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It’s no secret that ballerinas often sleep with rich men to help pay their way while they devote themselves to dancing. Whether Lorenzo likes it or not—whether he realizes it or not—he inadvertently laid a claim to me when he showed up. Everyone will think that’s the arrangement I have with him now. I realize, with a small flush of guilt, that I don’t hate it. If he were to go to one of the galas, fewer of the other girls would bother him, thinking he’s already spoken for.
Just the thought of him with anyone else makes me feel sick with jealousy. It’s an idiotic thing to feel—even if he’s not with one of the other ballerinas, he’s with someone. A man like that doesn’t have an empty bed for long.
Although—
There’s something about him that makes me wonder. His tightly wound self-control, the way that, when he’s touched me those few times, it’s as if he’s almost afraid he’ll go too far if he lets go of it for a moment. The sometimes stiff way he speaks to me about those moments, as if he’s forcing himself to talk about it in the most sanitized terms possible.
It makes me wonder if he’s not the lothario that I’ve heard his brother is. If his bed is, in fact, empty more often than not.
If a part of his self-control includes denying himself too much pleasure.
“Mila.” Rachelle is staring at me, one leg propped up on the barre, her expression a mixture of frustration and avid curiosity. “What is going on?”
I realize, as I look at her, that there’s no answer I can give her that won’t hint at Lorenzo and I being together. He’d hate it, if he caught wind of it—maybe even be angry with me, but there’s nothing else I can think of. I certainly can’t tell her that I’m selling drugs for him. There’s no other excuse in the world I can imagine that would explain why one of the Campano brothers and I have anything to do with each other.
Especially since, the last time we talked about it, I didn’t even really know who they were.
“I shouldn’t talk about it.” It’s not hard to pretend to be cagey—and the blush that creeps up my neck at the thought of what Lorenzo and I did a week ago makes it easy to sell it.
Which, of course, does absolutely nothing to stifle Rachelle’s interest.
“You absolutely should,” she insists, sinking down to the floor to stretch. “I want to hear everything. You know his older brother patronized one or two of the other dancers, a couple of years ago. I still hear stories about him. Is Lorenzo as good?” She grins, wiggling her eyebrows, and I bite back a sigh.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “It’s only been a few weeks.” The latter is true, at least, and the former—well, I don’t know everything about how good Lorenzo might be, although if what happened in that empty office is any indication, I can’t begin to imagine it.
“Wait.” Rachelle’s eyes have gone round as saucers. “Are you telling me you haven’t fucked him yet? He’s actually waiting around for it?” She sounds envious, and it makes me wonder what her own personal situation might be.
“I really don’t want to talk about it.” The words come out harsher than I mean for them to, with a sharp ring of truth, and Rachelle looks slightly chagrined.
“I’m sorry,” she says, sounding chastened. “I wasn’t trying to make you tell me anything you didn’t want to. We just usually gossip, and—” She shrugs. “I was curious.”
“It’s alright. I’m just tired, and I need to focus on practice. With the showcase coming up?—”
Just the thought of it makes my stomach knot. The showcase is a week away, and for the first time, I don’t know if I’m ready. Annalise’s warnings are constantly echoing in the back of my mind, and I know if I don’t excel at this one shot that I have, I won’t get it again. This performance is the difference between the potential of a bright future with the ballet, and doors beginning to shut in my face.
I’m more distracted than ever, and now is not the time.
“I get it.” Rachelle stands up, stretching over the barre again and looking at the clock. We have twenty minutes until practice officially starts, and I still need to do my warming up. “I’d be anxious too, if I had the lead. Being the understudy is difficult enough.”
There’s a hint of envy in her voice, though, that I can’t miss no matter how hard I know she’s working to hide it. It reminds me that what I have, the other dancers here would kill for. I need to focus on it, and not squander it.
But it’s harder than ever, when I feel as if I’m being pulled in so many different directions.
And it’s not going to end anytime soon.
—
By the time I get to the club for work, I’m exhausted, and I feel as if the day has passed in a haze. I made it through practice well enough, without Annalise sniping at me more than the usual amount, but I feel more tired than usual. I look in the mirror as I start to put my makeup on, adding extra concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes. I’m going to have to find a way to get more sleep.
“Hey, Angel.” Cherry leans against the edge of my table, a hopeful look on her face. She’s not going to ask me directly, but I know what she’s hoping for. When I reach into my makeup bag, I see her expression brighten.
That guilt sweeps over me again. It’s clear she’s becoming dependent on it. But I can’t help that, or change it, I tell myself as I hand her a pill and take her money, tucking it back into my makeup bag. She would get it from someone, if she needed it badly enough, and it might as well be me.
“Back in business, I see.” Jewel comes up behind me, looking at me in the mirror over the top of my head. “Did the cop stop hassling you?”
I told Jewel a little of what was going on, last week. She had questions when I gave her the money I owed her, and unless I had wanted to lie—which I didn’t—I had to tell her that I wasn’t selling anymore for a while. I know she was hoping for a way to get in on another small cut of it.
“For now.” I’m careful with what I say, looking up at her. I can’t afford to parcel out any more of what I’m making, but I can tell that what she got from me whetted her appetite for it.
