Page 116 of The Unraveling

I’m not turning her into some kind of saint now that she’s dead. I’m not acting like she was a perfect role model, just because I suddenly understand a little more of what it feels like to be with a rich man and dance around all the eggshells in his life and to feel beholden the way I do. But I can finally see what I owed her. And I owed her more love.

I was right that she shouldn’t come with me to New York. But I was wrong that we hadn’t gotten me there together.

I burst into tears. Hard. They’re angry tears. They’re the kind that are pinpointed like darts at a bull’s-eye. Not the confusing kind of grief where you don’t know where the tears are coming from. I know. And it is okay to cry. I should cry. Losing my mom sucks. Losing her when I finally have begun to understand her? That sucks, too.

Being caught fucking a married man by a swarm of paparazzi who are about to splash it all over the London Post and ruin my career?

That sucks pretty fucking hard.

With trembling hands, I type out my response to Alistair.

What do we do?

The little gray dots appear to indicate that he’s typing. But then they vanish. And no text ever comes.

Chapter Thirty-Two

It’s been almost a month, and I’m living on borrowed time. I just know it.

When the pictures came out, they were blasted all around the Internet. The good news was that some gossip sites were applauding my whole look, calling it iconic and mistress-chic.

The bad news is fucking everything else.

Somehow, no one at the company has mentioned it. Not that they don’t know. All the girls are looking at me like I’ve got slut written across my forehead. Even Sarika is being chilly to me. I swear I caught her shaking her head at me when I walked in the first day.

But I haven’t gotten a text or an email or been summoned to Charlie’s office. And I haven’t heard a word from Alistair.

Something is way, way off.

Arabella is the only one to acknowledge it, coming up to me halfway through the second week of rehearsals, and saying, “My condolences for your career, cariño.”

I shrug these thoughts off and focus my attention on the rehearsal in front of me. It’s a painfully slow rehearsal, putting the ballet together with the full cast. The room is packed and smells like sweat, and it’s basically a walk-through, piecing it all together before they start to run the ballet from beginning to end.

It’s Saturday, the last day of rehearsals before opening night. Arabella is cast to dance as Manon Monday night, and I’m scheduled to make my debut Wednesday night. Today was supposed to be Arabella’s stage run, but she’s called out sick and they have given it to me. We’re about to begin rehearsals when Kiki, the rehearsal coordinator, finds me warming up.

“Jocelyn, may I speak to you for a moment?”

Her voice is small and wary.

Here it is. I knew it was coming. I’m going to be fired.

“What’s up?” I ask, launching off the barre and walking toward her. I can feel the eyes of the girls around us.

“Charlie wants to see you in his office.”

“Right now?”

“Tonight, after rehearsal. He won’t be in the building until then.”

“Okay…um. Do we know what it’s regarding?”

She gives me a look that says yes, but her voice says, “No. Sorry.”

“Okay. Thanks, Kiki.”

She gives a tight-lipped smile and then heads off. I see her take in a deep, relieved breath.

Well, that’s it. I’m definitely going to be fired. Today is the last full run-through, and then…I’m out. I’m sure of it.

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