“You look edible. Are you wearing a bra?” Lance whispers in between guests.
I never wear bras. My breasts are tiny. Leotards, tights, and pointe shoes are restrictive enough. My nipples brush against the fabric of my gown and stand perfectly erect in answer to his question.
That’s why he’s feeding me Champagne, cause Lance knows the only way to get me willing to mess around is when I’m drunk. Otherwise, I’m not interested enough in the guy to bother.
I mean, Lance is a nice guy, but he isn’t my type. I knew he’d been interested for a while, and he followed me around relentlessly until Katerina noticed. I couldn’t see him as more than a friend, but Mother was so on board, you’d think she wanted to fuck him. He’s handsome and palatable and shows up. Plus, Mother thinks he’s going to be famous, and to her, that’s a match made in Katerina’s idea of heaven. He doesn’t take my breath away. He doesn’t even make me wet but put a few drinks in me, and I’m willing to make some age-appropriate mistakes, like letting him go all the way. I shudder a bit thinking about it.
“You cold?” Lance asks me. He offers his jacket.
I look down at my bare arms, covered in gooseflesh. The gown is stunning, but it does nothing to keep me warm. In fact, it makes me feel colder. It’s a full-length satiny slip dress in a perfect soft blush color, overlaid with delicate silver chainmail that’s cold to the touch. It reminds me of lace, yet it’s metal. It’s both romantic and girly but would also work for a sex dungeon—not like I know, but there’s something dark and slightly S&M-esque about the ensemble. Katerina picked it out. She’s into searching social media for designers and keeps up with the fashion trends. She posts as me on the accounts in my name. I guess she feels like it keeps her relevant, like she still has skin in the game.
“I’m fine. Just drunk.” I hiccup and cover my lips.
I have a sinking suspicion that it’s not the Champagne or the dress or the food deprivation that’s got me feeling like my skin is on fire even though I’m cold. And the salmon leaping upstream in my belly are not there for Lance either. I should have broken up with Lance, but when I suggested it to Mother, she said it would be fine, but I’d be forbidden from going out with anyone else. So I hung onto Lance for the bit of freedom he bought me. Respite from Mother’s focus, even if I did have to spend it all making out with someone I had no feelings for in the back of a BMW in the mall parking lot. But finally, I’m out of the house and on my own, and Mother can’t dominate me as much as before.
Besides, I’m too focused on ballet to be in a real relationship. And I didn’t think it could hurt anyone to play along and do what was expected. But Katerina doesn’t know that despite his manners and pedigree, Lance is a first-rate douche bag who snorts coke off the dash of the same BMW we make out in. He drinks way too much and talks about women like they’re property. So Katerina’s match in heaven is really just a tsunami brewing, and our fake-ass relationship will likely end ugly. My gut tells me he cares about me as little as I care for him. It’s a relationship of convenience that neither of our hearts is in.
My hope is now that I’ve finally got my own place, I’ll gain some much-needed freedom from Mother, and Lance will lay off as half of his effort is to impress Katerina.
“Aren’t you supposed to dance tonight?”
“I don’t think so,” I tell him. “Maybe some publicity shots depending on how many members show.”
I’m hoping certain members will show more than others. I’ve got an idea Katerina would feel the same way if she knew what a star Dashiell’s become with his recent win.
There’s a commotion from the hallway by the elevators, and Lance and I make our way over to see what the noise is. Shareen is there, taking bags and jackets from a gaggle of girls who seem too excited for a party put on by Mother. Shareen doesn’t need to be here. She’s hired a whole crew for the party, but more likely than not, she’s keeping an eye on everything—Mother included.
There’s a press member with the excited partygoers, and he’s snapping pics as they fall all over one another in their skimpy dresses and high-heeled shoes.
“What’s going on?” Lance asks them. More like, Where are the party drugs and will you share them with us?
“Dash Cunningham is downstairs and a crowd of like a hundred fans is taking photos with him,” a girl says. Her eyes are wide and her bright red lipstick is smeared.