Page 67 of Barre Fight
All around her, audience members who had spilled out of the theater were showing their invitations to ushers standing at a velvet rope and joining the VIPs who had already arrived. And they were some Very Important People, at least in the ballet world—reviewers, dancers from New York Ballet and National Ballet Company, which performed at the opera house across the plaza, and plenty of retired dancers, some of whom were true legends. There were rumors Baryshnikov himself was going to show up, and she’d overheard Matty tell Justin that he’d keel over with nerves if he ever came face to face with the man.
Ivy clutched her champagne flute and looked around as discreetly as she could. At a table a few meters away stood a former etoile of the Paris Opera Ballet whose poster had hung on Ivy’s wall when she was a child, and Ivy tried not to stare asthe woman chatted animatedly to her companion, her hands fluttering gracefully as she spoke.
She heard someone call her name and turned to see a slight woman with curly red hair and thick, expressive eyebrows. It was Carly Montgomery, a former member of the New York Ballet corps who now worked in the company’s administration. Ivy had interviewed Carly a few years ago, when she had posed for a series of ballet photos all around Sydney that had gone somewhat viral.
“Carly!” she smiled. “Nice to see you on your home turf.”
“You too. And congratulations on a hell of a run. I was in the audience twice this week and wow. You guys lookfantastic.”
You guys.Like Ivy had been up on the stage. Like she was part of the company. She supposed she was, after a fashion. Not in the way she’d wanted to be, all those years ago, but she was here.
“They really put on a show, didn’t they?” She looked around her at the gilded lobby, at all the gorgeous, glamorous people with their champagne flutes and tiny handbags. Perhaps it had been worth crossing over to the dark side, for this. She gestured up at the towering marble statue that loomed behind Carly’s head. “I can’t believe you worked here for years.”
“Still do. Though I can tell you it looks a little different from this side of the curtain. But my body’s grateful for the change.” Carly took a sip of her drink and raised one mischievous eyebrow. “So did you manage to keep Justin on his best behavior, or is there more scandal on the way?”
Ivy inhaled a little bit of champagne mid-sip and spluttered around her glass. She coughed, then looked at Carly, eyes wide. “How did you know about that?”
Carly gave her a look that said,honey, please. “Heather told me.”
“Right,” Ivy replied faintly. Carly and Heather Hays werebest friends—Ivy had met Carly because she’d come to Sydney to be the maid of honour at Heather’s wedding—and Carly probably knew a lot about the internal goings on at ANB. Ivy stood up a little straighter and injected a little professionalism into her voice. “Justin has represented the company very well. The reviews have been positive, and focused on the dancing, which is what he’s here to do.”
“And he did it. He looked great up there. Those feet? I’d commit felonies for those feet.”
“I would have, too, in my dancing days,” Ivy agreed. She took another sip of her champagne, then thought about what she’d just said. What she’d written in that review all those years ago, and what she knew now. “But he’s more than a set of great feet, you know. I think the Pearson choreography brings out the best in his dancing. The partnering, the épaulement, his sense of musicality, the way he holds your attention when he’s on the stage without demanding it… he’s remarkable.”
This time both of Carly’s eyebrows quirked, and Ivy realized that her voice had slid from professional and serious to dreamy and breathy, which was probably why Carly was now gazing at her curiously. Ivy looked down into her glass, hoping the lighting out here was dim enough to conceal the warm flush she knew had crept into her cheeks.
“I just he’s mean, he’s an extremely gifted dancer, and I’m glad Peter decided to?—”
Ivy stopped talking, because the crowd erupted into applause, and both women looked over at the entrance to see Alice and her fiancée walking into the party hand in hand. Alice was wearing a long, slinky burgundy dress with a pair of sneakers peeking out from underneath the hem, and a wide, sparkling grin to match Izzy’s.
Around them, the patrons and donors and dancers whooped and cheered.
“To Alice and Izzy!” Carly shouted, and everyone who had a glass raised it and took a swig. There was yet more applause, and then a tinkling tapping noise cut through the clapping. Ivy looked over at Carly, who had seized a fork and was tapping it against her glass. Izzy wasted no time wrapping her arms around Alice and dipping her, planting a kiss on her to the sound of renewed cheering. The reception had turned into an impromptu engagement party.
When Izzy pulled Alice upright, Alice looked around until her eyes landed on Carly, and she made a beeline for her and Ivy. Izzy followed her, seemingly unwilling to put more than a foot of space between herself and her now-fiancée.
“You sneaky bitch!” Alice cried, launching herself at Carly, who returned the hug and cackled.
“Guilty as charged, and you’re welcome,” Carly grinned, as they pulled apart.
Carly turned to Ivy, looking smugly delighted. “Alice here helped Heather and Marcus get back together, so when Izzy asked for my help pulling off a little international romantic subterfuge, I couldn’t say no,” she explained.
“I thought she was being distant and weird, but it turns out she was just freaking out because she’d impulse bought a ticket to New York!” Alice exclaimed. “And you knew the whole time?”
Carly shrugged proudly, then raised her glass. “To love, and to the sneaky bitches who help it along.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Izzy nodded. “But we’ll need drinks. I’ll be right back, babe,” she said to Alice, but Ivy was already moving.
“I’ll get them,” she said quickly. She wasn’t about to make Izzy remove her arm from around Alice’s waist if she didn’t have to.
The bartenders were busy, and Ivy rested her elbows on thebar, leaning forward to try to get someone’s attention. She’d just made eye contact and started to ask for two flutes of champagne when another smattering of applause broke out. She looked over her shoulder and felt all the air leave her lungs in one heart-stopping second.
She had seen Justin Winters in sweat-soaked bike shorts, and she had seen him own the stage in unthinkably snug leggings, lit like an angel and moving like a god. She had seen him naked, his skin shining with shower water and his mouth slick with her orgasm. She had seen him rumpled and puffy in the half-dark, sleepy and boyish and reaching for her under the sheets. She thought she had seen Justin Winters in every possible arousing, endearing form.
But she had never seen him in a suit.
The black fabric hugged his shoulders perfectly, and the absence of a tie drew her eyes instantly to the collar of his crisp white shirt, which was unbuttoned enough to reveal a small triangle of bare skin. Her mouth watered at the sight of it. She knew exactly what that skin tasted like. She’d memorized the way he shuddered and tipped his head back when she ran her mouth from that triangle up his throat—or down to his chest, where his pulse thudded faster and faster as she mapped his body with her mouth. His hair was tousled like he’d rushed up here from the dressing room after coming off stage, or like she’d just run her hand through it and messed it up. The thought of it made her fingers itch with the need to touch him.
