“You have two stunning pieces here.” His fingers brushed my cheek just below my eye. “And here. They will dazzle.” He winked.
I looked at him, searching his face for more solid reassurance.
He dug in his pocket. “There is also this. A little thank-you for the past weeks.” He draped a delicate vine-like necklace around my neck, its single topaz stone resting securely in the little dip at the base of my throat. “You don’t need a thing more.” His fingers lingered on my bare collarbone until I shivered, and he withdrew them. “You’re more than ready.”
“Is it ... real?”
“Real as you are, my lady.” His deep voice rumbled in the quiet as he knelt before me. He touched the stone, turning it in his fingertips. “See now—see the inclusion there? Only real gems have flaws. It’s what sets them apart.” His stunning gaze locked onto mine, as if lifting the layers of fear so his meaning would sink in. “Do not be afraid of imperfection, my lady. Even tonight.”
I inhaled and gave a brave nod.
He walked me to the stage, his tall presence hovering just behind me in the shadows as muffled voices carried on around us. Violins and oboes and cellos all stretched out long notes to bring the instruments into tune, and footsteps sounded up and down the aisles.
“There you are.” Tovah touched my arm as she whirled past. “Are you ready?”
I smiled and moved to follow her, but a hand in the dark wings took my arm in a gentle grasp and Jack’s breath was warm on the back of my neck, frantic. Eager. His words rushed forth, bursting through a wall of fear. “Ella, I’ve waited for this day my whole life. So have you. This is the culmination of both of our dreams, and I want to share it with you.” He turned me toward him. “Face it by my side. Please.” His fingers slid down my arm and fumbled for my hand, but I moved away.
“No, Jack. I can’t. It’s...” I cast about for some escape.
“Philippe still, is it?” His voice was quick bursts of air in the dark. “You still want Philippe because of that one night years ago. No, you want a fairy tale. A perfect ballet in three acts, but that only happens on the stage, and that’s a good thing. Real life has its own sort of beauty, and it’s pulsing with color and dimension, the warmth of another person beside you—a real one, flaws and all. Youknowme, Ella. You know exactly the sort of man I am, but Philippe...”
I wanted to close my ears. Every word unsettled my mind and scattered my logic into a prism of thoughts. “It’s not about fairy tales, Jack. I’m not the sort of woman you’d want—believe me.”
“You know me so well, do you?” Those eyes flashed with such force. Dangerous—he was dangerous. Unsettling. But he’d always been that. “Then what happened last night—”
I put a hand on his chest. “That was very new for me. Very unusual. Yet you ... how many women have you kissed in your lifetime?”
His chest tightened under my hand. His mouth parted, but he did not speak. Instead, he stepped back. I had the odd sensation that I’d hurt him deeply. I couldn’t see his face anymore inthe shadows. Dancers hurried past, orchestra music sounded beyond the curtain. The opening strains of Jack’s ballet came to us.
“My scene comes up so quickly. I need to...” I tipped my head toward the stairs down to the old dressing rooms.
“Go. I’ll guard the steps.”
Yet I knew this wasn’t over. Not for someone like Jack Dorian. It was only coming closer to an explosion, a moment of truth.
I nodded and hurried off, flying down the stairs to the chilly sanctuary where I could meet alone with God—balance myself and reset my focal point. I knelt on the floor of an old cellar dressing room while the orchestra boomed above, opening the first scene, and quieted my soul. I felt a loosening grasp on that insatiable need to prove myself. In its place rose a brilliant gratefulness, an awareness of God’s presence, of our connection and his continued pursuit of me. Ofme.
I offer up to you my body as a living sacrifice.
Then I rose, strong from the core and ready to dance.
There was a sacred moment just before the music began, that silence when I closed my eyes and forced the world to drop away like the lowering gauzy tree fronds, and my being filled with such unexplainable peace and delight. All I had to do was be still, cease striving, and know. Know, as I knew breathing and gravity and Mama’s love.
The lights were blinding—wonderfully so. They’d hooked them to bars overhead to give the impression of rising mist and ghosts about the stage, but it served to blind me as well, which did wonders for my focus. I latched my gaze onto myfocal point and spun, upward and open, arching back to lift my fingertips high. The right focal point made all the difference in the dance.
Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
I remembered familiar words on Aunt Lucy’s smiling lips as she sang the old Irish hymn in English for me, her voice riding up the minor notes with a pleasurable Celtic lilt. I danced in the glow of childhood memories, in the rich awareness of God’s presence.
Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord.
The ballet slipped by with surprising speed, each scene drawing out more beauty and ease in the steps.
The heroine could not see my character of course, but it didn’t stop the little sylph I played from beseeching the heroine to turn from the villain, to come away to the true hero. I held out my arms in longing as if toward my sister, my dear Lily, and begged with my very being for her to come toward me, toward safety. Then I danced a short variation of lament when she did not come, acting out the anguish of realizing my greatest fears.
