Page 158 of Facing Off
The fact that my talkative, socially brilliant hockey captain is not only charming, but a master strategist. That’s why I’ve got the envelope in my hand. It’s mine to give. She’ll have to receive it fromme.
Adrian is beside me with his knowing smirk. My pulse skips a beat from meeting his encouraging blue eyes, as it did every single time he saidmy wifetonight. It happened a lot. Like he fit it into practically every sentence he said.
I didn’t hate it.
I didn’t hate itsomuch.
I even forgot it was pretend more than once.
Madame Kozlova finishes her greetings and declares it’s time for a special announcement, looking directly at Adrian. Instead, I push back from my seat and?—
I could do it alone. I’m strong enough. So strong.
“Sonya.” Adrian leans closer. “Darling, you’ve got this.”
I’ve survived a lot of hard things in life—and this isn’t as close to being as difficult as some of them. It doesn’t matter that I hate this, how closely connected the dance world is, and that optics matter. Who gets cast in Bob Pepita’s ballet isn’t all about talent. The level of promotability and attention you bring to the role is also a factor.
Because he’s right.
I can do this.
So why, while I’m switching the envelope to my other hand, do I reach out to him?
Without missing a beat, Adrian interlaces his fingers with mine, as if he couldn’t ever do otherwise.
I ask silently for him to come with me.
Are you sure?he asks, mouthing the words.
I nod.
We walk.
Blood pounds in my ears, and winding through a ballroom within the belly of a historical building built with grand pillars, pointed arches, ribbed vaults and flying buttresses, a realization clicks into me.
I don’t feel less strong, doing it this way.
It’s bizarre and soundlessly monumental. I haven’t shrunk. The warmth of having the right person at my side isn’t sapping away my strength and independence, butfortifyingit.
My chin lifts, and my shoulders are pushed back as we go onto the stage. Madame Kozlova hands Adrian her microphone. Her face reddens when she sees him pass italong to me. Even more so when he steps back and joins her at the side.
I’m left in the center and the floor is mine.
She obviously expected him to make the announcement. It’s too late now, though. To interfere and say something would cause a scene.
Looking out, a sea of curious faces greets me.
The whole room has gone silent.
The pressure starting in my chest is familiar and inexorable. My back and chest buzz, though deeper in my gut something claws. I open my mouth and close it. I’m frowning, shaking myself a little.
This is it. I shouldn’t fuck it up.
As soon as I donate a significant amount in front of all these influencers, shockwaves will ripple. I’ll be online everywhere. It increases my chances that I’ll get chosen as the first South Asian principal dancer. My dream might become reality. Finally.
That’s the plan.
Except, my throat isn’t cooperating.
