Sneak Peak Half a Chance （Book 2 in the Toronto Tigers series）
Chapter One: Fable
“ I ’m worried about you, Fable.”
Natalia Ivanovna Markova is a force of a woman. She’s also the Artistic Director of the Toronto International Ballet Company and probably my greatest mentor after she hand-picked me out of thousands to become a principal dancer for TIBC.
My brows furrow despite my best efforts to keep my expression neutral. Before I can ask why, she adds, “You look tired, darling. And you’ve lost weight. Something is bothering you, yes?”
Under normal circumstances, I'd be worried that her concern stems from how I'm able to perform. We are in the middle of our winter performances of The Nutcracker and I’m the female lead. But every performance has been perfect.
I exhale a slow breath, debating how much to tell her about what has been bothering me. My anxiety has been through the roof lately, and it’s about more than seeing my family again.
In the end, I decide to tell her one part. “You know I’ve asked for some time to go home for my sister’s wedding.”
“Ah.” She leans back in her leather chair, and regards me with shrewd blue eyes. She’s gorgeous, and given her age, it’s quite intimidating. “Family problems can be tricky. I understand this too well. But I have a feeling it’s more than that. Problems with Nicholas, perhaps?”
Shit. So much for not telling her everything. Nicholas is my dance partner, and I made the fatal mistake of trying to be more when he made me aware he had feelings for me that went beyond a simple friendship. Romantic relationships between dance partners isn’t all that uncommon, especially because you spend almost every waking hour together — either because you’re performing or because you’re rehearsing. But it makes things complicated when it doesn’t work out.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask, feeling the pit in my stomach grow with every second that passes.
This time, Natalia smiles. “You forget how well I know you, Fable. You are one of my best dancers, but I'm concerned. While your performances have been what we expect from you as the lead, you’re just not yourself. You haven’t been for some time now.” She leans forward and exhales. “I think you should consider taking some time off.”
My mouth opens and closes, and I stutter out a, “W-we’re in the middle of our winter performances. I can’t take more time off. I know you approved a few days so I could go home, but I’m coming back after the wedding.”
“Coming back to Toronto, yes, but not to TIBC.”
I blink, and my nose starts to burn. My eyes start to water, and panic gnaws at my ribcage until I feel like I might throw up. This is my dream job and everything I've ever wanted to be. A ballerina on a stage, performing because I love the way I can express myself through movement. The thought of losing that is unimaginable.
“You’re not being fired, Fable,” Natalia says quietly. She stands, and rounds her desk. She sits in the chair beside me, and takes my shaking hands in hers. Her grip is soft and delicate, much like her features. She looks me in the eyes. “Breathe, darling.”
I inhale a deep breath, though my exhale is a bit of a stutter because the panic attack is just below the surface of my skin. “I don’t understand.”
Natalia squeezes my hands. “If you push yourself any harder, you’ll snap. We can’t have that. I need you healthy for the rest of this season, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that I see you’re struggling.”
“I’m fine.” The lie tastes like ash on the tip of my tongue but it’s a last-ditch effort to convince Natalia that I don’t need the extra time off.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Natalia points out. “Now,” she sits back and folds her hands in her lap, her posture perfect. “I have approved some time off, an additional two weeks, and cited medical reasons to avoid any unwanted questions. Stasia will take your place until you return.”
I open my mouth to argue — Stasia and I have never been friends, even though she’s been my understudy in the past — but Natalia lifts her hand. “It’s been decided, Fable. You need some time off. Get some rest when you come home from your sister’s wedding, and take better care of yourself. Understood?”
My only option is to say, “Yes.”
“Good.” Natalia nods her head once and stands. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some underlings to torture.”
I try for a smile, but it falls flat. I leave Natalia’s office on the bottom floor of the building feeling frustrated and anxious — neither of which I’m unfamiliar with. But this feels different. It feels like a failure, even though Natalia has sufficient grounds to be concerned. Her observations about my fatigue and weight loss were spot-on, not that I'd expect anything less from someone who prides herself on seeing absolutely everything when it comes to her dancers.
I step out into the cold air, the tears on my cheeks stinging. As the door shuts, I hear my name being called from behind, and regret turning around to see who it is.
Nicholas steps outside, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt under his winter coat. Immediately, I step back and tighten my own coat around me, adjusting the scarf around my neck.
His brows furrow, and for the first time in weeks, I take him in. His slightly crooked nose, high cheekbones, imperfect lips and slightly delicate features. Then there’s his build, which is lean and muscular, but also somehow less masculine than what I'd usually go for. All of it makes me wonder why I allowed things to go as far as they did between us. He’s not my type at all.
I shake the realization from my head before it can take root, and remind me what — who — my type really is.
“You’ve been crying,” he says, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. God, he has to be one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. He lifts a hand to wipe my cheek and I wince. He drops his hand, and swallows audibly before tucking his hands into his front pockets. “Are you okay?”
I swallow my scoff. He puts on a good show when it comes to caring about me, but now I know better. “I’m fine. I was just leaving.”
I turn to do just that, but Nicholas reaches for my arm. I glare until he drops his hand.
“I was hoping we could talk,” he says softly, shifting from foot to foot in obvious discomfort.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Nick.”
There really isn't. We went from being partners to friends, and when we tried for more, it didn’t work out. For several reasons. And in the past few weeks, I've done my best to keep things professional during rehearsals and during our performances, but outside of being at the studio or on stage, I've avoided Nick as best I can.
“Come on, Fable. We’re friends. You can talk to me. Is it the wedding?”
Ugh. I forgot I told him about that. In a moment of weakness, I shared my anxiety about going home and dealing with my family. I shared far more than I should have but in my defense, the Nick I met and befriended seemed kind and trustworthy. I trusted him, made myself vulnerable. And that’s when it changed. Of course, having sex with him made matters worse, but I’ve tried to let that go and chalk it up to a moment of sheer stupidity on my part. The sad part? It wasn’t even great sex. It was mediocre at best.
“I said I’m fine, Nick. And we’re not friends anymore. You made sure of that.”
He has the decency to look ashamed, lifting a hand and pulling his fingers through his short blonde hair. “I apologized for that,” he says, his tone hard. “It was a mistake.”
“Yes, it was. Everything with you was a mistake. And if you don’t keep things professional, I’d be happy to inform Natalia that you like to hit women after you’ve been drinking.”
Nick pales, but I don’t care. I’ve stayed very quiet about what really transpired between me and Nick—we still have to rehearse and perform together—but if he continues to push, I will leverage how he hurt me to make sure he gets what's due to him. We both know Natalia won’t take lightly to Nick’s behaviour.
“Fable, we can?—”
“I have to get going.”
I walk away before he can say anything else but I feel his gaze on the back of my head and it makes my insides twist in both disgust and discomfort. What makes it worse is that he pretends to be someone he’s not — a person who only really shows his true colors behind closed doors.
Shoving all thoughts of him from my mind — I have more important things to think about right now — I start making a mental list of things I need to pack. It’s a ten-minute drive to the two-bedroom apartment in Rosedale I share with my best friend, Amara, and about an hour’s walk. In lieu of taking a cab, I decide to walk instead, using the time to stop in at my favorite coffee shop for a take-away latte and the opportunity to calm down and gather my thoughts.
By the time I walk into my apartment, I feel both tired and relieved.
Tired because the last few weeks have taken their toll.
But relieved because maybe the break Natalia insisted I take isn;t the worst idea in the world.
Amara flops down onto my bed. My small carry-on suitcase lies open and half-packed even though it should have been zipped up hours ago. There’s something to be said for leaving it to the last minute, like it will make time itself slow down and delay the inevitable.
“Remind me why you agreed to go to Olivia’s wedding?”
I give Amara a look. “I’m part of the wedding party, remember?”
“You should have said no,” she mutters, sitting up with a sigh.
I try not to roll my eyes. It’s not the first time we’d have this particular discussion-slash-argument, but considering the wedding in question is now days away, and I’m currently packing for my flight, I’m hoping Amara will just let it go.
“Have you met my stepmother?” I quirk a brow. “If I had said no, it would have been World War three and then my dad would have had to get involved. Agreeing to this was more for him than it was for me, anyway.” Either way, I couldn't say no. I never would have heard the end of it if I had and then Dad would have given me his “she’s your little sister” speech. I’ve lost count of all the times he’s played that card. The irony? Olivia and I aren’t even related. She’s my step- sister.
“Do you know who Daniel’s groomsman is?” Amara asks. The glint in her cocoa brown eyes tells me she’d be up for some slutty wedding sex if the right set of circumstances presented themselves.
“Not a clue,” I sigh, folding the last item of clothing and laying it flat atop everything else in my suitcase. “I would probably know if I had attended Olivia’s bridal shower and bachelorette party, but since I couldn’t, Liv has been extra prickly with me.” The only thing I was able to go home for was the fitting for my bridesmaid dress, and even then Olivia and my stepmother, Stella, were less than friendly. It made me wonder why she asked me to be a bridesmaid at all because we’ve never been close and Stella has always treated me like a nuisance.
“At least I’ll be your Plus One,” Amara says, shimmying on her spot on my bed. This time, I manage a smile. I’m flying out at an ungodly hour tomorrow morning, and Amara will arrive the morning of the wedding which is in two days. I’m sure the airport will be chaotic since it’s the Christmas holidays, but it’s the earliest I could leave without it impacting our performance schedule.
When I don’t reply immediately, Amara leans into my line of sight and frowns. “You’ve been unusually quiet tonight.” She's not wrong. With her, I’m more chatty than anyone else I know. “I know you’re apprehensive about going home and all that but why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something from me?”
Amara and I have been living together for a year but we clicked the moment we met and she can read me in ways very few people can. In fact, there’s only one other person who can read me that easily. And since I’m going home, there’s a chance I might see him — a thought that became more and more persistent when I started packing and thinking about the wedding.
“Uh oh,” Amara says. “I know that look.” She hesitates, and I worry she's going to start asking about him . But to my relief, she instead says, “You saw Nick, didn’t you.”
My shoulders drop and I move my suitcase aside so I can take a seat beside Amara on my bed. I heave out a breath, exhausted from everything racing through my head. It’s a never-ending cycle of thoughts and today’s have been particularly overwhelming.
Fortunately, Amara already knows what happened with Nick. she was the first person I told after it all happened, and while she insisted I go to the police, she respected my decision not to. The hassle of filing charges aside, I didn;t want the judgement and scrutiny that would have come from my fellow dancers if they got wind of the situation. And Natalia would have had no choice but to take disciplinary action against Nick.
“He caught me as I was leaving. He wanted to talk, but I was upset after my meeting with Natalia, and the last thing I wanted was to talk. He’s kept his distance for the most part, but now and again he’ll find me and insist that we’re still friends.”
“If he’s making you uncomfortable, you should speak to Natalia, Fable. He did a shitty thing, but you’ve been a mess since it happened and not the hot kind.”
When I filled Amara in on my meeting with Natalia, she readily agreed with Natalia’s assessment, and gave me a look that said “I told you so” without having to actually utter the phrase.
“I just want to get through the wedding, Mara,” I sigh. “Then I can focus on myself.”
“You do realize that half your anxiety right now stems from having to see your family, right? Nevermind attending the wedding.”
I open my mouth to respond but my phone chimes with a text, the tone making my stomach drop. It’s my dad’s tone. I swipe the text and read it.
Change of plans. Alternative transport arrangements have been made for your pick-up at the airport tomorrow.
That’s all it says. When I show Amara, she rolls her eyes. She’s met Dad a few times, and isn;t his biggest fan. I can hardly blame her because I share her sentiments, even if it’s for slightly different reasons. I wait for another text, one with the name of whoever is now collecting me from the airport in Vancouver.
When it doesn’t come, I toss my phone aside without replying to my dad and rest my head on Amara’s shoulder.
“Tell me I’ll get through the next three days without losing my mind.”
Amara gives me a firm squeeze. “You’ll be fine, Fabes. You’ll rock the fuck out of that wedding.” I snort. “Besides, it’s only three days.”
Only three days.