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“Good luck trying to keep that promise,” Pete tells me.
“Fuck you.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to put my hands on her. In fact, I’d like that very, very much. I’m a guy, aren’t I? And an asshole at that.
She does it for me. She always has. Her tight ballerina body and those big blue eyes and that good girl braid.
And now with her feistiness she’s fucking irresistible.
But I won’t.
Because it’s better that way.
I’ve fucked up her life enough already. My father has fucked up her life enough. She didn’t deserve to get caught up in the war between my father and me.
She didn’t deserve to be used by the both of us and become collateral damage.
That’s why I stayed away from Bardstown for the past two years. That’s why despite my sister’s constant nagging, I never talked about her, asked about her, showed any interest in her.
Because for all my hatred for my father, I’m no better than him.
That’s why I’d promised myself that I’d never see her again.
I broke that promise though. Another promise I’ve broken when it comes to her.
But I’m not putting my hands on her.
Once this audition video is done, I’ll be gone. It’s not much, what I’m doing, but this is all I can do.
And then it will be just my father and I, and this war. And I swear to God, I’ll find a way to beat him, to get out of his clutches.
To win once and for all.
But for now, she’s caged because of me, isn’t she? So I’m caged with her too.
Every Thursday at midnight, he waits for me by the side of the road.
He drives me to the Blue Madonna and helps me practice. He helps me with my stretches and warm-ups. With my lifts and turns.
He watches me dance like he did two years ago.
With bright, intense eyes. With an eager, excited body that turns every time I do, that spins when I spin to keep me in sight.
But I don’t dance for him.
I don’t.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t. And so I don’t.
I’m only letting him drive me to my studio and help me with my routine because it’s smart.
In the sense that my routine really sucked and the deadline to submit the audition video is approaching fast. And I need all the help that I can get. I’m not jeopardizing my dream because of him again.
If he wants to help me — for whatever reason — I’ll take it.
Although it’s surreal.
So freaking surreal that he’s back in my life.
And I see him every week.
But I’m trying not to dwell on those things. I’m trying not to dwell on the fact that what I thought to be true for two years, turned out to be a lie.
It turned out that he saved me. From his father, no less.
I’m trying not to think about it, about what he must’ve done to make that happen.
Because he’s right.
I’m not really free, am I?
I’m still caged. I’m still sneaking out. My dream is still hanging in the balance.
It’s difficult though. To not wonder about things.
Especially when one day, I get an email from my old ballet teacher, and I mention it to Reed while he drives me to the studio that very night.
“So,” I say, glancing over at him. “I got a very interesting email today. Would you like to hear about it, Reed?”
“Do I have a choice, Fae?” he asks mockingly, without looking away from the road.
I narrow my eyes at him and I know he can’t see it but his lips twitch in amusement anyway.
“It was from my old ballet teacher,” I tell him and his fingers tighten on the wheel. “Apparently, she’s super guilty about kicking me out. She apologized about it. And in order to make up for her mistake, she will give me a recommendation letter. Not only that, she also put me in touch with one of the faculty members at Juilliard who also happens to be on the admissions committee. Juilliard, Reed. My dream school. Out of the blue, Miss Petrova decides to help me out because she thinks it might help me with my application. Out of the blue. Two years later. Can you believe that? How interesting, isn’t it?”
Reed shrugs all casually. “It is interesting.”
“Right?”
“Yeah, it’s interesting how you find completely uninteresting things, interesting.”
I fist my hands in my lap. “You did this.”
“Did what?”
“You made her do this, didn’t you? You forced her to send that email.”
“I wouldn’t call it force,” he replies, still keeping his eyes on the road.
I turn toward him then. “Oh my God, you did. Did you blackmail her, Reed?”
At this, he glances over at me, his wolf eyes all cool and pretty. “What do you think I am, Fae? A villain.”
“Yes. And you do that. You blackmail people. You lie to them. You use them. That’s what you do.”
