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1
JARED
“Fucking hell.”
I pull into the parking lot, and it’s absolutely mobbed, so full of cars that I have to circle three times before giving up and parking half on the curb so I won’t end up even later than I already am. Fuck it. A parking ticket is a small price to pay to make sure I don’t miss my daughter’s mid-semester performance.
I barely get to see her since she moved for college two years ago, but I try to make sure I get here for important events when I can. Hopefully, if my transfer to the new office gets approved, I’ll be able to be here much sooner. I was only eighteen when I became a dad, but I was determined to make the most of things. Laura’s mom and I were never more than a fling, but we got along well enough to make sure Laura got to see us both growing up.
It’s still insane to me that the little girl who used to fall over spinning around in my living room is twenty now and attending a prestigious dance college at that. Though how she doesn’t still fall over doing those rapid turns she does is a mystery to me.
I rush to make the last of the queue outside the theater, offering the door steward a grateful smile as they close the door behind me. Me and the other late-comers file into the theater, and I’m glad I pre-booked a good seat because this place is just as packed as the parking lot outside.
I take my seat as the entrance music begins to play, and a stern-looking woman takes the stage, introducing herself as the Principal of the dance program and giving a long speech about the performance.
I zone out, flicking through the program leaflet until the woman stops talking and the actual performances begin.
Laura made me promise not to embarrass her, but I can’t help but stand and cheer as she bows at the end of her solo, ensuring she hears me over the applause. My daughter glances up to where I’m cheering, breaking character to smile and shake her head a little, before she sweeps off the stage to the wings.
I’m prepared to zone out again until the showcase is over and the afterparty begins when I can give Laura the flowers I brought to congratulate her and take her out to dinner.
But when the next dancer takes the stage, I find that I can’t look away.
The dancer folds herself into a starting pose, arms spread outward like wings and toes pointed, chin raised so the stage lights illuminate her face. Blonde hair is slicked away from her face in a classic bun, and her pale skin glitters with some sort of makeup, adding to the way she glows. She’s soft and elegant, utterly entrancing as she begins her dance.
The pale pink dress she wears flutters around her hips and waist as she spins on her toes, making her look like some sort of ethereal creature, far too perfect to be human. A fairy perhaps, elegant and magical and enthralling.
The rest of the world fades away as I lean forward in my chair, my blood heating with every dip and twirl the dancer makes. The dance isn’t supposed to be sensual, the music and her outfit are both classical, but God, the way she moves is sinful. Or blissful. Either way, when the music stops and the dancer bows, smiling as the crowd roars with applause, I can hear my own blood rushing in my ears.
I strain to watch her as she walks off stage, my body jolting with the need to go after her, to find her and find out who she is. The showcase continues, but I’m not watching. My mind is consumed with that little fairy, that insistent tug from deep in my chest nagging me until the performances finally end and we’re instructed to file out to meet up with the dancers in the reception room.
In a daze, I grab Laura’s flowers and follow the crowd out. I grind my teeth and shake my head like I can physically clear my mind of all the absolutely inappropriate thoughts swirling around in it.
The reception room is a well-lit ballroom with waiters walking around offering drinks and canapes. I ignore them, instinctively scanning the growing crowd in hopes of another glimpse at that dancer.
“Hey, Dad!” a familiar voice calls out, grabbing my attention.
I turn towards my daughter with a grin, opening my arms as she barrels into me for a hug.
“You were amazing, Laura,” I tell her as I hand her the flowers. “I’m so proud.”
“Aw, thanks, Dad,” she says, grinning.
The dancers have all changed out of their performance clothes, but Laura’s hair is still tied up in the fancy updo that somehow hasn’t moved even though she danced with it in. My daughter spots someone over my shoulder and darts to the side, waving her hand in a come-here motion. “Juliet! Over here!”
I turn just in time to lose all the air from my lungs as I see just who is jogging over to us, grinning at my daughter.
Juliet.
My dancer.
Like Laura, she’s changed out of her pink floaty outfit and into a short blue dress made of a soft, clingy material that shows off the curve of her hips and dip of her waist. Plain black flats have replaced her pointe shoes, and her cheekbones and eyes still sparkle with the shimmery stuff that caught the lights. Even flushed from her performance and grinning as she and Laura hug, Juliet looks just as otherworldly beautiful as she did on stage.
I blink when she and Laura pull away from each other and turn to me, brain whirring.
“Dad, this is my best friend, Juliet,” Laura introduces happily. “Juliet, this is Jared, my dad.”
Juliet looks up at me, and my heart damn near stops as our eyes meet. Hazel green eyes lock onto mine, and her full lips part in a small oh, her breath hitching. Her long lashes flutter as she blinks up at me, the blush on her cheeks darkening.
