Page 23 of Masked Sins
Dancing is my safe space—the place where I can let go and be vulnerable and let my body feel the music completely.
The woman in the headset ushers me farther into the wing, and when it’s my cue, I float onto the stage and drown everything else out.
I can’t quite describe what happens when I perform, but I go somewhere I can only access on stage. It’s like IbecomeOdette, and then later, Odile—and nothing else mattersexcept conveying the story correctly. Prince Siegfried—played by Raphael Beaufort tonight—is the ballet dancer I interact with most on stage. He’s professional on stage, and we’ve never had an issue with compatibility while playing our roles, but he still avoids me backstage.
Orion punched him at a Halloween party a year and a half ago for getting too handsy with me.
The thought of what happened that night makes me stumble slightly on my next landing. Not enough for anyone in the audience to notice, but Raphael’s brows arch ever so slightly when he holds his hands out for me to jump into for our next move.
The rest of the performance goes smoothly, and once we come back onto the stage for the curtain call, I see Orion doing a slow clap with that same damn smirk splayed all over his face.
“He has a lot of fucking courage to show up here,” Raphael grumbles into my ear with his French accent.
Of course Orion has to arrive during a show when Raphael performs—usually Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday, instead of Ivan, his alternate, who performs on the other nights.
Orion’s eyes flick from me to Raphael, then they narrow slightly.
Once we finish our curtain call, I walk to my dressing room and change. Both Orion and my dad await me when I get to my car in the underground parking garage.
“What a wonderful performance, La-La,” my dad proudly says as if he wasn’t here last Saturday and the one before that.
“Thanks, Dad.” I turn to Orion. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll give you kids some privacy,” he says cheerfully. He begins walking to his Subaru, which is parked next to a sleek, black motorcycle.
Once he’s inside his car, I turn back to Orion. “Do you want something from me? Why is it that I don’t see you for monthsafter—after—” I can’t say it out loud, but the way his eyes twinkle tells me that he knows exactly what I’m insinuating.
“Still thinking about our kiss?” he asks, choosing that exact moment to lean against my car, crossing his legs and arms like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
I ignore his question even though my brain is flustered and trying to keep up. “And now, all of a sudden, I see you every weekend? What do you want from me?”
“Did you go on another date with Mr. No Dessert?” he asks, biting his lower lip.
My fists curl at my side. “No, actually. Turns out, he doesn’t care for being threatened with somethingworse than death,” I grit out.
Orion laughs. “He told you.”
“You’re worse than Sparrow marking his territory,” I add, voice shaking. “At this point, I’m going to turn into an old spinster with fifty cats—” The blood drains from my face. “Wait, the guy from a few months ago who never called me back… was that you?” I accuse, taking a step forward.
“Listen, Layla. I just so happened to be at the same restaurant as you last weekend. I saw what happened and wanted to have a bit ofbrotherlyfun.” He holds his hands up and gives me a placating smile. “I overstepped, and I’m sorry.”
A pang of disappointment works through me.Wait… did Iwanthim to stalk me? What was wrong with me?!
“So you didn’t say something to the other guy from a few months ago?”
He dips his head, and something dark passes behind his eyes. “Scout’s honor.”
I stand straighter and clear my throat. “I should get home. See you later.”
Orion doesn’t move. Instead, he rakes his gaze over my face as if he’s searching for something.
“You’re really good,” he says slowly. “On stage.”
His compliment startles me. “Oh. Thanks.”
He pushes off my car. “See you next week,” he adds, winking.
My stomach nearly bottoms out. “Next week?”
