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“Quoi?You’re not going to join us for the celebration party?” the director exclaims. “The producers won’t like this.”
“I need aftercare, Philippe.”
“So do it, and then join us,chérie.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m exhausted and need downtime. Please relay my apologies.”
Philippe and Stephanie seem displeased, but they nod. It’s unheard of for a prima ballerina not to attend celebration parties, but they know how much I hate the limelight outside of dancing. Besides, most of those producers are sexist, perverted assholes. I’d rather not meet them unless I absolutely have to.
The dancers slowly trickle into the dressing room, chatting among each other.
Hannah leans over to whisper, “Maybe the producers will finally realize how much of a fucking talentless bitch you actually are.”
I stare at her. Thankfully, she’s not tall enough to look down on me. “If you rehearsed as hard as you run your mouth, you’d probably have a chance at taking some lead roles from me.”
She clicks her tongue and her face contorts, highlighting the bold makeup that gives her a witchy appearance. “How many of the producers did you fuck, Lia? Because we all know you wouldn’t get this many lead roles if it wasn’t for whoring yourself out.”
Her words don’t sting. Not only are they untrue, but I’ve also heard such jabs from the entire ballet troupe over the years. In the beginning, I wanted to prove I’m no whore and that I got this far by torturing myself, but I soon realized it was pointless. People will think what they want to think.
So now I’ve grown accustomed to them, but at the same time, I won’t allow Hannah or anyone else to walk all over me. Squaring my shoulders, I say with mocking calm, “Until then, you’ll have to remain Miss Number Two.”
She raises her hand to slap me, but Ryan clutches her wrist and pulls her against him. “Now, Hannah, don’t get worked up over people who mean nothing.”
He lowers his head and kisses her, open-mouthed, harshly, but his eyes remain fixed on me. The lust in them and in his tight pants is visible from my position.
I turn around and make my way to my private dressing room backstage, but I’m not going to bother with changing. After they put something itchy in my clothes one time, I make sure to check everything before I shower, but I’m in no mood tonight, so I’ll just do it at home.
My feet come to a halt once I’m inside. Countless bouquets from admirers and the producers stuff the room, barely allowing me to move.
I comb through them until I find a bouquet of white roses. My lips curve in the first genuine smile of tonight as I hug them to my chest and lower my head to take a deep inhale. They smell like home and happiness.
They smell like Mom, Dad, and bright memories.
I refuse to associate them with the day when everything ended. I place the roses back on the table and take the card, grinning as I read it.
You’re the most beautiful flower on earth, Duchess. You not only grew on the harsh pavement, but you also flourished. Keep growing. I’m proud of my little Duchess.
Love,
L.
Luca.
We might not see each other often, but my friendship with him will always be there.
My smile pauses when I lift my head to look in the mirror. I’m in a soft pink tutu with a muslin bodice and a tulle skirt. It’s tight around my breasts and waist but is wide at the bottom.
My hair is pulled up and my face is full of glitter and layers of makeup. I don’t have the time to remove it, because if I don’t leave right now, one of the producers will corner me and force me to attend their show-off party. They’ll parade me from one of their associates to the next as if I’m livestock for sale.
I take out the pins and release my hair, then remove my ballet shoes. I wince at the droplets of blood marring my big toe and massage it. It’s nothing to worry about.
Pain means I did my best.
After slipping into my comfy flats, I put on my long cashmere coat and wrap a scarf around my neck and half of my face.
I make sure no one is outside my room before I hug Luca’s flowers to my chest, snatch my bag, and hurry to the parking lot.
A long breath leaves my chest when I’m on the road with the flowers in the passenger seat as my lone companion.
