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It was then that the Médica glanced up. “I’m almost done.” Her eyes snagged on my hand, playing with my scar through my tights and her brows furrowed. “That must have been a nasty wound.”
My mouth went dry, and I nodded. I couldn’t tell her how I’d got it, so I wasn’t sure what to say.
Luckily, her interest didn’t run that deep. She slid her pen into a slot on her board. “All right. You can go. You aren’t presenting any signs of the Withering.”
I nodded eagerly and stood up. What a joke. As if a list of questions could detect a sickness that has an incubation period of ten days.
I said nothing to her as I hurried out of the room. Maestra Cecelia was right outside, holding up my dress.
She didn’t smile as I approached. “I swear, they had all day to do this, and they came forty-five minutes before the curtain. I am going to issue a formal complaint.” She cursed under her breath as she slid the cloud-soft silk over my bare skin.
“If you issue a complaint, then they probably won’t fix the hole in the back of the theater,” I reminded her.
She cursed and then exhaled roughly. “You’re right.”
Her deft fingers zipped and buttoned in silence, though the urgency was thick in the air like gazpacho.
“Done!” she exclaimed, and smacked me on the rear before pushing me toward the group of dancers lining up. Aurora glared at me as I hurried past her, and I heard a few snickers from her friends as I walked to the front of the line.
Once I was in place, Magda appeared at my side.
“You need to head to the back,” I whispered.
“Relax, I just wanted to check on you.”
It wasn’t hard to tell that she wasn’t here for me by the way she leaned toward the curtain. She acted like she was immune to feeling self-conscious. I envied that while I watched her peeking out of the corner of the red fabric.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. Magda shot me a look, and I huffed a laugh. I knew what she was doing. “Okay, fine. Do you see him?” I asked.
Him being Antonio goddamned Armando Castillo Morales.
I was going to be sick. Why was I even asking?
“Not yet,” she murmured. When she moved over, the curtain rippled like the surface of a pond. Magda must have spotted him, because she gasped.
I had to restrain myself to keep from knocking her over and tumbling into the audience.
“What must it have been like to grow up that beautiful?” Magda asked, her voice quiet, almost reverent. Then she glanced at me. “You better dance perfectly if you want your wildest dreams to come true.”
I frowned. She was referencing my childhood crush. I didn’t feel that way about him anymore—my infatuation had died with Pablo. It didn’t even matter that he was an Élite, completely out of reach. Or that he was mourning his wife, who had died nearly a year before. She had been traveling with his father when their driver fell asleep and drove off a cliff.
“Is he really beautiful? Or just powerful?” The bitterness in my voice read loud and clear.
But… beneath the bitterness, was a stubborn hopefulness. It was illogical, but a part of me hoped he would enjoy watching me. Perhaps more than enjoy it. I was careful to keep all of this out of my face, but Magda whipped her head around and narrowed her eyes.
“Do you still think you’ll marry him?” she demanded.
Shit. I blushed, my skin suddenly hotter in my long, bright red dress. It was wrong to care about him. My attraction to him was dangerous. “No.” Why didn’t my voice sound convincing? I’d long since put off girlish illusions.
Magda laughed. “You’re such a liar.” She smoothed her hand along her perfect bun. “I remember how you used to stare at his posters in the street.”
My mouth dropped open to snap at her the same moment the lights flashed. All the words in my soul dried up like a desert well. I glanced back at my friend, butterflies churning in my stomach.
I couldn’t feel my legs. And my dance? There was no way. My mind was an empty shell.
From the right wing, the band poured in. As soon as they were seated, I took my cue and moved out to center stage. The heavy curtain was an endless sea of red, hiding me from the now-silent audience that was waiting to be enchanted. My arms twisted above me, my head angled down, and my feet were in position.
My heart was going to beat right out of my chest, and my arms and legs had become an abstract concept to my senses.
