Limerence (Famous Young Things #2)

Twenty Four

Twenty Four

Nico

T he rest of the week is both uneventful and hectic. Felix doesn’t turn up at my apartment again, and in fact, maintains a wholly professional distance from me in class and after. Since our rehearsal doesn’t start until January, everyone is roped in to help the underclass prepare for the Christmas shows; the principals are asked to take the show leads through their solos and offer encouragement, support, and advice. They’re well-rehearsed already, this much is obvious, and this is down to their lead choreographer: a short, wiry, bald guy named Louis Breckenridge, who looks sixty but moves like a man half his age. He has a sing-song voice and a short fuse, although this might be because his students are opening the main Christmas show at the London Ballet Academy tomorrow night and he’s feeling the pressure.

I’m given a group of three boys: Sammy, Yohannes, and Alex, and I’m working through their solo variations when Sammy yelps, swears, and tumbles over his feet. The entire room stops as he lands in a heap on the floor. I’m at his side immediately along with Breckenridge.

“Was it your ankle?”

He shakes his head furiously and pinches his calf. “Just cramp, I think.”

“Go get it checked,” says Breckenridge as I reach out a hand to help him up. “Can you stand?”

Sammy lets me pull him up. “Yeah. But I’m fine, honestly, I just need a minute.”

He’s still grimacing, clearly hesitant to put any weight on his right leg.

“You’re going to medical.” I point at Yohannes and Alex. “You two, pretend he’s there and go again.”

After a careful massage and some cold spray, Sammy can walk unaided. He’d managed to stand and remove his tights before letting Theresa, the physio, guide him over to the examining bed. It turned out to be a cramp after all.

At the door into the rehearsal room, he’s back to bouncing on the balls of his feet, brimming with excitement.

“Hey, take it easy,” I say gently. “You’ve been overdoing it a little, huh?”

“Yes, sorry, maybe. I’m just nervous. And excited. Do you remember your first show? I mean, a real one.”

Sergio’s face rears up in my mind. “Yeah, I do.”

“How was it? Did you make any mistakes?”

I shake my head. “No. Not one.”

Sammy’s mouth falls open in awe. “Wow, not one. I hope that’s me tomorrow.”

“Mistakes aren’t the end of the world, don’t worry about making them. Most of the time, the audience won’t even notice.”

He nods. “Yeah, I guess.” He pulls the door to the rehearsal room open and strolls back towards Yohannes and Alex. I give Breckenridge the thumbs up. As we finish up later that afternoon and I wish them luck for tomorrow, Alex says, “Oh, and we can’t wait to see you and Felix dancing together. It’s gonna be epic.”

I smile at them, these young boys filled with excitement and enthusiasm, whose lives are going to change tomorrow night when they walk on that stage for the first time. I’m happy for them. I want them to enjoy it without fear of fucking failure, I want them to have what I never did, what I’m only now, almost fifteen years after I started, getting to have.

“Yeah? Well, we’re gonna put on one hell of a show for you.”



The under-school show closes to a ten-minute standing ovation. Lots of proud parents beaming from the stalls and cameras flashing on a thousand phones. They nailed it. Sammy’s cramp long gone as he’d pulled off his role as the handsome Cavalier without a single misstep. The company had been invited to watch the show before our Christmas dinner, which is in a private room at a hotel in Mayfair.

I think about not attending. Watching Felix laugh, chat, and flirt his way through the night as he all but ignores me isn’t top of my list of fun ways to spend an evening. But it’s him who convinces me to go in the end, with a single text the night before (we’d exchanged cell phone numbers after his impromptu visit to my apartment, “In case I need to make you aware of any new and emerging changes to The Situation.”)

Princess Peach:

I plan on getting very drunk tomorrow night and making some questionable choices (namely sucking you off in a toilet off LBC premises)

Me:

I’m not sure I’m going.

Princess Peach:

What? Of course you’re going

Me:

I’ve got nothing to wear

Princess Peach:

Then wear that *fire emoji*

Me:

Are you going to pretend to hate me the entire evening?

Princess Peach:

we’ve been over this - I do hate you. I won’t be pretending.

Me:

That’s beginning to get really boring

Princess Peach:

Well, you’d know

Me:

And yet, here you are…

He doesn’t text me back for a whole hour. And when he does, it’s two words.

Princess Peach:

Wear black



I wear black, obviously.

A Ralph Lauren cashmere sweater and a pair of tailored slacks. A dark grey coat, and an oxblood-coloured scarf. After passing my coat and scarf to the guy by the door, I enter the private dining room, which has a view out over the glinting London skyline. As though he’d been waiting for me to arrive, Felix’s head turns from where he’s sipping champagne with Charlie and Ava, and his eyes appraise me across the room. He smiles behind the rim of his glass before he turns his back on me.

“Nico, you made it!” Benedict says. He’s standing near the door handing out handshakes, ‘Merry Christmases’, and creamy envelopes to everyone who walks through the door.

“I did. Merry Christmas, Ben,” I say, shaking his hand.

“A little token of our appreciation,” Ben says as I take the envelope. “Enjoy the free bar. Everything is on us this evening.”

I give him my thanks and move off to get myself a drink. There’s a table of pre-poured champagne and canapés for us to help ourselves to, which I do, before moving deeper into the room. I’ve no clue who to speak to or where to stand. Jesse headed home to New York yesterday, and Niall doesn’t appear to be here yet. In the end, I find a corner, set down my drink, and pull out my phone. There’s a text from Porzia confirming that Massimo will pick me up from the airport on Sunday; she has a birthday party for one of Auro’s friends in the morning. My nephew has been on the planet eight months and has more friends than I do. It’s kind of depressing, but I’ve never been particularly good at making or keeping friends. Secrets and lies tend to make friendships a little tricky. Just ask Sofia.

It’s just not something I think much about anymore; it is what it is. I’m a person who exists in a relatively solitary manner outside of ballet. In fact, there’s only one person whose company I’d probably never tire of.

Independent of my brain, my head lifts to look across the room to where he’s still standing. The new angle means it’s the first time I get a proper look at what he’s wearing, and my dick perks up. He’s dressed in a crochet-style shirt, black, but with a subtle gold shimmer in the fabric, and tight black velvet trousers, which accentuate his perfect ass. He’s wearing his hair slicked back from his forehead, his curls flattened in favour of something more like a stage style, artfully waved against his head. As he turns, I see that he has liner under his eyes and a dusting of gold on the high points of his cheeks.

He looks… bewitching.

Undeniably queer and distractingly gorgeous.

I throw back the rest of my champagne and signal a passing server for another. This is going to be a tough fucking night.



I’m sitting nowhere near Felix for the dinner, which isn’t my choice. There had been place cards with our names at each setting, like you’d have at a wedding. I’m across and down the table from him, next to Benedict and Sara, someone clearly thinking it better to keep us separated whilst alcohol is involved, which given the situation, is ironic.

Before we eat, Ben gives a short speech and the company presents him with a gift that we’d all been asked to contribute to. It turns out to be a four-day break in Paris at what I’m told by Sara is his favourite hotel in Montmartre. He’d made a donation in each of our names to Save The Children, according to the card he’d handed us when I’d arrived.

The food is good. Six courses—about five more than ballet dancers usually eat—with wine to partner each one, and by the time the final plates are being cleared, I’m close to drunk.

“So, are you going dancing?” Sara asks. Our costume designer is completely sober and has been drinking water the entire night.

“Uh, not that I know of.”

“Oh, they’re still doing that? Christ, they act like children sometimes. You only need to win Felix over. The rest will follow him over the cliff.”

“Am I the cliff?”

She laughs. “Proverbially, yes. The show will bring you together; he is such a sweetheart, really.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “I keep hearing that.”

“He is.” She lowers her voice, this next part clearly just for us. “You know he volunteers at a shelter on Christmas Day? Every year. And buys gifts for all the children at the local centre for battered wives.” She gives him a tender look across the table, and I follow her eyes to where he is: a shimmering golden prince amidst his courtiers. “Don’t tell him I told you, he’ll only deny it.” She’s still smiling at him. “Anyway, have a wonderful time at home with your family, Nico, make sure and rest. I’m so excited to start working with you on Iliad . I truly haven’t been as excited about a show in so long.” She’s standing now, pulling her silk shawl over her shoulders.

“You’re leaving?”

“I am. My husband’s outside.” She gestures down the table again. “Anyway, don’t wait for an invite, go dancing with them. It’ll be far more fun than going home by yourself.”

“Who says I’m going home by myself?”

Her eyes widen. “Ohhh! well good for you. Let Ben think I’ve gone to the toilet, he’ll be too drunk to notice. Merry Christmas, Nico.”

“Merry Christmas, Sara.”

People are beginning to file out now that the meal is over, some moving to stand at the little tables scattered around the room, some at the free bar, laughing loudly. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Princess Peach:

We’re going dancing. Are you coming?

I glance up and across the table at him. He lifts his eyebrows and gives me a small, taunting smile.

Me:

Not really a nightclub kinda guy

Princess Peach:

you know, that doesn’t surprise me

Princess Peach:

come anyway

With a smile, I type out my response.

Me:

only if you come around this table and invite me properly.

I can see him frown as he taps away furiously at his phone.

Princess Peach:

Why are you so obsessed with formal invites? Are you my great-aunt?

Me:

I sure hope not given how much you like my dick

He laughs loud enough that I can hear him over the other noise in the room. There’s no reply and then, “Everyone!” he proclaims, standing. “The cool kids are going dancing, you’re all welcome to join us; even the oldies and the bores.” He looks at Ben and Marcus, who pretend to look insulted before he turns his focus on me. “And since it’s Christmas and I’m imbued with the Christmas spirit, you’re invited too, Savini. Hey, I might even let you dance with me.” He gives me a wink as he lifts his champagne to his mouth and sips. His expression seems to say:

your move.