A moment of silence passes between us, and I feel its weight settle into something mutual. Respect. Maybe even understanding. When we stand, he offers his hand again, and this time, the grip feels less formal. More human.
“Thank you,” he says.
I walk him back to the studio floor, the sound of music rising again as Greyson cues up the next routine. Mateo looks up the second we appear, and searches his father’s face, his eyes flicking to me with question.
I give him a small nod.
TWENTY-TWO
Vaeda
Mateo and his father left over an hour ago, and though the speakers still vibrate with music and the floor still echoes with steps from the remaining dancers, the absence of his energy is deafening. The space always feels a little off without him, like a beat is missing from the rhythm we’re all supposed to be moving to, and it isn’t just today. It’s been happening since he’s been putting distance between us.
Missed rehearsals. Empty stretches in class where he should be. I tell myself it’s fine, that he’s just under a lot of pressure. He has school, recovery, and family, but Paris is less than three weeks away, and this routine isn’t going to perfect itself.
I crouch to zip my bag, heart heavy and aching with worry. Mateo is good, brilliant even, but brilliance means nothing if he’s not showing up, and worse, I don’t know if it’s because he’s slipping away from the studio… or from me.
Footsteps approach from behind. Light, purposeful. I don’t have to look up to know it’s Yvonne. She steps beside me, radiating sunshine, but it’s only surface-level because I can seeher dark intentions underneath. Her hair’s pulled back into a tight bun, wisps escaping around her temples. I zip the last tooth of my bag and stand.
“Don’t worry,” she says lightly, tone smooth as satin. “I’ll practice with him what we learned today.” I glance over at her. She’s already watching me with too-bright eyes and that saccharine smile. “I’m having him and his father over for dinner.”
The words land like broken glass at my feet, the shards cutting deep into my flesh. I arch a brow. “Dinner?”
She nods, lips twitching. “Just something casual. My roommate’s out tonight, so it’ll be quiet.”
I know what she’s doing. I know exactly what this is. She’s baiting me, and the worst part is it’s working. My blood is already warming, my fists already aching to clench, but I won’t give her the satisfaction.
So I smile politely, my expression empty. A perfect mask. “That’s thoughtful of you,” I reply coolly. “He could use the extra practice.”
Her lashes flutter with exaggerated kindness. “Anything to help the team.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder and meet her gaze squarely. “Of course.”
She offers one last glittering smile before turning and walking away, her hips swaying just a little more than necessary. The door clicks softly behind her, and I stay where I am, unmoving, until the silence swells again. Then I let out a long, slow breath and sit back on the edge of the bench.
If I’m being honest, I don’t know what worries me more, that she’s winning his time… or that I was never supposed to want it in the first place.
I should go home.
The sky outside the studio windows has dimmed to dusk, making pink shadows dance across the floorboards. The overhead lights flicker, but the space feels hollow, like it’s holding its breath. I stand at the edge of the floor, bag still slung over one shoulder, watching the mirrored wall in front of me like it might give me an answer.
I don’t want to go back to my empty penthouse. I don’t want to sit on the couch with my legs tucked under me and silence thick, pretending I’m not wondering if Mateo is laughing at Yvonne’s table, sipping something warm and letting someone else see him unguarded.
So I stay and drop my bag gently onto the bench, then walk toward the speaker, my fingers hovering over the dial. I need to move and sweat, and the sting of exhaustion to distract me, but before I can cue the music, my phone vibrates against the bench behind me.
I glance at the screen, and guilt punches me straight through the chest when I see Gerardo’s face looking back at me.I stare at his name for a beat too long, my stomach tightening. I haven’t called him in days. Just hurried texts and check-ins. My excuses range from rehearsal chaos to fatigue, but the truth is simpler and far more damning. I haven’t wanted to.
With a sigh, I bend down and pick up the phone, answering on the third ring and forcing warmth into my voice. “Hey.”
“Vaeda, amor,” Gerardo says, his voice crackling slightly with the international connection. “It’s been a few days. Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” I reply, but it’s too quick. I glance at my reflection, the lie shimmering there like a veil. “Just… busy. The Paris competition’s coming fast, and we’ve been living in the studio.”
“I figured,” he mutters. “I just miss you.”
The words land softly, familiar and filled with love, and yet… they don’t settle where they used to. “I miss you too,” I whisper, though the words taste like ash on my tongue.
He updates me on his mother’s condition. She’s stable but tired. He might need to extend his stay. I nod along, even though he can’t see me, as guilt threads through me like barbed wire. When did the space between us become so vast?
