Page 25 of The Unraveling

“Not at all. Somehow, no one has ever gotten mad at him. It’s like he’s such a specimen that we’ve all just accepted that he can belong to none of us. It’s like, oh, you’re new, well, only a matter of time until you go through the initiation of fucking Luca.”

I laugh. “Wow. He’s like a unicorn.”

“He is,” she says. “But we don’t have to worry about that with you, it sounds like you’re in love.”

“Actually, we just broke up.”

“Oh, no. Sorry.”

I shrug, which doesn’t match my genuine feelings on the matter. “It’s okay. But I have no intention of sleeping with anyone right now. I’m kind of off the whole love thing.”

“Sex doesn’t have to be love,” she says.

“I’m off sex, too,” I say. “I think I should just focus on my career right now. You know?”

I feel a set of eyes on me and see that Luca, who’s stretching, is looking at me.

He smiles and gives a charming, neutral wave. Oh, man. I can see how he does it.

I wave back.

Cynthia sees the interaction and rolls her eyes. “God, another one bites the dust.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m really not going to do anything like that.”

There’s a pause, then she says, “If you say so. Anyways, we can definitely take your mind off your breakup. You came here at just the right time. There are so many girls out right now. Two out on maternity leave and five injured.”

“Five injured? Jesus.”

She shrugs. “That’s what happens when you do a run of about a hundred Nutcracker shows and only get a few days off after.”

“Damn. Well, the ones out on maternity leave will surely be back soon, right?”

“Hell no, they get a year leave here. This is Europe, girl. None of that one-month-paid-time-off shit like in America.” She glances across the studio. “Anyway, good luck. Arabella’s waving you over, looks like she found you a good spot.”

“Thanks,” I say, then leave to meet Arabella.

“Did she get you to talk about your life in less than a minute?” she asks as soon as I’m in earshot.

“Wh—yes,” I say. “How did you know?”

“She has a gift. She’s one of those people. Everyone tells her everything.”

As the class starts, I take a deep breath and try to relax. My nerves are out of control, which is crazy because I’ve never been nervous when it comes to dancing. Then again, since I was about seven years old, I never took a break. Now I have taken a break, and it’s like I’m afraid I’ve broken a magic spell that was holding my talent together.

The ballet mistress is named Sarika Khatri, and she’s one of those former ballerinas who have aged into a next-level form of poise that makes their whole presence seem angelic. She doesn’t seem to walk or step so much as glide. Her voice is soft and gentle but bright as glass, as if she did nothing but drink chamomile tea for her entire existence.

I don’t take her temperate presence at face value, though, knowing that all ballerinas have a hard edge inside them. You have to—we go through too much to be soft. We are soft-petaled roses, but we have thorns.

I inhale deeply and place one hand on the barre and feet in first position to begin the ritual that is ballet class. The music begins for pliés and I smile a real smile for the first time in a long time. I feel home.

Chapter Eight

Over the next few days, class goes well. It’s just a ballet class, at the end of the day, and I should have trusted my body more to remember what it’s doing. It’s just the same as it was when I was little, only now I’ve done it a million times. It’s the same basic routine, the same foundation. When I was seven and began dancing, we started ballet class beginning at the barre, then center, then jumps. And it’s the same today. I’ve just gotten better at it.

It’s been interesting staying with Arabella, who’s been letting me borrow all her clothes and ballet stuff. I went to Boots and got all my own basics and some makeup. A toothbrush, some floss, boring CeraVe face wash and lotion, which is what I use anyway. I know I need to go by Jordan’s and get my things, but I am dreading it.

So I’ve just thrown myself into ballet. It’s been easy, as Arabella is like a completely different person during the workweek. It’s all Epsom salt baths and yin yoga before bed, soothing piano music playing from the speakers, cups of tea and green juices in the morning delivered fresh from a place down the road.

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