Limerence (Famous Young Things #2)

Twelve

Twelve

Nico

I ’m not sure what I expected Felix’s father to be like up close. I’d seen him before at a competition, many years ago. I was seventeen. It was the World Ballet Championships in Paris. He’d come with an attractive, somewhat exotic-looking woman and watched expressionless as Felix had executed the greatest performance of the Paquito Variation I’d ever seen. At sixteen. I’d had tears in my eyes and goosebumps on my neck, and I knew that even if I had been dancing that year, I’d still have lost to Felix. He was completely unbeatable that day. Everyone in the auditorium stood and applauded loudly—everyone except his father—and Felix beamed.

Then his eyes fell on his dad.

And those eyes lost their light almost immediately.

I’d wanted to go over and hit his dad that day. I knew what it was to have your father see you as lesser because you’d chosen to be a dancer instead of an engineer or lawyer or literally anything else. But I’d had my mother. For the years she’d been by my side, she’d been my biggest supporter. She’d made it… bearable.

I’d made her proud of me.

I wasn’t sure who the woman was next to his father at the championships that day, but I’d known it wasn’t his mother. I’d known his mother had died when he was a small child. There’d been a piece written about it the year previously.

I still wanted to hit his father.

Yeah, well, now you know where I get it.

I’m calling bullshit on that. Because a few minutes in his company was enough to know that he and his father were absolutely nothing alike. Felix put the light on in people’s eyes, he didn’t snuff it out.

Ava comes bounding into the kitchen then. “Fuck, was he mad? He normally goes straight to rehearsal when he stays over at Christian’s. I didn’t think he’d be home this morning.” She looks mildly panicked.

I bite back the question: who the fuck is Christian?

Instead, I say, “Sorry. How pissed is he going to be at you?”

“Depends how good the sex he had last night was.”

Well, that gave some context around Christian at least.

“His father was just here,” I supply.

Ava’s face clouds over. “No. Fuck, was he?”

I nod.

“Shit, well, he’s going to be pissed at everyone for the next couple of days then.”

“It was… frosty.”

“Always is,” she says. “His dad is a massive piece of shit.”

I nod. “Look, I have to go; I need to get home and shower before rehearsal. Thanks for the blanket and the couch, and I’m sorry about…” I gesture upwards, where I can hear him stomping around. “Whatever my staying over is gonna cause. You should have woken me.”

She shrugs. “You looked done in. And I told you, he’s a pussycat. I’ll be grand.”

“There’s some coffee in your pot.” I point at it. “See you later.”

There’s an odd sort of look on her face, like disappointment, which I pretend not to notice. With a smile, I duck out of the kitchen and out of the house.

At home, I put the picture I’d stolen from Felix’s photo wall into my bedside drawer, then shower quickly and change. I stuff my gear into my bag and catch the subway to the academy. I’d discovered it was two stops from the underground station at the bottom of my street, so I tend to use this on Thursdays when we start later and the streets are more crowded. Trying to run through London at 10am is more of a gauntlet than a workout.

I make it to class just before Fen arrives, which is always what I aim for, and note that Felix isn’t there, though Ava is. Fen pairs us up for a pas de deux . It’s the first time we’ve danced together, but partnering is one of my strongest assets, so it’s easy to slip into position with her. Ava trusts me too, evidently, so the hesitation I’ve sometimes found from a ballerina being paired with me for the first time isn’t there. Whether that’s to do with Ava’s approach generally, or to do with me, I can’t say. But her movements are fluid and her jumping free, and since she’s arguably the best ballerina in the company, there’s very little paddling required on her spins.

“Beautiful,” Fen shouts as she stalks us around the studio like a ringmaster. “Into adagio … yes, yes.” She claps her hands. “More pointe, Ava. Yes. Like that. Listen to the music.”

It’s when we move into the coda that the door of the studio opens and I see Felix stride in. He’s almost an hour late. Fen glances briefly in his direction before focussing back on us. As Ava carries out her spin, I place my hands at, but not on, her hips and let her move by herself. Some ballerinas like to be held gently as they do this, but it’s always safer to assume they don’t, be as unobtrusive as possible, until told otherwise. As she pirouettes, my attention drifts over her shoulder. He’s watching us with a rigid expression. When his eyes meet mine, they don’t harden, they narrow and calculate, as he thinks very hard about something. I’d give my left calf to know what it is.

Ava spins out and away and I move to take her fingers and drop into a reverence . The class applauds and Fen tells us well done.

She calls Charlie and Sara up next.

I move to stand off to the side of the room, passing him as I go. He’s watching Charlie and Sara closely now.

When Fen dismisses us at lunch, she says, “Felix, a word.” He lets out a sigh but hangs back, dutifully.



By the salad bar in the staff cafeteria, Ava sidles up to me.

“Hey,” she says. “Thanks for not handling me in there.”

I nod. “Yeah. Well, you didn’t need it.”

“Did Magdalena need it then?” She grins.

“I’ll take that to my grave.” I look in the direction of the studio. “So, how was he with you?”

“Never got a chance to talk before I left. We’ll talk tonight.” She sighs, not looking overly happy about the concept.

“You think Fen is going hard on him?”

“Probably. He needs it hard though.”

I ignore the flicker of interest my cock has in that.

“Where are you sitting?” she asks, casually. And it’s this, this is the reason I shouldn’t have done this. People are already giving us looks. I don’t want this to get back to Sofia either. Which is something I should have thought about on Saturday. And yesterday. Fucking idiot.



At the end of the day, I’m changed into my running gear by the time he comes into the changing room. I try a smile but he ignores it, proceeding directly to his locker. Charlie de Vere has been lingering, clearly waiting for him, and he looks hesitant as he approaches Felix.

“You want to grab some ramen?” he asks. “Two for one night at Yepo’s. My treat.”

I expect Felix to snap at him, growl something mean. His mood is what I’d call ‘thunderous’, but instead, he softens, smiles at Charlie, and nods. “Yeah. Let me shower real quick, and we’ll go.”

Jealousy flares up my spine.

Charlie looks like the sun just came out. “Okay, I’ll wait.”

As Felix goes to shower, Charlie turns and catches me staring. I smile, trying to pretend I wasn’t watching that so intently.

“So, how drunk was I on Saturday?” he asks, slumping down onto the bench next to me.

“What scale are we using?”

He groans. “Sorry, mate. I’m a wreck. Did I say anything offensive? I didn’t mean it if I did.” I’m not sure what to make of Charlie, truly. He’s young and talented, but seems unfocussed and a little chaotic. I’m also pretty sure he’s in love with Felix. There were a lot of lingering looks and simpering smiles which didn’t belong in any friend category I was aware of. I don’t have many friends, though, so this may just be a blind spot on my end. Either way, I guess I relate to Charlie. I understand the notion of being in love with Felix Taylor-Brooke.

“I wasn’t offended,” I tell him as I tie my sneaker lace.

“Good, good.” He glances in the direction of the shower, biting on his lip thoughtfully. “Hey, so when’s your photoshoot gonna be out? I’m dying to see it.”

“It’s the February issue.”

“Ugh, I bet you both looked insane.”

“I mean, one of us sure did.” I grin. Charlie doesn’t know whether to smile or be insulted on his friend’s behalf, and while he’s still deciding, I pull my backpack on and head for the door. “Enjoy your ramen.”

The jog home takes me ten minutes, and in the rain with the Dead Poets blaring in my ears, I feel like I’m in a fucking music video. I make myself a chicken stir-fry for dinner and scroll Grindr while I do. I need to get laid. It’s been almost three weeks since Jack the cute little nurse had given me his number and told me he mainly works nights, but I honestly don’t need anyone else thinking I’m interested in something when I’m not. So no repeats seems like the best option. Though guys are usually easier to deal with in that sense. I flip open the app and scroll as I shove lukewarm noodles into my mouth. I close it again after ten minutes because my heart, or rather my cock, isn’t in it. Instead, I go to bed, take Felix’s photo out of my bedside, and jerk off to it instead.



I’m first to rehearsal the following morning, flicking the lights on in practice studio five as I arrive just after seven. There are only cleaners in the building, though there’s a light on in Benedict’s office too. I practice until the sun comes up, though I don’t need to. I’ve been doing this variation since I could do ballet. Sergio had made me the greatest in the world at it. Made sure there was no one alive better at it than I was. For years I’d struggled with the idea of that; the idea that he’s the reason I’m as good as I am. That without him I’d have been average. Good enough to do this for a living but perhaps only as a soloist or in corps. His lessons had shaped me into who I was. Carved me out of a block of unformed granite into this.

Had it been fear and desperation which had made me great? Exceptional even.

Where did I end and he begin?

He was the reason I hated ballet. Loathed it, in fact. My great secret.

I do it because it’s the only thing I know how to do.

As a child, I’d loved it. Had felt free, happy, and joyous in a way I was sure didn’t exist anymore. Then, I’d done it because it had made my mother smile. I had kept doing it because she’d made so many sacrifices so that I could. Our whole family had. Porzia and I in the States and my father, Icaro, and Antonio in Rome. I’d done that to our family.

How could I tell her I didn’t want to do it anymore?

How could I tell her why?

So I didn’t. I danced. I danced and danced until I was the best in the world—bar one perfect, beautiful exception. I danced to make my family’s sacrifices worth it.

My mother had been proud of me when she died, and that was what mattered. I’ve tried to imagine a life without dance a million times and can’t.

Where would I go? What would I do? Who would I be?

So I keep dancing. I keep moving and spinning and jumping because if I stop, then maybe I’ll stop fucking existing altogether. There was a time when I’d wanted that too. Before Sofia. Before Gretchen.

“Why did you say yes?” a voice says over the cacophony of thoughts. I’d had my eyes closed. I do that sometimes; tempt fate just a little. I fall out of the fouetté and turn to see Felix is by the door, watching, dance bag hooked over one shoulder as he leans against the frame.

Panting hard, I ask. “What?”

“I know why Ben asked you here. You’re you, and he’d be an idiot not to go for you. But why would you come here? That’s the part that doesn’t make any sense to me. You were king of the fucking world in Rome. You could have gone back to Romasco a hero. Here, you’re a pretender to the throne at best. Here you have to work to get the role you already had there. Why would you want that?” He’s studying me closely, sure if he looks hard enough he’ll figure me out.

I want him to. It would be far easier for me if he did.

“Maybe I wanted a challenge.”

“Maybe.” He pushes up off the wall and comes toward me. “Maybe that’s part of it. But it’s not the whole story.”

“Oh?”

“I think you’re here for some other reason. I just can’t figure out what it is.”

I take a step closer so that we’re touching distance. He smells citrusy and sweet; expensive and clean.

“Well, do let me know when you figure it out.” I give him a small smile and round him toward the door. “I’m done here, studio’s all yours, princess.”

“I wasn’t done,” he says. With a sigh, I turn back to him. His eyes are sparkling with undisguised anger.

“No?”

“What the fuck are you playing at with Ava?”

I feel my expression falter a little. “I’m not playing at anything.”

“No? So you’re interested in her then?” Shrewd eyes meet mine. “Serious about her?”

I say nothing.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” His pretty mouth turns up into a sneer. “I’m going to say this once and once only: stay the hell away from her, fuckboy.”

I almost laugh at that. “Or what?”

His eyes flash dangerously. “Or I’ll fucking castrate you.”

Honestly, the very idea of him anywhere near my dick makes my thoughts turn to hot white noise.

“Ava’s a big girl, maybe you should let her make her own decisions. I’m sure you’ve plenty of fuckboys of your own to keep you busy.”

He takes a step toward me, threatening in his stance. “I’m fucking warning you, Savini. Mess her around or hurt her and I will end you.”

Oh, you already do, sweetheart. You already do.

Heart thumping wild in my chest, I give him a very serious look.

“See you in class, Felix.”