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While I buckle myself in, he rounds the Range and starts the engine, ready to take me wherever I need to go.
“Opera House?” he asks, pulling out and getting us on our way.
I almost correct him, but instead, I heed the warning in my gut and pull my phone from my bag, texting Fleur instead…
Georgina: Sorry. Can’t make today. X
* * *
Today’s newspaper has kindly made its way onto my dressing table. It’s been the longest twelve hours of my life with rehearsal, my meeting with Natalie, the head of press, and the curtain show for the showcase. It doesn’t matter how my heart is breaking, we made it the best performance yet. The corridor outside the door is heaving with life, people relieved that our short summer showcase is the talk of the town. Critics have showered our rendition of time’s most captivating tragedy with nothing but praise.
To watch a performance is to be reminded of the fragility of love.
Oh, to be young and naïve again. To fall in love and lose myself to it.
A beautifully epic tragedy.
“They have no idea,” I murmur down at the photo staring up at me from an older paper. It’s a few weeks old.
Stroking my fingertips down the grainy ink, I watch as it fades, smudging and singeing my skin.
The drum of my heart aches as my eyes swipe to the smaller, insignificant photo of Freddie and me. This one is older. Before we went to Spain and things got messy. For a while I wished I never told him I love him, but now, after the last couple of weeks with him…I wish I told him every day we spent together. Maybe eventually he would’ve accepted it or believed it.
Tears sting the back of my eyes, making my anger sharper than the bite of the headline:
It’s A Cabinet Affair: Gladstone takes a back seat to Stanton again.
If it wasn’t the truth, it wouldn’t hurt as much as it does. My insides are knotting and pulling in a way that’s making it difficult for me to find a reason why Freddie would choose to walk away from me. Why he can’t forgive me for something that isn’t my fault. I did everything he asked, even when I didn’t think I needed to. Somehow, that’s made me the enemy.
The knock at the door has me sitting up in my chair as the undiluted noise from the hallways of the Opera House rushes into the small dressing room.
“You coming with us tonight?” Jordan peers in, eyes going straight for the newspaper in front of me when I shake my head. “You know, Cara keeps doing that to throw you off your game. You didn’t let her win the first time, so don’t let her get to you now.”
“It’s not about this.” I shrug, closing the tabloid and folding it over so that I don’t have to see the front of it either. “After last week…I have to lay low until the powers that be are happy that I’m not in danger.”
“You want company lying low?” he says, shutting the door after he lets himself in and drops to the weird half-chaise chair that looks more like a pet bed than a seat.
“I’m heading to my brother’s place out in the suburbs in the next few days. It’s my sister’s birthday. and we’re having a low-key shindig for her.”
“Sounds…nice.”
Maybe it will be and it’s just my trampled feelings that have me wary of it. Or maybe it’s the fact that I know Freddie will show up because there’s no way Fleur and Christopher wouldn’t have invited him—especially if the rest of our families are going to be there—and I’m nervous. Nervous and excited to lay eyes on him again.
“Actually, I think I’m mostly looking forward to cuddles with my niece.”
“Yeah, I’m going to go spend some time with Karen and the kids. Especially with the prospect of doing a season at the Bolshoi…” Expectant eyes focus on me as he runs his hand through his hair and asks, “Have you made a decision on New York yet?”
Of course, I know he’s only asking again because he knows that I haven’t, and he wants me to take this opportunity the same way he’s taking his with the Russian ballet. The only problem is that as much as a part of me wants to run away from all this heartache and put as much space between me and Freddie as I can, the other part is still clinging on to the good moments Freddie and I have shared, and the conversation Christopher and I had. That stupid and naïve part of me that has fallen in love and is completely lost in it.
“That’s a no, then.”
“It’s not.” I attempt to take a deep breath and rationalise my thoughts again, something I’ve been doing far too much of late because my entire existence feels off the longer Freddie and I are apart. Every time I tell myself that this is the opportunity that every dancer in this building is dying for, a voice at the back of my head reminds me that in spite of everything I’ve done to get to where I am, my career is no longer the only thing I want. I’m not even sure whether it’s the one thing I want the most anymore.
“It’s not a no, Jordie, I swear it’s not. I’ve even booked the studio to get as much practice in as I can on the Odile variation. Giulio said that he would work with me on it.”
“See? I’m not the only one that wants you to take this opportunity. Swan Lake is the fucking ballet…”
“Oh, I don’t know. The Nutcracker is pretty good.”
