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Calling her parents was out of the question. They would have no interest in her news. Not when they’d dismissed her passion and chosen career as callously as they’d dismissed what the bullies at her high school had put her through.
‘Havenwoods is your legacy. That’s all that matters.’
Unwilling to succumb to the quiet despair threatening to mar her happiness, she picked up the dumbbell and finished her routine. Now, more than ever, she couldn’t afford for her body to let her down. Or for any self-doubt to seep through the brick wall she’d erected around the one thing that mattered most to her.
Nothing could go wrong with her audition. Not even worry about Ben and the possibility that he could end up in jail in the very near future if the ruthless Xandro Christofides had anything to do with it.
When she woke up a little bleary-eyed the next morning Sage told herself it was thoughts of Ben’s whereabouts that had made her dream so vividly about the silver-eyed magnate.
She was still trying to convince herself of that when her phone rang. Sage pounced on it, hoping it was Ben. It wasn’t. But the friendlier tone of Melissa Hunter’s assistant was equally welcome. Until Sage absorbed what she was saying.
‘Excuse me—could you repeat that, please?’ she asked.
‘I said you need to pack enough clothes for a week, maybe more. And also pack for the warm weather. Bring lots of sunscreen too. It’s only early May but I understand the temperatures can get quite high on the island.’
Sage blinked. ‘What island?’ she blurted.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Woods, but the exact destination is being kept confidential for now for publicity purposes. All you need to know is that you and the other dancers fly out of Dulles Airport on Monday afternoon. Everything else, including all your expenses, is taken care of.’
She suddenly felt a little uneasy. ‘Does this have anything to do with the new patron of the company?’
A few seconds of silence greeted her question, then the assistant giggled. ‘I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh? Oh, what the heck. Yes, it is,’ she gushed. ‘You didn’t hear this from me, but the patron is investing in five years’ worth of productions, three productions a year, minimum! Isn’t it amazing? And if I’d known trips like this would come as part of the perks I’d have trained as a dancer myself, not be sitting here, eight months pregnant and barely able to waddle!’
Sage laughed, breathing a little easier now one question had been answered. ‘Good luck with the baby. And thanks for letting me know.’
‘No problem. Remember, the car service will arrive to pick you up at one o’clock sharp. Make sure you’re ready. And enjoy your adventure!’
CHAPTER FOUR
ENJOY YOUR ADVENTURE.
Three days later, as she stood frozen, her mind spinning, Sage wanted to curse the effervescent assistant for jinxing what should’ve been the perfect culmination of her hard work.
The wobbles of the first audition had calmed by the second, the bone-deep knowledge that this was what she was born for slicing away the ever-present self-doubt. Her third audition had ended twenty minutes ago and had gone even better. She’d known it even before receiving encouraging praise from the two Broadway choreographers who’d accompanied Melissa Hunter to the Greek island in the middle of the Aegean.
As for the island itself...
The ballroom she stood in was only a fraction less enthralling when compared to the jaw-dropping beauty of the island. At first, when she and her nineteen fellow dancers had arrived, she’d thought she was severely jet-lagged and dreaming the stunning beauty of Ianthe Island.
Every room, nook and cranny of the endlessly sprawling villa revealed a stunning blend of classic Greek architecture and modern style she’d only ever seen in glossy magazines. Marble sculptures of Greek gods vied with contemporary art. Breathtaking sunsets competed with stunning lighting that threw the whole island into a place of wonder come nightfall.
The guest room she’d been shown into by an impeccably dressed housekeeper was so gorgeous she’d been almost too afraid to sleep on the four-poster bed for fear she’d ruin the pristine Egyptian cotton sheets.
None of that beauty registered now, as her frantic gaze settled on the man who’d been absent for the three auditions but had now materialised out of nowhere, her heart dropping because she knew exactly what he was doing here.
She and her fellow dancers had stood at the window an hour ago and watched the sleek helicopter fly over the villa to land on an out-of-view helipad at the back of the property. Agog, they’d all speculated as to who was on board and how it impacted their presence here.
Now she had her evidence.
Her gaze raked him from head to toe, praying he would disappear in a burst of smoke. Or fire. Or a damn blizzard. Anything.
Her fervent wishes didn’t materialise. She wasn’t jet-lagged and she wasn’t dreaming.
Xandro Christofides was really sitting in the throne-like chair in front of her as though he were master of all he surveyed, his gaze conducting a thorough scrutiny of his own over her body, making her wish she’d thrown a sweatshirt over her leotard and leggings.
Her hackles rose higher as the unease she’d felt in DC came roaring back with a vengeance. Timings and too-good-to-be-true coincidences tumbled through her mind, and dread that she’d been manipulated grew too large to dismiss.
She tried to caution herself not to jump to conclusions about the Greek magnate’s presence here until she had all the facts. But the blaring of her instincts was all too familiar.
