupts. The applause is thunderous.
Imogen and Fergus Griffin are staring at each other. They’re amazed by Nessa’s performance. But it’s more than that. They know what it means, just as well as I do. They’ve seen how Nessa really feels. She’s laid her heart out on the stage for everyone to see.
At the end of the show, the applause goes on and on. The cast comes out to take their bows. The audience gives them a standing ovation, except for one man who slips out of his seat and exits via the side door before Nessa comes to take her bow.
The man’s movement catches my eye. As thrilled and pleased as I am for Nessa, I can’t turn off that part of my brain. The part that’s always looking for something out of place.
Nessa strides across the stage, blushing with pleasure as the crowd cheers louder than ever. She curtseys, then scans the crowd, looking for her family. When she catches sight of me, she blows me a kiss.
Jackson Wright grabs her hand and lifts it up in triumph. He’s gotten his cast off finally, which seems to have improved his spirits. He’s grinning, looking genuinely proud.
As the dancers head backstage once more, we go out to the lobby to wait for Nessa. She’s changing out of her costume, probably talking excitedly with her friends. They’ll all be high on the wave of their success.
I wait next to Nessa’s parents, with Callum, Aida, and Riona. Imogen is quiet, as if she has a lot on her mind. Aida is talking enough for everyone.
“That was the best ballet I’ve ever seen. It’s the only ballet I’ve ever seen, but I’m sure if I watched others, I’d still think that.”
“It was beautiful,” Riona agrees.
“I felt like there was a metaphor in there somewhere . . .” Aida muses, casting her sly gray eyes in my direction.
Callum gives her a stern look to make her shut up.
She grins up at him, not chastened in the slightest. I can see the corner of his mouth quirking up in return.
Waiters in tuxedos circulate through the lobby, carrying trays laden with bubbling champagne flutes. Fergus Griffin takes a drink off one of the trays and swigs it down. He offers a glass to his wife, but she shakes her head.
My stomach is rumbling. I haven’t eaten any dinner yet. I doubt Nessa has, either. Maybe I could convince Fergus to let me take her somewhere to celebrate . . .
The cast comes out into the lobby. They’ve changed into street clothes, but they haven’t washed off the heavy stage makeup, so they’re far from blending in. Audience members swarm around to congratulate them. A sinuous line forms, like a reception line. I curse how far away I am—I’ll have to wait my turn to speak to Nessa.
There’s a flow to crowd movement. People naturally fall into the line, or move aside to get out of the way. Again, out of the corner of my eye, I see motion that doesn’t quite fit the pattern. A man in a wool coat, striding toward the cast members from the edge of the room.
He’s got dark hair, his collar pulled up so I can’t see his face. But I see his hand, reaching inside his coat.
I look over at Nessa, directly in line with the man’s trajectory. She’s changed into leggings and a knit sweater, her face still made up from the stage with false lashes and pink cheeks. Her hair is pulled up in its tight bun, dusted with glitter. She’s flushed and laughing, her eyes bright with pleasure.
As I watch, she glances up and catches my eyes. Her smile beams out, then falters when she sees the expression on my face.