Page 152 of Facing Off
I laugh, not surprised. I know she still won’t admit that she’s falling for me like I’ve already fallen for her. Not in so many words. Not yet. But I feel it in how she holds onto me, like she doesn’t want to let go. And I’m in no rush to pressure her. Let her take her time. I’ll wait. Because when she finally says it?
I know it’ll be real, and I can’t fucking wait.
I nuzzle the top of her head, chuckling. “I’ll do all the missing for both of us. Add it to my list of talents that you’ll never get from anyone else.”
She snorts, and I feel her mouth curving against my skin. Thatalmostsmile that wants to break free. The classicSonya that I love. “You’re lucky that I’m too tired to argue. Now go to sleep. You have an early flight.”
She’s giving me orders, but her tone is loaded with warmth and affection.
I laugh again, then sigh as quiet settles around us like a blanket. Her breathing starts to slow, and mine does too.
She’s warm and still in my arms, and I figure this is it. We’re done talking for the night. I start letting myself drift.
And then, just when I’m almost asleep, she shifts again, barely a whisper of movement.
“…I’ll miss you too.”
It’s so quiet I almost wonder if I imagined it.
But I don’t.
And that one tiny sentence hits harder than anything else tonight. My chest tightens. I don’t say a word, because I don’t want to spook her. I just hold her like she’s already part of me.
Because she is.
60
SONYA
Late at night,way past normal hours, I’m in the studio when there’s a knock on the door.
I drag my exhausted, sweaty self to open it, prepared to bite off whoever’s head it is that’s interrupting me. Though technically I should’ve already called it a day.
I know. But my audition is in a little over a week and old habits die hard.
In my defense, I did have a long session with a therapist this morning working through more possible psychological reasons for my performance block. And a lunch with Kavi a few hours ago, therefore taking a real break.
That’s something. More than something.
So is this new routine I’m trying to figure out.
It’s not like anything I’ve ever danced before.
At the door, Adrian’s assistant, Iris, stands beside a clothing rack of zipped up garment bags. In her other hand is a brown paper bag.
“He said you’d still be here,” she says, “but I didn’t believe him.”
I rub the edge of my eyebrow. “What’s happening…?”
“Here are outfits for the gala, in case you want to go.”
My mouth drops open. Honestly, I’d completely forgotten about the gala even though Madame Kozlova has been messaging me nonstop about it, her tone getting more pointed with each one. This morning she even said Bob Pepitamightshow up.
And yeah, I know how important that is. Iknowwhat it means. But with all this rehearsing I’m doing, I shoved it to the back of my mind. I’m overwhelmed. I don’t want to deal with this. But now?
It’s tomorrow.
And I don’t want to go, don’t have time to pick a dress or plaster on a smile and mingle, but if I want a chance at becoming a principal, I also know I don’t have a choice.
