Page 154 of Facing Off
Adrian cranes his neck, eyes locked on the staircase, waiting for me. Behind him, other guests and waitstaff move around, but to me, he’s the only one in the room. I still haven’t moved.
We haven’t seen each other since he slept over. He slipped out early that morning for his flight without waking me, leaving behind a note covered in drawn hearts, sayinghe didn’t want to wake me because I looked too beautiful sleeping.
Since then, he’s been traveling with the team, and I’ve been sequestered in a studio, practicing. It’s a frantic time for both of us. We’re swamped with pressures because massive turning points in our careers are fast approaching. My Bob Pepita audition. His first game of the regular season. How well the Wings do means everything when they face off with the GM over their futures.
Anyone would hyperventilate thinking about it all. I’m on the precipice of doing so.
But then I step forward and Adrian sees me.
His breath catches. His jaw clenches, and I catch the quick swallow that betrays him. A quiet ferocity grows his eyes. They carry unspoken adoration that is louder than any words.
And that intense, anticipatory, pressurized limbo feeling I’ve had this week…
The one where the ground doesn’t seem tethered enough to my feet…
Where I’m constantly shifting in my skin, unable to get comfortable…
Because I have no idea what happens next, and the rooms I’m in suddenly feel too empty…
It completely vanishes.
I’m rushing down the stairs and into his arms.
His mouth is warm and hungry.
The way he’s cradling my jaw is with so much care as if I might disappear the second he lets go. Between the coaxing of his tongue, his lips lift off mine, just enough to speak three words.
“I missed you.”
I missed you, too.
It’s not a proper confession if I don’t speak the words,but it’s no less true. Said in the way I chase after his mouth, how I’m pouring myself into this kiss as if the world around us has ceased to exist. Because I have. Missed him in a way I didn’t think was possible to miss anyone.
Slowly, after some time, our foreheads meet.
We both shiver.
“Are you ready?” Adrian whispers.
Am I ready? I don’t know. Past a set of ornate doors is the fundraiser Madame Kozlova is hosting to raise funds for a company who kicked me out. It’s going to be full of wealthy donors and elite figures in the ballet world. Everyone I should be networking with because when a principal dancer is picked, it’s not only about their talent. These kinds of people politics matter, too. To get ahead, it’s best to impress powerful, usually old and white, men.
Adrian reads my expression. “You hate that you have to do this.”
“Hate’s not quite strong enough of a word. But don’t worry—“ I give him a smile, my wholly fabricated one that I’ve used often on stage before. “I know what I have to do and who they want me to be tonight.”
Adrian’s eyes darken. “I don’t like seeing it.”
“Seeing what?”
“This smile.”
“Really?” My eyebrows have shot up. “I’d think it’s a nice break from my usual, you know?” Taking my finger, I tug the corner of my mouth down, exaggerating the angle.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Sonya darling. I’d rather spend a lifetime with your frowns than have there be a reason you ever have to fake a smile.”
I’ve gotten to see so many sides of him, so it’s not like I expect him to be goofy, joking, or smirking all the timeanymore. But this sincere gravelly seriousness makes my stomach dip in a new, swooping way.
“How about you let me carry it,” he insists. “The fake smiling, the small talk, the labor. I’ll make them love you just the way you are.”
