Page 184 of Swallow Your Sorries

It’s just my tiredness making me feel sentimental.

Yes…it’s definitelynotthe fact that Gant’s officially become someone to me.

I lay down and snap a picture too, of a doll Gant beside me on my pillow, his little hand on my cheek, and my lips pressed against his. Then I send it before drifting off into a sleep almost as peaceful as the one I had in the greenhouse that night.

I forget about Mum.

I forget about ballet and the auditions.

And I don’t have any nightmares.

Just sweet dreams of Gant Auclair.

***

Hadn’t I just been saying how badly I want auditions to come and go? So why do I feel like I’m about to pass out now that they’re finally here?

I stand in the corner of the dance studio, my heart in my throat as I watch how technically accurate and light on her feet Rin is. But the more I watch her, the more I can see what Mistress means. Her lips are slightly pinched, her brows furrowed. She looks like she’s counting her steps rather than being immersed in the music and she barely makes eye contact with Étienne because she’s too busy watching herself in the mirror instead.

This scene is meant to be romantic. It’s the first time Cinderella meets the prince at the ball. The first time in forever since she’s had a break from her responsibilities. Since she’s been dressed in anything other than rags. I know that feeling. That feeling of sheer butterflies at seeing the most handsome man in the room. That feeling of wearing clothes that aren’t scratchy or itchy or ill-fitting and finally feeling pretty. That feeling of the entire world melting away when it’s just him and I.

I look at Gant, who’s across the room with all the other boys. He’s staring at me, his eyes running up and down the pretty baby blue dance outfit Mum gifted me from the modest online wishlist I’d sent her. The sheer skirt is a bit longer than usual, embodying Cinderella’s gifted dress from her godmother so perfectly.

Lately, I can’t help but think that Gant is like a fairy godmother.

Because, with my bogus scholarship, and with each private dance lesson, he’s slowly making my dreams come true. In the most painful, humiliating, and sometimes pleasurable ways imaginable, but does that negate the fact that I’m right where I want to be? In this dance studio. In the advanced class. At Beaulieu participating in one of its productions I’ve been dreaming of since I was thirteen and knew the school existed.

No.

I pry my eyes from Gant and refocus on the dancing pair again. Rin should be enamoured with the prince, and he should be enamoured with her, yet Étienne looks painfully bored, though far more relaxed. His eyes are as blank as the white walls in the studio. It doesn’t look like he’s trying at all. He’s going through the motions as if breezing down the grocery aisles.

When the music ends, Rin’s face breaks into a relieved smile. She attempts to raise her arms with Étienne before bowing to the applause from her minions, but Étienne lets go of her and goes back to the barre to wait beside Aria, who’s up next.

“Lovely,” Mistress says, apparently equally as bored. Then, she looks over at Bae. “Bae, you’re up with Aria.”

Aria brushes past Étienne and takes Bae’s hand. Unlike Rin, she’s the epitome of relaxed. She dances effortlessly with a lightness to her feet I’m envious of. As Bae twirls her around, I feel like I’m seeing Cinderella coming alive before my very eyes. Honestly, I don’t know who’s prettier as they spin, a blur of glossy curls, and silky straight locks. Madame seems to think the same too because she watches the pair with a glow she hadn’t had with Rin and Étienne.

In fact, everyone watches them with a glow.

I’d never seen Aria dance so beautifully.

“Look at me,” Gant’s voice whispers in my ear, and I jump. Hadn’t he been across the room just a minute ago?

I peel my eyes off the couple and turn my head sideways to look at him. He places a hand on my hip and spins me around to face him fully. “You’re psyching yourself out.”

“I’m not,” I lie, but my stomach audibly churns. It’s not hunger, but the result of too much acid bubbling. I hold my stomach and press my forehead against the cool mirror. I wanted to vomit, piss, shit and have my period all at once.

His hand slides over my chest, under my neckline, and over my thrashing heart. I should swat it away, but his warm touch relaxes me, as does his woodsy scent.

“You look beautiful in blue,” Gant says, stroking a hand down my bare spine and immediately I recoil from his touch even as my heart begs me to lean into it. Even as I want to melt from his words.

In private, I’d played the role of his little doll, allowing and welcoming every intimate moment, but lately, he’d been talking to me, touching me,in publicand I don’t know why.

His kingdom doesn’t know that our relationship has shifted, and paused, and neither do I want them to know. Surprising them by exposing their king as a ginger-loving traitor is the only card I have left to draw, and lately, Gant’s public shift is weakening it. Sure our interlude meant the senior girls had backed off, but they don’t know what’s happening behind closed doors. That Gant’s trying to sleep with the enemy and I need it to remain a surprise. For now.

I try to shift away from him, but I don’t make it a step before he’s pulling on the strap of my leotard and dragging me back towards him. From the corner of my eye, I spot a few senior girls watching.Gawking.His touch is too gentle, too intimate to be bullying as he tugs on the neckline, his knuckles bruising my breast.

Quickly, I turn my back to them.

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