He shrugs, then straightens up. “Are you hungry? I’m going to go grab something to eat. I can bring you back whatever you want.”
I perk up. “A turkey wrap from that place on the corner? And fries. And a Gatorade.” I stop right in front of him, reaching out to play with the bottom of his shirt. “You remember this room?”
The cuts he gave me were barely deep enough to scab over—they probably won’t even scar. And it’ll be sad to see them go.
He cups my jaw, tilting my face up to kiss me. I lean into him. Each kiss goes through me like electricity, and I don’t know how he does that. How he makes every touch important. His tongue dips between my parted lips, tasting me, and he hums when he leans back.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises. “Once you’re done dancing, we can come back tothisroom…”
I smile.
We go in separate directions—him to the exit, me to the studio I rented. I cross to the speaker and hit play on my music, but it isn’t the piece I’ve been rehearsing to that comes out. It’s the faint notes of a solo from a different ballet.
I read the words on the screen, the title of the piece, but my mind is stuttering. It’s familiar in a dream-like way. My body knows what to do—and I’m certain I’ve never performed this. I don’t know that I’ve even seen more than snippets of this ballet.Giselle. It’s tragic in a way. The orchestra pulls at my heart.
Without really knowing why, I rise from my position next to the speaker. I restart the song and move to the middle of the room, staring at myself in the mirror for a moment. Then I close my eyes and let muscle memory take over. I move through choreography I don’t remember learning.
The tempo picks up, and I fly across the room. For a moment, I feel the weight of my future lift off my shoulders. But my pointe shoe catches on something—or perhaps it’s my leg that fails—and I stumble.
Suddenly Grey is there, catching me before I crash.
“Oh,” I gasp, clutching at his arms. “Sorry.”
He tilts his head. “That’s not the piece you’ve been working on all day.”
“No, it isn’t.” I straighten and step back. “I’m not sure where that came from.”
“Interesting.” His arms fall back to his sides.
“It was queued up on my phone,” I explain. “Must’ve been on shuffle after theSleeping Beautyone. In a playlist for ballet music.”
“Right.” He watches me, his expression curious.
I have the distinct impression that I’m fumbling my way through this. That I should feel flustered by what I just did. And Iamflustered, because I don’t remember learning that choreography. Maybe I made it up. An imaginary dance to go along with moving music.
“What ballet is it from?”
I glance over his shoulder. “What happened to food?”
“Decided to just get it delivered,” he says. “I called the place. Someone’s bringing it over soon.”
I grunt.
“Vi. The ballet?”
“Giselle,” I say. I venture in closer to him. “A romantic tragedy.”
“How’s that?”
I run my hand up his arm. “A trusting commoner falls in love with a disguised nobleman. He tricks her, making her think that he’s like her. But he isn’t.”
Grey’s eyes narrow. “Vi.”
“His ruse is uncovered,” I continue. “And poor Giselle dies.”
His brows furrow. “She dies?”
“That’s just act one, baby.” I shake my head and turn away. “She turns into a forest apparition, one of many that lure men into the forest to dance until they die. But when the nobleman is lured into the forest, she dances with him… and she chooses to keep him alive. Do you think that’s love?”