Page 56 of With You

“I’ll stop messing around,” I tell her, as I turn and pull open the top drawer of my desk to get what I need.

The old wooden box weighs heavy in my hands as I take it over to Amelie, placing it in front of her on the bed as I perch on the edge.

“What is it?” Amelie traces her fingers over the checkered pattern covering it until she finds the small hinges on one side and the latch on the other. “Can I?”

I nod, and she opens the box, the top flipping open to reveal the pieces inside.

“A chess set,” she says, picking out each piece delicately and placing them on the bed between us.

“My grandma gave this to me when I was younger,” I explain, flipping the box over to set up the board. “She taught me how to play.”

Amelie joins me in placing the pieces in their rightful places and it doesn’t take her long to notice one is missing.

“Where’s your queen?” She pats around the bed, trying to find the missing piece, but it’s not there.

“Look under my pillow,” I instruct her, and she does, her hand running under it until she pulls out the missing piece.

Amelie hands it to me, our fingers brushing, and I place it on the board.

“Grandma told me the queen should be your most protected piece,” I start as I move my first pawn forward two spaces. “Though most would say it should be the king, it’s the weakest piece on the board in her opinion.”

Amelie moves her pawn, and we start a slow game as I keep talking.

“Every move in the game is focused on capturing the king, but the queen can move pretty much wherever she wants on the board. That gives her more power than any other.”

“Is that how you always win?” Amelie asks, as she moves her rook to capture one of my pawns.

“Yeah. It’s easy for people to get caught up in protecting their king that they forget all about the queen’s power. But I never do.”

We go through a few more moves each, and it’s clear Amelie has taken in my words as she captures my king.

“Checkmate,” she says, a proud smile on her face as she tilts her head to one side and holds up the piece between us.

I take it from her, swapping it for the queen that my grandma gave to me.

“Take this,” I tell her, closing her fingers around it as I kiss the back of her hand.

“River, I can’t,” she says, reaching her hand toward me, but I push it right back.

“You can. I want you to have it. It’s brought me a lot of good things over these past few years, more than I could ever need,” I start, tipping my head toward her on the second half of that sentence. “Hopefully it can do the same for you, too, get you that spot in the intensive.”

Amelie leans over the board to press her lips to mine, the pieces beneath us toppling over as she shifts to move into my lap, her legs folding around my waist as I hold her. With her kiss, I hear the words that we’re both too afraid to say yet, but I hope we’ll have the courage to soon.

Chapter 22

Amelie

With the showcase just under two months away, River and I decided it was time we actually tried performing in front of an audience. Though we might have perfected it alone with just the two of us in the studio, it’s different to have the pressure of an audience watching. We’ve both performed on stage plenty of times, but this is the first time we’ll be dancing together for other people. We’ve spent so much time away from our friends that it’s only natural for them to be curious about what we’ve been doing, so today we’ll show them.

I came to the studio right after finishing classes for the day, wanting to practice a few different variations before River arrives. It’s been a while since I’ve danced for myself, and with the music on shuffle I manage to get through a few of my favourite pieces, muscle memory kicking in to guide me through each step. I love dancing with River, being able to rely on him, share the joys and pain with him. But I love dancing alone, too. Knowing that I can still feel full confidence in my abilities, command a room with just a few graceful yet powerful steps. I’ve never felt more assured of myself in my life.

The door clicks open as I’m ten turns into the thirty-two fouettés from the Black Swan pas de deux. I haven’t attempted them again since my audition at the start of the year, some unknown feeling coming over me whenever I think back to that day. But I can’t avoid it forever, and as my confidence grows, I keep spinning.

With each turn, I catch a fleeting glimpse of River, arms crossed as he leans against the wall, his stare burning into me as I spin and spin and spin. My legs ache, but I keep counting in my head, twenty-eight fouettés turning into twenty-nine, then thirty, and so on until I hit thirty-five and finally stop. My chest heaves up and down, every muscle in my body taut with tension, my feet throbbing from the pain of holding myself up en pointe for that long.

River claps his hands together slowly as he takes small steps toward me. I can’t get enough air in my lungs to look at him properly, the proud grin on his face, the tinge of pink on his cheeks, the look in his eyes that I’m too scared to name. None of it makes it any easier to breathe.

“You’re so wonderful,” he says reverently, as if seeing me is the answer to some prayer he’s made. “God, Amelie. You’re so beautiful.”