Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Do not thank me. I’m the one who’s honored to have a muse like you.”
That makes me smile. Philippe is definitely the best director I’ve worked with. He understands me better than anyone ever has.
“Ryan.” He nods at the male lead, rolling the R dramatically. “You were perfect.”
“As expected.” Ryan raises an arrogant brow. He has those all-American good looks with a square face, deep blue eyes, and a cleft chin.
“You, too, Hannah,” Philippe says dismissively to her. “You’ll need to work on your pointe for Giselle.”
Her expression lights up as she smirks at me, then clears her throat. Hannah is blonde, a bit taller than me, and has cat eyes that she always accentuates with thick, shadowy makeup. “Does that mean we’ll be auditioning for the lead role?”
Stephanie steps up beside Philippe. She has deep black skin and naturally curly hair that she’s gathered into a pink band. As a former prima ballerina in the NYC Ballet, she has a reputation that precedes her and is as tenacious as Philippe, but they work surprisingly well as a team. “There will be an audition, but not for the lead.”
“But why—” Hannah stops herself from snapping at the last second.
Stephanie motions her head at me. “The producers already picked Lia to be Giselle.”
Hannah’s gaze meets mine with nothing short of malice. I give her a cool one in return. Being in ballet since I was five has taught me to rise above their petty jealousy and catfights. I’m here because I love to dance and play characters that I’m not in real life. Everything else is white noise.
That’s probably why I have no friends. Some kiss my ass for their own benefit, then stab me in the back, and others are malicious about everything.
Everyone here is just a colleague. And as Grandma used to say, it’s lonely at the top.
My tendons start aching again and I hide my wince. I overwork myself during these marathon shows and I need aftercare.
Now.
I tip my head at Philippe and Stephanie. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Quoi? You’re not going to join us for the celebration party?” the director exclaims. “The producers won’t like this.”
“I need aftercare, Philippe.”
“So do it, and then join us, chérie.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m exhausted and need downtime. Please relay my apologies.”
Philippe and Stephanie seem displeased, but they nod. It’s unheard of for a prima ballerina not to attend celebration parties, but they know how much I hate the limelight outside of dancing. Besides, most of those producers are sexist, perverted assholes. I’d rather not meet them unless I absolutely have to.
The dancers slowly trickle into the dressing room, chatting among each other.
Hannah leans over to whisper, “Maybe the producers will finally realize how much of a fucking talentless bitch you actually are.”
I stare at her. Thankfully, she’s not tall enough to look down on me. “If you rehearsed as hard as you run your mouth, you’d probably have a chance at taking some lead roles from me.”
She clicks her tongue and her face contorts, highlighting the bold makeup that gives her a witchy appearance. “How many of the producers did you fuck, Lia? Because we all know you wouldn’t get this many lead roles if it wasn’t for whoring yourself out.”
Her words don’t sting. Not only are they untrue, but I’ve also heard such jabs from the entire ballet troupe over the years. In the beginning, I wanted to prove I’m no whore and that I got this far by torturing myself, but I soon realized it was pointless. People will think what they want to think.
So now I’ve grown accustomed to them, but at the same time, I won’t allow Hannah or anyone else to walk all over me. Squaring my shoulders, I say with mocking calm, “Until then, you’ll have to remain Miss Number Two.”
She raises her hand to slap me, but Ryan clutches her wrist and pulls her against him. “Now, Hannah, don’t get worked up over people who mean nothing.”
He lowers his head and kisses her, open-mouthed, harshly, but his eyes remain fixed on me. The lust in them and in his tight pants is visible from my position.
I turn around and make my way to my private dressing room backstage, but I’m not going to bother with changing. After they put something itchy in my clothes one time, I make sure to check everything before I shower, but I’m in no mood tonight, so I’ll just do it at home.
My feet come to a halt once I’m inside. Countless bouquets from admirers and the producers stuff the room, barely allowing me to move.
I comb through them until I find a bouquet of white roses. My lips curve in the first genuine smile of tonight as I hug them to my chest and lower my head to take a deep inhale. They smell like home and happiness.