Daisy: Do you have any requests?
Unknown: You look good in green.
I left the room, going to my closet. Max had filled the racks with every color leotard, tutu, and tights he could order, the same for shoes. I went for the outfit untouched by Max, the green that had been gifted to me by the very man requesting an outfit change. I switched from my sundress and sandals to the leotard, tights, and pointe shoes. The very moment I returned to the studio, I received another image on my phone.
This photo was of hands. They were large, tattooed, and his wrists and arms were covered by an emerald green suit jacket. I wasn’t sure why a photo of hands was so attractive, but my heart was racing when I set my phone down. I licked my lips nervously and went to the stereo, switching it on.
Before, I’d performed to classical music. This time, Iwanted to show him the real me. We were in my home, after all. The place I should feel the safest. He seemed to read my mind, because my phone dinged.
Unknown: Show me your soul.
I scrolled through my music until I found the perfect song. It wasn’t something a ballerina would traditionally ever dance to, but I’d crafted a dance to fit how it made me feel. The first notes hit, and I closed my eyes as I abandoned my phone to walk deeper into the room.
Kesha sang; I moved. Each word was a knife to my heart, piercing long and slow and coming up just as slow, only to stab me again. I shoved my toes to the ground just as hard, relishing in the physical pain that matched my heart.
The chorus hit, and my arms flew open as I spun. In my head, the man in the shadows was my Gatsby. The man who was taken from me before we got to live. The man who was accused of something so heinous—the very thought of it forced me to my knees. I dropped and rolled to my feet. I couldn’t stop moving. If I did, I’d lose my composure, and whoever this man was, I couldn’t let him know just how broken I was.
I danced harder than I’d had in months for those four minutes, and when ‘The Harold Song’ ended and Kesha stopped singing, I collapsed into sobs, a foot from the phone. Suddenly, the lights went out and I was shrouded in darkness. It was almost as if he were giving me privacy to cry.
I sobbed loudly and openly, finally allowing myself the space to grieve that I’d pushed back for years. I crawled to the wall and clutched my knees. I snatched my phone to shoot him a nasty text when my phone began to ring. It was him. I hesitated a moment, but then answered.
“Daisy,” the disguised voice from before spoke.
“Are you happy, bastard? You broke me, and for what? So my fellow dancers can get their shot at dancing at your theater? You’re pathetic.”
“I am,” he replied solemnly. “I didn’t ask you to dance tonight for them. I wanted you to dance for yourself.”
“And when am I going to dance for you then?” I shot back, wiping my tears forcefully away from my itchy cheeks.
“Now.” His tone changed. “I just sent you an image. Open it.”
I blinked the wetness from my eyes and pulled my phone back, opening the text. I let out an audible gasp as I stared at his... magnificent... pierced...
“Dance for me, Daisy. Use your fingers and show me what my words, my voice, the unknown, does to you. You look beautiful in emerald, but I’d love to see you flushed.”
My breathing was ragged as I stared into the distance, out the large windows. Where was he watching from?
Did I dare?
“Dance for me, Daisy.”
Hypnotized by his words, my hand drifted down between my legs... and I began a different dance.
Chapter 15
Gatsby
My thumb ranacross the photo on my desk. Daisy, splayed out on the floor, her face in total ecstasy as her fingers touched what I’d dreamed of since the day I got arrested, all those years ago. She was so beautiful as she came.
A knock on my office door sent me scrambling to shove the photos I’d printed from my phone into my desk.
“Come in,” I clipped out, annoyed.
“Afternoon, Mr. Gatsby,” Jules, bowed slightly as he entered the room. I drummed my fingers on my desk.
“Yes, Jules? Is everything okay in the kitchen?”
“Yes, of course. I just wanted to run through the menu for the next party. You’ve been noticeably absent downstairs this last week. I thought I’d better come to you.” He chuckled.
