Page 16 of The Last Pirouette
Harper watched him, her expression thoughtful. She couldn't deny the power and control he had displayed. There was a certain elegance in the way he moved, a stark contrast to the grunting, straining figures around them.
“Okay,” she admitted. “That was… marginally less repulsive than I expected. But I still don’t see the point. What does that have to do with ballet?”
Liam raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his eyes. “Everything, Quinn. Everything. Think about a grand allegro jump. You need power, right? You need to explode off the ground and soar through the air. Where does that power come from?”
He paused, letting the question hang in the air.
“Your legs, obviously,” Harper said, feeling a familiar surge of defensiveness.
“Partly,” Liam conceded. “But it starts with your core. Your core is the foundation. It’s what allows you to stabilize your body, to control your movements, to generate power efficiently. And then you need your glutes, your hamstrings, your back – all working together to propel you upwards. It’s a kinetic chain, Harper. Just like in a deadlift. Different movements, same principles.”
Harper considered his words, her mind racing. She had always focused on the outward grace of ballet, on the lightness and fluidity of movement. She had never really thought about the underlying strength required, the complex interplay of muscles that allowed her to defy gravity and create the illusion of effortless flight.
“So, you’re saying that lifting weights could actually make me abetterdancer?” she asked, the skepticism still present, but tinged with a hint of curiosity.
Liam grinned. “Potentially. It could definitely make you a stronger, more resilient dancer. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even start to enjoy it.”
Harper snorted. “Don’t push it, Hayes.”
“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, backing off slightly. “How about we start with something a little less…intimidating? Somethingyou can actually do without collapsing in a heap of shattered pride?”
He led her over to a corner of the room where a set of light dumbbells and a few benches were arranged. He picked up a single dumbbell and held it out to her.
“Goblet squat,” he explained. “Hold the weight close to your chest, like you’re cradling a baby. Feet shoulder-width apart, toes slightly pointed out. Then, just squat down as low as you can while keeping your back straight and your core engaged.”
Harper took the dumbbell, her fingers wrapping around the cool metal. It felt surprisingly heavy, a solid, grounding weight that was far different from the ethereal lightness she was used to.
She positioned her feet, took a deep breath, and began to squat. She felt awkward and ungainly, her body rebelling against the unfamiliar movement. Her knees wobbled, her back protested, and her core felt like it was about to give way.
“Easy, easy,” Liam said, his voice calm and encouraging. “Don’t try to go too low too fast. Focus on your form. Keep your chest up, your back straight, and your weight in your heels.”
He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne, hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. He reached out, his hands hovering near her shoulders, ready to catch her if she faltered.
“Your back’s rounding a little,” he said softly, his voice low and intimate. “Let me just…”
His hands gently adjusted her posture, guiding her shoulders back and her chest up. His touch was light, professional, but it sent a jolt of awareness through her body. It was a silentacknowledgment of their proximity, of the trust she was placing in him, of the unexpected connection that had been simmering between them.
She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. “Okay,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “I got it.”
She continued to squat, focusing on his instructions, on the feel of the weight in her hands, on the engagement of her muscles. She slowly found her rhythm, her body adapting to the unfamiliar movement.
After a few repetitions, she straightened up, her thighs burning, her lungs heaving. “Okay,” she said, gasping for air. “I think that’s enough for my first experiment in…barbarism.”
Liam stepped back, giving her space, his eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and respect. “Not bad, Quinn. Not bad at all. You’ve got potential.”
“Don’t get any ideas, Hayes,” she retorted, trying to regain her composure. “I’m still not convinced this is anything more than a glorified form of torture.”
“Give it time,” he said, grinning. “You might surprise yourself.”
He guided her through a few more exercises, each one designed to challenge her in a different way. She struggled, she grumbled, she even swore a few times, but she persevered. And slowly, gradually, she began to feel a shift within her.
She felt a different kind of strength, a deep, grounding power in her muscles that was far different from the light, ethereal strength of a dancer. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was a solid, reassuring foundation, a reminder that her body was still capable, still resilient, still strong.
After an hour, Liam called a halt to the session. Harper was exhausted, her body aching in places she didn’t even know existed. But she was also strangely invigorated. She had faced a new challenge, pushed herself beyond her comfort zone, and discovered a hidden reserve of strength within herself.
Liam gave her a look of genuine respect. “See? Different music, same dance.”
Harper, slightly breathless, could only nod, unable to immediately formulate a witty comeback. She was caught off guard by the accuracy of his statement, by the sincerity in his tone, by the unexpected sense of… connection she felt with him.
