“You could never hate me,” Alice said, walking over to join them. She was the only person in the room who wasn’t panting, sweating, and drooping from exhaustion.
“No, I definitely hated you during that last combination,” Carly agreed with Heather. “But it passed.”
“Glad to hear it. You look really good!”
“Thanks,” Carly sighed, not really believing her. “You’re a good teacher. Demonic, but good.”
“Ooh, I want that on a business card,” Alice grinned. “Okay, I gotta go, but good luck with the big fitting today!”
“They’re going to have to pour me into the dress, but thanks,” Heather replied. “We’ll send pictures.”
When Alice was gone, Carly rolled over and reached into her bag for her water bottle, which was almost empty. She drained it, then felt around in her bag and found her phone. Maybe tomorrow would be better, she thought. Maybe tomorrow she’d feel less adrift, and even if she didn’t, maybe she’d have the discipline not to get distracted halfway through and—
“Oh, shit,” she said, staring at her phone.
“What’s wrong?” Heather said instantly.
“Um,” Carly scrolled, still staring. “Wow. I … we … it’s very viral.”
“What is?” Heather sat up and scooted to her side.
“One of Nick’s photos. Holy shit, it’s everywhere.” It was one of the photos he’d taken in Leura, and she knew he’d been particularly pleased with it—something about the composition that she didn’t really understand and couldn’t really appreciate. He hadn’t let her jump, but he hadn’t objected when she’d put both hands on the railing, thrown her head back, and kicked her legs up, the bottom one tucked close to her body and the other arched behind her until her foot almost disappeared into her hair. Her legs looked long and strong, and because it had been toward the end of the session, the sun had dropped a little and the afternoon light had turned warm and golden, and the soles of her feet were dirty, a detail Nick had offered to edit out, but she’d refused to let him. With the falls and the valley behind her and the bright blue sky above her, she looked like she was floating, suspended by her own strength above the iconic Australian landscape.
She pulled up Instagram and her eyes bulged at the reshare number. It waseverywhere.The official Australia tourism account had shared it, and so had some big-name dancers from the US and the UK she knew by reputation but had never met in real life. One of the recent winners ofSo You Think You Can Dancehad shared it, and so had Hugh Jackman. She kept scrolling. She’d been tagged in a dozen or more photos of young dancers recreating the pose on balconies, and in city parks, on bridges, and even one at what looked like an abandoned construction site. There was also at least one parody post, one made by a man who definitely wasn’t a dancer but who had tried to mimic the pose and had made it look endearingly awkward and uncomfortable.
Heather grabbed her own bag and seized her phone. “Oh my God, you lookso goodin this one,” she gasped. “And look at all those new followers!”
Carly swiped back to her profile. Her follower count had skyrocketed in the two hours since class began and was now at almost eleven thousand. Her phone buzzed in her hand, and the email icon appeared.
From: Ivy Page, The Sydney Morning Sun
To: Carly Montgomery
Hello, Carly—
I’m a senior reporter on the Morning Sun’s art desk and cover Sydney’s dance scene, and I was wondering if I could interview you and Nick Jacobs about the photos you’ve been posting from around the city. They’re clearly resonating with people, and I’d love to hear more about them so I can write up a short story. Do you and Nick have any time to meet this week?
Thanks,
Ivy Page
Carly let out a shaky breath and held up her phone so Heather could read the email.
“You should do it,” Heather said when she’d scanned the message. “Ivy’s legit. And once she covers it, other outlets might want to, as well.”
“Legit like, she’ll help you pull off a grand public gesture so you can get your man back?” Carly said, slyly. Two years ago, when ANB had fired Marcus for breaking the company’s no-fraternization policy, Heather had given an interview to theMorning Sunin which she criticized the rule—and more or less declared her love for Marcus. And it had worked: the company had revoked the policy and offered Marcus his job back, and Heather and Marcus got their happily ever after.
“Legit like she’s a good journalist who was a pretty serious ballet student, so she knows her stuff,” Heather shrugged. A smile crept over her face. “But, given the errand we’re about to run, you can’t argue with her results.”
“Okay,” Carly nodded. It was working. Their plan was working. She forwarded the email to Nick, then tapped out a quick response to Ivy, saying she’d be happy to speak with her and would get back to her as soon as she knew Nick’s availability. She smiled to herself as she hitsend.Maybe Ivy could help Carly get her own HEA: a Happily Employed After.
The bridal shop was a twenty-minute drive from ANB’s studios, an upscale boutique in an even more upscale neighborhood called Double Bay. After Heather pressed a discreet little pearl-white doorbell on the corner of a busy four-lane road, they climbed a set of glossy dark wood steps up to the second floor and stepped onto the plush white carpet of a small, hushed showroom. A chandelier sparkled in the middle of the ceiling, and floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall flooded the place with sunlight while blocking out every trace of the traffic rushing by on the street below. Leanne, Alice, and Izzy had apparently told Heather that the one wedding item she shouldn’t skimp on was the dress, and Heather had taken that advice to heart.
A statuesque blonde woman met them as they entered the room, her long hair in perfect soft waves over a sleek and sleeveless pale pink dress.
“Welcome, welcome,” she smiled. “So good to see you again, Heather.”
“You too,” Heather said. “This is my maid of honor, Carly, who’s in from New York. Carly, this is Jillian.”
