Brooklyn and Milena invite me out to drinks after rehearsal. But I decide to stay late and work on the variation.
“Youknowyou were perfect, right?” Brooklyn says sympathetically, eying Milena. “That’s just Kuzmina pulling her usual Gulag prison guard routine. Seriously, you werefantastictoday.”
I smile, shrugging. “Thanks. I still want to hit it a few more times, you know?”
That’s only a half-truth. I’m not staying late to work theSleeping Beautypiece because I think I need the practice. I’m staying latebecause if I go home right now, there’s going to be a mirror with a reflection I’m not quite ready to face yet. It’s also why I’m going to be working onstage, not in the rehearsal studio.
When my friends are gone, I step out onto the dimly lit stage, take my position, and begin. I start with therelevés, then move into the jumps intoattitude en arrièrebefore segueing into the first diagonal. The music runs through my head, the choreography firmly in my muscle memory as I continue to dance on the silent stage until sweat slicks my skin and my legs are screaming.
Finally, I hit the ending position, panting and gasping for air with my arms raised high overhead.
“So this is why you’ve been avoiding me.”
I almost scream, my heart lurching into my throat at the deep, rough baritone. I whirl, eyes wide and trying to adjust as I peer into the darkness.
Vaughn stands from where he’s been sitting maybe five or six rows back and makes his way over to the aisle. He slowly walks down toward the stage, and I swallow when he effortlessly hoists himself up onto it.
“You’reverygood,” he murmurs, stopping a few feet away, towering over me.
“Thanks,” I mumble, looking at my feet.
“But youhavebeen avoiding me,” Vaughn says in the silence of the stage. “Why.”
I shrug as casually as I can. ““I haven’t been. I’ve just been busy.”
He cocks a brow.
“You do understand that this…” I gesture broadly at the stage and theater around us, “isn’t just some littlehobby,right? It’s myjob, Vaughn. My career.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever suggested otherwise,” he growls.
“Well…” I swallow heavily. “It keeps me busy, okay?”
“I’m sure it does,” he replies. “But now why don't you tell me therealreason you’ve been pseudo-ghosting me.”
“I’m notghostingyou,” I snap.
“Avoiding me, letting my calls go to voicemail. The bare minimum of text messages to reassure me you’re alive.”
I shudder under his piercing blue eyes.
“I don’tlike it,” he says coldly.
“Did you need me for Syndicate stuff?” I arch my brows at him. “Were any of those calls or texts about our relationship as Adept and Acolyte?”
Vaughn’s mouth thins.
“Because, unless it's that,” I shrug, “I have to practice.”
I turn away. Instantly, I’m gasping as his firm hand wraps around my bare arm, yanking me back to face him. He really is looming over me now, invading my space, filling it with his familiar scent.
“Why don’t we drop the childish bullshit,” he growls, his eyes narrowing, “and you tell me what thefuckis going on.”
“I…” I look away, chewing my lip. “Maybe I need time to think, after Paris.”
“Why,” he murmurs darkly.
“Maybe…” I look down.
