Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
After getting dressed and drying my hair, I plod down the hall, but something in Granny’s voice causes me to pause near the door.
She’s on the phone.
“I see. Instead of a refund, can’t I just switch the dates?” she asks, then pauses for several seconds. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me?” Another pause. “No, no, no. Just leave it as is for now and—”
My phone picks the perfect time to go off. Loudly.
Flustered, I rip it out of my pocket and try to hit the silence button, but accidentally swipe the answer icon instead.
A garbled voice comes out of the speaker. I don’t even look at the screen to see who it is before I answer.
“Hello?” I clip, flying down the hall to the living room.
“Good morning, my gazelle, I didn’t wake you, did I? It’s been too long.”
Every last part of me ices over.
I recognized the voice before Jean-Paul even called me his gazelle.
Woof. In hindsight, it’s not that flattering, but once upon a time, I was smitten just to hear it.
He’s used that lame pet name for years. And now I think it annoys me almost as much as him.
“What do you want?” I force out, wondering why I bother.
“I did wake you,” he says softly with just a hint of smarmy sarcasm. “Of course you’re taking advantage of your vacation and sleeping in.”
“I’m not on vacation,” I snap. “I’m on medical leave, and you know it.” The ballet doesn’t technically have medical leave, or vacation time, but that phrase makes me feel connected.
It’s a fine thread to normalcy, but it’s there, and I’ve needed it.
“How are you doing? How’s your knee healing?”
“Fine,” I lie, loving how he asks about my knee first and not the carnage he left in my heart.
“You aren’t still miffed at me, are you?” he asks.
Miffed?
Flipping miffed?
Is he serious?
That’s hardly the right word for this. Not even a polite euphemism. I wish I could magically reach through the phone and slap the smart-ass smirk I’m sure he’s wearing right off his face.
But I wait too long before his voice floods me again.
“I trust you read my letter—you never replied. I understand. You needed some time in the country, away from the urban pulse, to think about things. As I explained then...I had to be nice to Madeline, you see. She was the only person who could take over your position after your injury.”
Bull. Shit.
He’d been ‘nice’ to her without any clothes on long before my injury, I’m sure.
“What do you want, Jean-Paul?” I snarl out. “Get to the point or I’m hanging up.”
“I hope you’ll be happy to hear our opening night of the Summer Royale was a massive hit,” he ventures, this weird caution I don’t like in his voice. “Truly, it was a dream, better than anything we could’ve imagined. The crowd gave the longest standing ovation I’ve ever seen at the end.”
Ugh. I’d forgotten that the biggest show of the summer was last night.
“Also...we’re it, Tory!” he whips out excitedly. “We won the international spot to host our peers, including the prestigious Strelkov Ballet group from Moscow. Everything we’ve been working for the last four years.”
A flash of excitement cuts through me.
I can’t help it. Hosting other countries ranks right up there with the Olympics when it comes to dance. It was always on my radar, part of why I’d worked so hard, so one day I’d have the privilege of working with teams where classic ballet has been an art for centuries.
“Congratulations,” I say dryly, trying my hardest not to let any excitement slip.
“Thank you, my gazelle, and I mean that with all my heart. You were a tremendous piece of this victory. The training you gave the other girls, the endless support and encouragement...you made them work even harder after you were gone. Harder than ever to win this for you.”
I close my eyes because he’s hitting a nerve. A hateful hot, wet sensation floods down my cheek.
The other dancers are the only thing I’ve missed during my time away.
I’ve danced with some of them for years, and they’re as close to me as sisters. A hint of guilt strikes at how I’ve practically ignored them since the double whammy to my knee and my heart.
Besides one-word replies to their text messages, I haven’t had the courage to speak to them. It makes me sick every time I wonder what they think of me, for just letting Jean-Paul and Madeline trash my reputation.
A few of them know very well what happened.
Call it selfish, the no contact decision, but it hurt too bad in the beginning.
I was too embarrassed. A couple girls still in the dark even saw me turn a blind eye to Jean-Paul and Madeline and tried to gently call me out on it over Facebook messenger.