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“I lived in your fancy mansion for years, August. I understand perfectly well. You can still be your own person and do your own thing, even if your family is the richest family in the world. You don’t have to date people you don’t want to date.”
“This is not what I came in here to say,” August replies.
“I don’t know why I’m saying all this or why I even freaking care,” I mutter to myself as I throw my cleaning scrub on the floor amongst the bubbles and the soap.
But, deep down, I’m beginning to understand that I really, really do care.
I care about August Penmayne a hell of a lot.
And it’s driving me crazy.
I sigh one more time.
“What do you possibly have left to say to me?” I ask, wanting this all to end and for August to leave and for me to wallow in my heartbreak.
He stares at me for a very long before he speaks again.
“I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Emma,” he says quietly. “Not one day has gone by when I haven’t. That’s what I need to say. That’s why I came to find you today. I needed to get that off my chest. I have reallyneverstopped thinking about you, and I want you to know that.”
And then he leaves.
And I am left on my hands and knees in the middle of the male restroom, shocked utterly to my core.
Why would he say that?
45
EMMA
I walk into the intimidating, cavernous studio – my feet making an awkward and loudclatter clatter clatteron the hard wooden panels that make up the flooring. It takes me a full minute to make my way to the long desk on the other side of the room from the door, behind which sits six members of a panel who will judge my entire life and all my dreams.
It’s the day I’ve been prepping for. For a hell of a long time. It’s the day I’ve been fearing.
My audition for dance school.
I notice a grand piano – with a patiently waiting pianist - sitting ominously to my side as I continue toclatter clatter clatteracross the room. My footsteps are the only sound that reverberates in this massive space. It makes each step seem like a drumbeat to my doom.
Just moments ago, before I entered this room, my body wanted to throw up as I waited in the reception of the dance school. But now, as I approach these scary-ass judges, my stomach is calm. I have yet to figure out if that’s a good or a bad thing.
Standing here is the reason why you’ve spent years saving, Emma. Now you just need to prove yourself and your talents.
I get a good look at the judges as I make it to their desk. All possess stony, unreadable faces. Except for one – a middle-aged man sitting on the edge of the panel of judges. He’s got a kind face. It’s a welcome sight in this sea of fear.
The much more unfriendly looking judge in the middle leans forward. He glares –judges– at me through his glasses, which sit, perched, at the bottom tip of his prominent nose. His eyes slowly move down to the form on the desk in front of me.
“Emma Tucker?” he asks me, his voice totally unemotional.
“Yes, that’s me. Hello everyone. Hope you’re having a good day.”
I look at all the judges one by one. They don’t even move at my greeting. Their faces truly are made of stone.
These are certainly professionals at judging, it seems.
The middle judge licks his lips and leans back in his chair, away from my form. He continues to glare at me before he slowly opens his mouth to speak.
“Please start whenever you’re ready, Miss Tucker.”
Okay. Here we go.
