Some days, it was a struggle just to get out of bed. I was constantly at war with my body, my emotions, and everything that should’ve been on my side but wasn’t.
I was exhausted. All I wanted was to stay here forever, surrounded by Asher’s warmth and the reassuring beats of his heart. Here, I didn’t have to try. I could just…be.
“You can do it.” Firmness underlaid his otherwise gentle tone. “This is the first time you’ve performed with a cast in years. Give yourself the grace to grow.”
“To grow and do what? They’ll never let me sub in for Yvette now,” I said, my voice small. I didn’t want to sub in for Yvette. If I fucked up during the performance the way I had in rehearsals, I’d never be able to show my face at RAB again. I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Lavinia calls me into her office tomorrow and takes the understudy role away from me.”
My tears finally slowed to a trickle. I pulled away from Asher’s chest and swiped angrily at my cheeks. “I should’ve practiced more, but I’m…”
I’m afraid.
I was too embarrassed to voice the insecurity out loud.
My doctor said I could dance as long as I didn’t overdo it, but I worried that I had to overdo it in order to master the choreography. I was rusty after years away from dancing. I did fine in the opening scene before I got distracted and everything went to hell, but could I sustain that through multiple practices and a full performance?
Surprisingly, my muscles weren’t screaming after the day’s exertions, but they were fickle. They were fine one day and agonizing the next.
Even if I could sustain that level of performance, I had to contend with the psychological pressure of being onstage again. What if my memories sucked me back into the abyss during the showcase? What if I froze again and became a laughingstock? How could my students take me seriously if I couldn’t master one performance?
Despite bouts of nostalgia for my old career, I loved my job at RAB. I’d clawed my way out of a hole of bitterness and resentment to build a new life here, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it.
“If you want to practice more, we can practice more. It’s not too late.” Asher’s thumb skimmed over my cheek and wiped away a stray tear. His eyes searched my face. “Do you want to practice more?”
Different responses rushed to the tip of my tongue.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
No was the easy answer.
Yes was the optimistic challenge.
I don’t know was the truth, so that was what I went with. “I’m probably overthinking, per usual,” I said with a weak smile. Now that the tears had tapered off and I had other company besides my treacherous thoughts, it was easier to pull myself back from the brink of despair. “The chances of me dancing in Yvette’s place again are slim. This was probably a one-time thing.”
“Maybe, but the practices wouldn’t be for anyone else. They would be for you.” Asher’s hand paused at the curve of my jaw. He cupped my face, his touch tender. I unconsciously leaned into him. Fatigue was settling into my bones, but the press of his skin against mine gave me enough strength to keep going. “If you’re worried about overexerting yourself, I have a solution.”
He always knew what I was thinking without me having to say it.
“We can incorporate your practices into my training,” he said in response to the quizzical arch of my brows. “You don’t have to dance the full two hours every time. We can break up the choreography into pieces. Ninety minutes for my training, thirty for yours, depending on how you’re feeling. We’ll be in the studio anyway. We might as well make full use of it.” A roguish grin appeared. “I’m not a dancer, but I can spot you if you need me to.”
A laugh cleared the rasp in my throat. “I don’t think spotting means what you think it means in ballet.”
Dancers used the spotting technique to maintain control and avoid dizziness during the execution of various turns. It involved finding a stationary focal point and had nothing to do with partner assistance the way it did in the gym.
“Ah, well.” Asher shrugged. “Regardless, I’ll be there if you need me.”
I battled a wave of emotion. “Thank you. That’s…”
Do not cry again. Once was enough.
“I’ll think about it.”
It was a good idea. It straddled the line between practice and overexertion, and I could rehearse without the pressure of my peers. It was a more palatable option than giving up.
Shame stole through me at my earlier weakness. If Asher hadn’t been here, I might’ve admitted defeat after one bad rehearsal.
Was that the type of person I’d become? Had I grown so soft that I couldn’t handle a bad day, or was I so hard on myself that I thought a bad day was the end of the world?
I didn’t like either possibility.
“Actually, I don’t need to think about it,” I said. My resolve firmed. “You’re right. We’ll add my practice to our training sessions.”
“Good.” Asher’s smile was as slow and languid as the warmth seeping under my skin. “That’s my girl.”
That’s my girl.
Three words shouldn’t have the power to undo me, but they did.
Butterflies erupted low in my stomach. They were so distracting I almost overlooked the novelty of seeing Asher at RAB again. As far as I knew, he hadn’t stepped foot in the building since we changed our training location.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as we made our slow ascent up the stairs toward the exit. “We didn’t have a meeting, did we?”
“No, but I had my midsummer check-in with Lavinia. It was one of Coach’s requirements.” Asher placed a hand on the small of my back and steered me around a box of props that someone had carelessly left in the aisle. “Don’t worry. I didn’t talk too much shit about you.”
“Wow, thanks. I appreciate the glowing recommendation.”
“Anytime.” His mouth quirked. “But I also wanted to come by and see you. I wanted to give you formal notice.”
I eyed him with wariness. “About what?”
“About this weekend.” He pushed the door open. Thankfully, the hinges let out a squeak this time instead of a full-on metallic screech.
I racked my brain for upcoming special occasions and came up empty. “What’s happening this weekend?”
Asher glanced at me again, his eyes dancing with mischief. “We’re going on our first official date.”
SCARLETT
Asher refused to tell me what our date would entail. He only gave me a dress code (nice but casual), so I spent the next four days trying to guess the activity.
My friends helped. Our new group chat was growing increasingly active, and I was relieved to see them hitting it off, virtually at least. They’d been a little hesitant with each other at first, but the texts were now flying fast and furious.
CARINA
Nice but casual is THE most generic description ever. He didn’t give you more than that?
Nope. He won’t even tell me which part of London it’s in
BROOKLYN
Maybe it’s not London
BROOKLYN
Maybe he’s taking you on a weekend trip to the Cotswolds or something
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.