“Everyone,” Peter called to the dozens of dancers who sat chatting in clusters around the room or stood stretching at one of the many barres. They fell silent and turned toward him expectantly. “Everyone, this is Heather Hays, principal dancer at New York Ballet. She’ll be joining us as a guest artist for the next month. She’s rather jet-lagged, so she’ll be settling in slowly. But we’re very lucky to have her with us and I’m very much looking forward to seeing her on our stage in a few weeks. In the meantime, please welcome Heather to ANB!”
Heather managed a small wave and a toothless smile, feeling suddenly shy as the dancers gave a short but enthusiastic roundof applause. It seemed Peter had kept her arrival a secret until now, because some of the dancers looked extremely surprised at the announcement. Pleasantly surprised, but still. She glanced around the studio, but was relieved to see no sign of Butt Guy. In the back of the room, though, she spotted two young-looking dancers exchanging open-mouthed looks of delighted awe, and at the barre closest to her, a handful of women grinned at her welcomingly. Alice gave her a little wave from the back corner. Heather felt her own smile widen as she took in the room. For the first time in months, she didn’t mind that a studio full of dancers was staring at her.
Peter took his place at the front of the room as the dancers arranged themselves in evenly spaced lines at the barres. Heather chose a spot on the wall that wasn’t too close to the mirror, and a moment later Peter nodded to the pianist, who began to play a slow and meditative tune.
Heather glanced around and quickly slid her feet into first position, trying to quiet her mind.Shoulders down, chin lifted. Spine long, ribs closed. Left hand on the barre.That was one comfort, Heather thought as she took a deep breath and exhaled into a gentle demi-plié: no matter where you were on the planet, ballet class always began the same way.
It was steady and predictable, even when nothing else was.
Forty-five minutes and many tendus later, Heather had removed her jacket and her warm-up pants and was sweating through her pale-blue leotard. As the pianist played a punchy tango, Heather gripped the barre tighter than usual and concentrated on her grand battements, hoping it was the final combination. Throwing her legs into the air, she felt a lingering stiffness in her muscles and ligaments, a reminder of the long flight. Front, side, back, side, the familiar pattern she’d been following since she was five years old. Right leg, then left leg.
She tried not to think about all the time she’d spent doing these same exercises next to the man she had planned to marry, or the fact that she’d unwittingly spent months—years, maybe—doing themjust a few feet away from the women he’d been screwing on the side.“He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”Well, now he wasn’t. She was here alone, and she had one month to prove to ANB, and the rest of the world, that she was enough on her own.
Heather gritted her teeth through the last few battements and breathed out shakily as the music stopped, then gathered up her clothes and wiped the sweat from her neck. As the dancers moved the barres from the middle of the studio and the women swapped their ballet slippers for pointe shoes, Heather made her way to the door. Peter intercepted her.
“I hope that wasn’t too onerous for your first day,” he said, taking in her flushed face and her sweat-splotched leotard.
“No,” she breathed, “it felt good. A few more days of that and I should be ready for a full class.”
“No need to rush,” Peter replied, gesturing for her to proceed out of the studio and into the hallway. He led her past framed posters advertising decades’ worth of company performances. “Flying across the world does a number on your body, so please take your time. In the meantime, I’ve arranged for one of our company members to show you around. Sydney’s a big city and it’s not built on a grid, so it can be hard to get around at times.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone,” Heather said quickly. “I know everyone’s busy—”
“It’s no trouble,” Peter interrupted, his tone firm and genuine. “Unfortunately he’s recovering from an injury, so he isn’t rehearsing.” Peter turned right, and Heather followed him into what looked like a physical therapy suite. A man in dark-blue sweatpants stood on the far side of the room, doing slow, tentative pliés at a small collapsible barre.
“Marcus,” Peter called across the room, “come meet Heather Hays.”
The man turned, and Heather stifled a groan as he limped carefully toward them. It was Butt Guy.
Chapter 4
Marcus stared at Heather Hays, who stood mute in the doorway next to Peter, and felt momentarily lightheaded. Her cheeks were flushed pink from what he knew from experience had been a hard barre, and the colour made her brown eyes glow brighter than they had in the locker room. Her once-sleek hair frizzed out from her temples and nape, and beads of sweat gathered along her sharp collarbone. He moved towards her slowly, but she looked at him like he was a speeding freight train bearing down on her.
“This is Marcus Campbell, one of our soloists,” Peter was saying jovially. The sound of his boss’s voice jolted his attention away from Heather Hays’s wide eyes and sweat-dampened skin. “Marcus, this is Heather Hays. As I’ve just informed the company, Heather will be spending some time with us as a guest artist. She recently finished the spring season with what I’m told was a sublimeGiselle, dancing with...uh...well...” Peter trailed off uncomfortably.
With her ex-fiancé who had cheated on her, Marcus knew. Everyone knew. The ballet world was really fucking small, and everyoneknew somebody who had done a summer intensive with somebody who had competed at YAGP with somebody. His own best mate from ballet school had spent most of his career dancing in European companies, with colleagues from Argentina and South Korea and Ukraine. The ballet gossip machine was fast, efficient, and, unfortunately, a global operation.
Marcus saw a tiny flutter of alarm in Heather’s golden-brown eyes, and she looked away, down at the carpet and blinking a few times as Peter spoke.
“I thought it might be helpful for you to show Heather around Sydney a little, just to help her get settled. It would be a big favour to me and the company,” his boss was saying.
Marcus looked at him in surprise.
“Is that all right with you?” Peter asked. “Sharon’s okayed it,” he added, as if he’d read Marcus’s mind.
“No, yeah, fine,” Marcus said, vaguely. Peter was taking pity on him, trying to make him feel like he was still useful to the company even though he hadn’t been able to dance in a year. If it had been any other task, he would have been insulted, would have begged off by claiming physiotherapy would take all day. But Sharon had eliminated that excuse.Besides,he thought, chancing a glance down at Heather’s flushed face,would it be so bad to spend a day or two crutching around the city with her?He wasn’t starstruck or anything, but she was The Heather Hays, after all.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Heather said hastily. “I’m sure this is taking plenty of your time and energy.” She gestured at the physio room. Was she trying to get him out of this? Was she trying to get herself out of it?
“No worries at all,” Marcus said, pulling his face into a pleasant and obliging smile. “I’m done for the day.” He nodded at Peter, who smiled back and then glanced down at his smartwatch.
“Well, that’s that,” Peter said breezily, “I’ll leave you in Marcus’s hands, Heather, and we’ll have you settled in in no time.” He turnedand left, leaving Heather and Marcus standing in awkward silence, he in the empty physio room and she hovering just outside of it.
“Thank you, again,” Heather said, after a long, silent moment. “I’ll just go get my bag. It’s, um, in the locker room.”
“The women’s locker room or the men’s?” Marcus asked, before he could stop himself. He’d always been a bit of a shit stirrer, but it had been a while since he’d made a joke without thinking about it. He’d just wanted to crack the uncomfortable tension, and the words had slipped out.
It worked, though. Her face broke into a wide grin, and the sight of it left him a little breathless. She had been striking enough just standing there, sweaty and wilting slightly after a hard class. But now she was dazzling, her eyes lit up with a mixture of mirth and mortification, and he couldn’t help but grin back. Her full, arched eyebrows shot up in response, and he felt the movement deep in his gut.
