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29
Pen
“River, Pen, thank you. I appreciate you working together on such short notice,” Madame Tuillard says, giving us a false smile that doesn’t meet her eyes.
She looks royally pissed off. I don’t blame her. Separately, River and I are great dancers, but together? Not so fucking much. It’s blatantly clear we don’t fit. He’s a beautiful dancer, and I’m so much better at ballet than I ever was, but there’s no chemistry between us.
She knows it, and so do the rest of us.
Xeno would too if he actually fucking bothered to turn up to the rehearsal. Fuck knows where he is, but Madame Tuillard hasn’t even questioned the fact he’s not here. So either she already knows why he’s missing or doesn’t care. Across the other side of the studio, York and Zayn are talking in quiet whispers, glancing over at me every now and then. Hopefully they’re discussing how to persuade Dax to take me back as his dance partner because seriously, this is fucking ridiculous. Dax doesn’t fit with Tiffany any more than I do with River.
Regardless of that very obvious fact, Dax is apparently riveted by Tiffany as she prattles on about something to him and Sophie. He avoided eye contact with me the whole evening. Even when I was dancing with River, he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the dancefloor. He certainly hasn’t had the balls to look me in the eyes at any point so far this evening. I never took him for a coward. Maybe I really don’t know him at all.
“We got this, Pen,” River says, wrapping a friendly arm around my shoulder as we take a seat on the bench. He’s been so enthusiastic, and has worked hard every time we’ve gotten together to practice, but he’s got to know that this isn’t working. Then again, he never wanted to dance with Tiffany, so I guess dancing with me is a welcome relief. I don’t fucking blame him. No one in their right mind wants to dance with that bitch. I glance over at Dax, and he grins at Tiffany when she places her hand on his bicep. Pressing my eyes shut, I draw in a deep breath.Keep your head, Pen.
Clancy plonks herself down between me and River, giving me a nudge. “Hey, you’re doing great. That was wicked,” she says, lying through her teeth. I roll my head to the side and meet her gaze. “It was—” she protests under her breath when I raise my brows at her.
“We just need to rehearse some more,” River says from behind Clancy. He looks so hopeful that all I can do is smile.
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Dax and Tiffany. You’re up next,” Madame Tuillard says, looking at Dax and cocking a brow.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I’d rather rip my own eyes out with a rusty spoon than watch them dance together. Clancy grabs my hand, giving it a supportive squeeze.
“Duncan, given you felt so strongly about allowing these two to dance together I think it’s only right that you actually pay attention when they do.” Madame Tuillard folds her arms across her chest, and glares at D-Neath. He looks up from his mobile phone, distracted. Fucking arsehole couldn’t give two shits about the end of year performance. If he did, he would’ve said no to Dax’s request. By the look on Madame Tuillard’s face, she’s beginning to understand that too.
“Of course,” he grins, giving her his best, most dazzling smile. Then his phone rings, and his smile drops when he looks at the caller ID.
“Duncan—” she warns.
“I apologise,” he replies insincerely, “I need to take this call; it’s business.” He gets up and strides from the room, leaving her bristling with anger.
“She needs to throw his arse to the curb,” Clancy says under her breath. “The guy’s a dicknugget.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“I wonder who’s on the phone…” she muses, her Clancy-radar going off. I swear, my best friend should’ve been a cop or something because she sure has a knack at sniffing out trouble.
“I’ve no idea, and I really don’t give a shit,” I lie. Truth is, I’m wondering that too. “Do you think Tuillard would mind if I took a quick five-minute toilet break? I really don’t want to have to sit through watching Dax and Tiffany dance together.” I mean, it’s not a complete lie, Idon’twant to have to watch those two dance together, but I need a reason to leave the studio so I can go spy on D-Neath.
“Right now, I think she feels so guilty about allowing D-Neath to override her decision that she’ll let you do just about anything,” Clancy says.
Dax and Tiffany walk into the centre of the studio, and Tiffany flashes me a grin. I stand abruptly, refusing to look at either of them. “Madame Tuillard, would you mind if I—”
“Go,” she waves me away before I’ve even had a chance to finish my sentence.
“Thank you, I won’t be long. I just need to use the toilet.”
I don’t look at York or Zayn as I make a quick exit, though I’m fully aware of them watching me. Jogging down the empty hallway, I pass the ladies toilet, following the sound of D-Neath’s voice. I find him standing at the far end of the hallway, far enough away to not be overheard by anyone. He’s looking out of the window onto the street below. Tucking myself at the end of a row of lockers nearby, I listen.
“That’s only a couple of months away. I’m not ready to accept the shipment yet. I need to fix up my end first, ensure it’s watertight.” he says, annoyance clear in his voice. Whoever’s on the other end must be pissed off at his response because he tones down the attitude a little after that. “I just need a little more time to smooth everything out my end. There are a lot of things that need to be put in place to ensure this runs efficiently, that’s all. I’ve got this. Trust me, you did the right thing coming to me.” There’s a few seconds of D-Neath listening to someone clearly giving him shit, then he clicks off the call. “Fuck!” he snaps, slamming his fist against the wall.
“Everything alright, Duncan?”
“Motherfuck!” I hiss under my breath, too busy listening in on D-Neath’s conversation that I almost jump out of my skin when Xeno steps out of a door on the other side of the corridor. He glances my way, but doesn’t let on to D-Neath that I’m hiding here.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
