Page 29 of A Sinful Gravity

For six years, the stage was the only place I could truly be myself.

The curtain fell slowly, cutting off the applause and the lights.

"Luna! That was incredible!"

"You were a queen tonight!"

My fellow dancers swarmed around me, filling my arms with flowers. I smiled, thanking each embrace. Only when I reached my dressing room did I let myself relax, untying my pointe shoes. My ankle gave a soft crack. Relief.

I sat before the mirror, studying the woman looking back.

Sweat dampened the hair stuck to my face. My cheeks flushed from exertion. But my eyes were bright. Calm. The woman from six years ago, eyes always red-rimmed, gaze always carefully pleading and wounded, was gone.

Principal dancer, Royal Ballet, London.

I'd earned that title through countless nights in the studio, falling until I couldn't get back up.

"Luna!" Amy burst through the door like a hurricane, her face lit with barely contained excitement. "That performance was stunning! The audience went wild!"

She dropped into the chair across from me, flipped open her folder, and slid a contract forward. "Kennedy Center invitation. Washington. Joint production, four-week residency. Incredible terms. Take a look."

My eyes caught on one word. Washington.

The world went quiet for a second. Then images surfaced from deep in my memory, edges faded, carrying a dull ache.

Six years.

"Luna?" Amy's voice pulled me back.

"Yeah, I see it." I closed the contract and pushed it back. "Can I think about it?"

She studied me, didn't push. Nodded. "Of course. But I need an answer by the day after tomorrow. The terms really are exceptional."

"I know. Thanks, Amy." I smiled at her.

Out in the hallway, the word "Washington" drifted back into my head.

Was he still there?

Maybe. Maybe he'd forgotten me entirely. Maybe someone else was beside him now. Maybe he never even looked for me. After all, I was just a "suitable" wife to him.

I shook my head. Luna, none of that matters anymore.

I drove home. The Thames wound past my window, its lead-gray surface occasionally cut by a passing barge leaving dark furrows in its wake. A thin line of deep purple still clung to the distant skyline—sunset's last goodbye.

Back at the flat, the hallway smelled of Sophie's cooking, warm and enveloping.

My key had barely touched the lock when the door flew open from inside.

"Mommy!"

A small, soft body launched at me with perfect aim, arms wrapping tight around my waist, face burying into my clothes, and nuzzling hard.

"Mommy, you're finally home!" Laila looked up, her pale blonde curls a tangled mess catching the hallway light. Her light brown eyes—exact copies of mine—sparkled with reflected light. "I waited forever today!"

I crouched and scooped her up. She immediately wrapped her legs around my waist, arms circling my neck, clinging like a little koala. "How was the show?" she asked, serious as a tiny adult.

"It was a success." I kissed her soft cheek. "Was my baby good today?"