Page 60 of With You

I stare down at him, steel-grey eyes observing me closely as he waits for me to speak.

“It’s not my fault. It was an accident,” I repeat, more for him than myself, but it gets a smile out of him, and that’s all I care about at this moment.

I adjust myself so my head rests on his chest, his hand still moving across my back.

“Was this just your plan to get me to stay here with you tonight?” I ask, thinking back to our earlier conversation.

“Yep,” he presses a kiss to the top of my head, “and tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, until I’m all better.”

“Good. We take care of each other now, okay?”

I want to say more, to tell him that I want to look after him the way he’s constantly been looking after me. I want to say I’ve never been more scared, that the worry I felt for him was so overwhelming I wasn’t even thinking about what it might mean for the showcase, but about what it meant for us just being able to dance together. I want to tell him that I’m so grateful for every single moment he’s given me, in the studio, in Milan, in his room, every single moment has meant so much to me.

“It’s just us,” he tells me, as if he can hear every thought racing through my head, and silence it with those three words.

“Just us.”

Chapter 23

Amelie

Evie and Zena have been in my room for hours to help with taking my hair down, but there’s only so long either of them can avoid their own responsibilities. Evie has a dinner soon with both her and Damien’s families, and Zena has a video conference to take part in with the members of her family and parliament. They’ve both done as much as they can, and most of my braids are taken out, leaving just a few for me to finish alone when they leave.

We say goodbye to each other, and I take a break to lay back on my bed, close my eyes and rest, my fingers and arms tired from using them for so long. We have a photoshoot in a few days for the program that will be given out before the showcase, detailing all the dancers and what they’ll be performing.

Most of the photos will be taken from past performances or from the dress rehearsal, but some posed ones are also needed for it. With the showcase just a few weeks away, and our costumes now ready for us, I want to make sure that my entire look is perfect from head to toe.

I scoured through different shows, watching other Black ballerinas to see how they styled their hair for their performances. Most ballerinas keep their hair tied up in a bun, slicking it back and fixing it with tons of gel and hairspray, but I don’t really like doing that. For this performance, I decide it’s easier to press my hair, and then I can add a few waves to it before dress rehearsals and the performance.

I let out a heavy sigh, wondering if the other ballerinas in the showcase have to put this much effort into their hair, when a knock sounds at my door and I wonder which of the girls left something behind.

“It’s open,” I half shout so they can hear me.

The door clicks open and then shuts, footsteps approaching me as I keep my eyes closed and wait for them to grab whatever they left and leave again. Instead, my bed dips, weight settling against it as lips press to my forehead. I open my eyes, and River is above me, his face so close to mine that I can barely see the soft smile on it, just the small creases at the corner of his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” I run my fingers through his hair, gently urging him back so that I can sit up. “What are you doing here?”

“Saw Evie and Zena leaving, so figured you were alone,” he says, giving me space to shift one leg off the bed and tuck the other underneath me. “Just wanted to see you.”

He holds my hand, rubbing soothing circles on the back of it as his free hand cups my cheek, and he kisses me again.

“We’re seeing each other tomorrow,” I tell him.

We put off practicing today so that I could get ready for the photoshoot. River’s knee is a lot better now, but I’m still worried about us overdoing it, so our practice schedule has been less strict than it was before. We don’t spend hours in the studio every evening anymore, instead just sticking to a few run-throughs every day so we can keep up perfecting smaller details. Weekends are free rein now, and we either spend time with our friends or with each other doing stuff that isn’t related to ballet.

As much as I’ve been worried about us losing focus as our relationship developed, it’s only been the opposite. River seems even more determined for the showcase, working himself to the bone during each session, and taking it as seriously as I am. It’s not what I expected when I first asked him, but I’m glad it turned out this way.

“Too far away,” he says, moving his face closer to mine again, as well as his body, until he’s pressing me against the sheets, my back flat on them as he hovers above me.

His kisses are exhilarating, my entire being coming alive just from the feel of him against me. River lies on top of me, his hand moving to cradle the back of my head, and that action brings me back to my senses. I stop kissing him, and he pulls back instantly.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, eyes darting across my face.

“No, nothing at all,” I reassure him, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “I need to finish taking my hair down.”

River looks me over, as if he hadn’t even noticed the few stray braids still in my hair while the rest is undone, the loose curls tumbling down my back. I sit up, and River follows, adjusting his position so he mirrors me, one leg on the bed and the other over the edge.