Page 125 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
“We have time, Quinnevere. You don’t have to give up your dreams to save your friends,” Emrys said. “You can have both.”
“Your lack of urgency is unsettling—”
“We have a plan, and we will find the mirror.” He stood up, and in three strides, he cupped her cheeks tenderly. “You don’t have to give up what you want for anyone.” Her heart beat wildly. “Put your clothing on, go to auditions, and then we can get our answers.”
She nodded, unable to say anything. The man was too confusing. One moment, she hated him, and then he did things like this. Things that made her believe he might actually care about her.
His fingers gently caressed her cheeks as they moved away. Then he excused himself, saying that he would be waiting in the hall. She quickly pulled on the ballet leotard and the skirt. The pas de deux she was to perform did not require a tutu.Lover’s Lostwas a ballet developed from ancient myths, and therefore, the ballet had more flowing costumes than the typically stiff and structured tutu.
Swinging open the door, she met Emrys in the hallway. He escorted her from the floating gondolas to the Gold Quarter.
For what felt like the first time, Quinn arrived at auditions on time. Emrys strolled behind her and let the Royalle Ballet director know that he was going to watch auditions again.
But when it was time to perform her pas de deux, her partner was missing. Apparently, he broke his foot during the Illusion Ceremony. Quinn walked to the center of the room, at a loss for what to do. She couldn’t dance without a partner. But just as she was about to give up and ask the pianist to play the music for her solo variation, Emrys stood, walked to the center, and held out his hand. “Miss Ashelle, would you honor me with a dance?”
Through her teeth, she asked, “Do you know it?”
“Of course I do.” He smiled, his hand lingering in the air between them. “Are you ready?”
No.
But she slid her fingers into his, anyway. Music played a three-four-time signature.
“Try to keep up. This dance is complicated.” He pulled her sharply into a hold.
She scoffed. “I hope you’re kidding.”
At first, she was stiff and unfeeling—afraid—moving as if she had cinderblocks connected to her feet.
Emrys whispered, “It’s okay, Quinnevere. Let go. I'll catch you.”
The veins in her neck budged, and her shoulders were tight and unyielding. She didn’t know how to let go, how to let someone catch her. Let someone else take control. But she wanted to try.
The piano sang a somber and hollow melody as their bodies slipped into a rhythm. Her heart hammered, so scared, so resistant, in her chest, but she ignored it and plunged in the dance with the prince.
Withherprince.
But it was different than any other dance. It was intimate, connected, and emotional. Quinn enjoyed the feel of his fingers resting on the small of her back and their interlaced hands. The simple way he guided her body.
Untamed emotions flowed through her, along with the music and dance. Butterfly wings flapped and caressed her heart with every beat. Nerves jittered through her bones. Not the normal jittery nerves she’d get before a show. No, these were the nerves that made her fear messing up, the nerves of getting too close—the nerves of losing the things she loved.
And she did not want to mess up, not with Emrys.
He twisted her around and pulled her into a tight hold.
It was a dance for enemies and lovers. It started with an intense hatred for each other with quick and sharp tango positions. But at the halfway point, the story changed and softened. And turnedintimate and close.
“So, youcanfollow,” he breathed into her hair.
“Of course I can.”
“You’re normally so controlled. I wasn’t sure you would let me lead for once.”
Emrys whipped her out like a lasso before slowly, sensually reeling her back until the sides of their noses touched. His scent made her insides quiver. And she wanted nothing more than for him to tilt his head slightly and brush their lips together.
She was hungry in a way she never knew she could feel.
Tango was defined by its sharp and precise feet movements. Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow. Passion. Hatred. Heat. Lust.
