Page 28 of Souls and Sorrows

Pure, unadulterated beauty. Such a rare sight to behold in this life that doing so now feels sacrilegious.

But I have never been one to indulge in divine worship anyway.

I much prefer worldly pleasures.

She leaps across the stage, alternating between leading with her left and right legs. On a turn, she hooks her foot on the edge of the stage and seems to lose balance; I sit forward, gripping the armrests until my knuckles blanch, waiting to see if she falls or rights herself.

Effortlessly, she arches her spine and scoops back into position, the serious look on her face shifting for a single moment. A small flash of fear splicing across the angular planes, extinguished before anyone would even notice.

But I saw it, and I watched her stifle it. Fear doesn’t dim with this woman; it’s smothered, as if there were simply no room in her body for the emotion at all.

It’scaptivating.

I don’t even notice at first when she stops dancing, propped on the tips of her toes as she stares out at the empty audience.

Empty, except for me.

The air is still for a heartbeat—one I feel throbbing in my throat, low and unsteady, like a guitar string plucked in slow motion.

She doesn’t say anything.

I think she likes being watched.

Nothing comes from my mouth either.

I like watching.

Part of me wonders if she’s been aware of my presence this entire time because she doesn’t look at all surprised. More resolute, as if I’ve simply met her expectations instead of rising above and beyond them.

She drops to the flats of her feet, arms hanging limp at her sides. Another second passes, the silence tangling in the rafters, before she spins and slips backstage.

Reaching up, I slide my glasses from the bridge of my nose and tuck them into my coat pocket. Then, I follow after her.

Taking the stairs, I walk in the direction she disappeared in. Light glows through a doorway at the end of the hall, and I move carefully, stepping over buckets of paint and discarded props as I approach.

Ariana’s seated before a lit vanity that sits on top of a shabby trunk, pulling bobby pins from her hair. It begins to unravel in thick sections, blocking my immediate view of her reflection in the mirror.

“I was starting to think maybe you’d gotten a refund,Counselor,” she says when I’m fully inside.

I’m not sure why, but the way her lips twist around that word, that nickname, makes the blood boil deliciously beneath the surface of my skin.

My hand extends backward, gripping the doorknob and pulling it shut behind me. “Not big on calculating returns, to be honest. I just live with my mistakes.”

She rolls her big, glossy eyes. “How gallant.”

“Not really.” I move slowly, inching closer. The scent of her perfume cascades in invisible waves around me, notes of jasmine and clementines clinging to the air and invading my senses. “Just proves that I’m a selfish man.”

“How so?”

“I’d rather live with a massive debt than admit I was a bit hasty in making a purchase.”

A swallow works through her, bobbing up and down her slender neck. She sets the last of her pins on the pink vanity counter, freeing her hair; it tumbles over, shimmering bright against the bare, tanned skin of her sharp, drawn-back shoulders.

“You could just exchange me,” she offers, finally lifting her eyes to mine in the mirror. “I’m sure Vitus has something you’d like more.”

A smile threatens the muscles of my mouth. “I’m not sure you understand how these auctions work, Ms. Ricci. I don’t think exchanges are common practice.”

“Right, and there’s never been an exception to any rule.”

---