The fact that I make it through rehearsals without triggering Mr. Carr’s radar is a goddamn miracle. But he’s distracted today, we’re in the theater and he’s busy berating the techs in charge of lighting to pay too much attention to what’s happening on stage.
I’m dehydrated. I can’t seem to get enough water; no amount of it is quenching my thirst. And I’m tired. My muscles feel weird, slow, and my balance is off, my timing is off—I’m off.
They’re playing with the lighting, and the constant on-and-off of the hot lights in my eyes has my brain pounding in time with the music. I fake a smile and get through it, but my mind is elsewhere.
Mr. Carr also reminds us about the benefit next week.
Shit.With everything going on, I’d almost forgotten.
“Mr. Carr?” I ask, slowly approaching him in the auditorium seats after rehearsals have wrapped for the day.
“Yes, Miss Ralston?” He doesn’t look up, too busy scanning the half-crumpled documents he’s holding in his hands.
“About the benefit?”
“Be there no later than seven thirty” he replies automatically, his eyes still on the papers.
“Right. I—uhm—I?—”
His gaze snaps up, cool brown eyes locking on me. “Whatever it is, Miss Ralston, do spit it out. I’m busy.” He holds up the papers in his hands with an air of annoyance.
“Sorry,” I grimace. “I was just wondering if it was possible to get a ticket for a plus-one?”
“A plus-one?” he repeats, confused.
“Yes. For my—for my boyfriend.” I say the last part while masking my wince. The benefit is a requirement for participating in the showcase. It’s the Conservatory’s biggest fundraiser of the year. The city’s elite pay big money to throw a party and meet the premiere dancers. It’s a tradition that’s gone on for decades. The only reason I’m facing this embarrassmentis that I’m certain Koen won’t let me go, or if he does, he’ll insist on accompanying me.
The event is a big deal and there will be security everywhere. Without a ticket there’s no way he’s getting in, and without him, there’s no way I am either.
Mr. Carr turns up his nose in disgust at my mention of aboyfriend. “No, Miss Ralston. The dancers are not permitted to bring a plus-one. If your boyfriend would like to accompany you, he will have to buy a ticket.”
Right. I was afraid of that.I try not to wince, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Okay, thank you.” I spin on my heel, anxious to leave this conversation behind us.
With rehearsals over for the day, and given my current state, I should call it a day, go home, sleep whatever this is off, but me being me, I don’t. Of course I don’t. I stay. I push myself too far until sweat coats every inch of me and I struggle to catch my breath.
I’m in Studio C. It overlooks the street, and when I move by the window, I can see the dark SUV with its blacked out windows waiting outside.
I told Mac to stay outside, needing space from all thingsKoen, from this world I’d fallen down into, and he listened. I almost feel bad. He’s been out there all day; it’s late afternoon now.
My head hurts and I’m so tired. It’s still early, but I need sleep and a shower, possibly in that order. I start my cool down routine.
“Bella.”
I freeze at the sound of the voice at my back, my gaze snapping up to find Gio in the mirror. I twist quickly so I have him in front of me.
“You haven’t been answering my messages.”
My eyes drop for a fraction of a second to my dance bag by the door, where my phone’s been all day.
“I’ve been busy.”
He moves further into the studio, taking a look around but staying far away from the windows. At this angle, Mac won’t be able to see him. “And were you too busy last night too?”
I frown, not answering since he seems to already know the answer.
“I hear from a very good source that you and Koen O’Rourke are getting on… well.” He smirks. “You spent the night at his place last night.” He sniffs. “I’m impressed. Until he sawyou, he had no interest in taking a little pet.”
I swallow.He’s watching me.
