Chapter 2
OVERTURE
Delano
I’m bored out of my mind, and I could really use a drink.
Another performance to sit through and pretend like I care. My grandmother has dragged me to dozens of performances over the years, and the ballets are the ones I dread the most. Still, how can I deny the amazing woman who raised me?
It may be three hours of hell, but I know it’s important to our company to support the arts. Plus, we do it in memory of my mother–I’ll sit through to honor her, even though I don’t remember her.
When I was only a year old, she and my father died on their way home from being on tour. My mother was a prima ballerina with the London Ballet, and my father was the company’s CFO. It was her last tour before retiring to stay home with me.
I know it’s why my grandmother has been adamant about attending these ballets my whole life. She thinks it will help me feel closer to my mother, but honestly, it’s cruel torture. It just reminds me I had a mother I never knew. I’ve been shown every video of her dancing, and she was exquisite–I’ve never seen a dancer come even close to the talent my mother had. I think that’s what makes me dread these things even more, why I’ve vowed to never date a dancer.
Regardless of my feelings, I’ll suck it up and make a big donation that will maybe help me sleep a little better, hoping my mother is looking down at me proudly. I took after my father and went to work for my grandfather, helping manage his hotel in London. Since then, I’ve turned my grandfather’s single property into a chain of luxury hotels around the world. I like to think of my efforts as a thank you for raising me, for putting up with my antics as a kid. I just want my grandparents happy and taken care of, and being a billionaire makes it that much easier.
They are the only people I love and trust in this world; I keep my inner circle small, and I’m content with that. My grandmother is always hassling me about dating and getting married, but that’s the last thing I want. I’d much rather keep to one night stands and fuck buddies–it’s better to break hearts than go through the pain of losing someone I care about. My friends tell me I’m a closed off bastard, but I don’t see that as a bad thing. Love is painful, messy, and I can never be sure a woman doesn’t just want me for my money.
My grandmother taps my arm and leans in to whisper to me.
“The next variation was one of your mother’s favorites. It was one of her last roles before she was chosen as a principal dancer.” I absentmindedly nod and wrap her frail hand in my own, giving it a squeeze. She loves when something reminds her of my mother.
Three dancers enter the stage in white and gold tutus with elaborate, matching headpieces. I honestly couldn’t tell you what this ballet is about, and I’m about to settle in for what I’m sure will be the slowest three hours of my life when I notice the dancer in the middle.
All ballerinas are beautiful,with their graceful movements and elegant costumes, but my eyes still manage to settle only on her. She seems so free up there, so bold, and I can’t take my eyes off her. Every movement she makes carries so much passion–her movements seem otherworldly. Her big, brown doe eyes sparkle with mischief, and she seems so alive in each moment, but her smile is what really draws me in. There’s so much joy exuding from her, and I wish I could feel an ounce of it.
I’ve never had this reaction to a dancer on stage before, never had one stand out so distinctly. My curiosity is piqued, and a foreign need claws up my throat–I need to know who she is.
I glance down at my program to see if I can figure out her name, but it doesn’t designate who’s who for this variation.
“Do you know who those dancers are?” I ask my grandmother as the variation ends and they bow to cheers of applause.
“I know two of them. The one in the middle is Clara Hoffman. Everyone’s talking about her becoming a principal soon,” she says, and I whisper her name under my breath. Clara . That’s my girl.
“The one to her right is Gabriella Royal. I would be shocked if she didn’t get promoted next year. I’m not sure who the other is; I don’t think she’s been with the company long.” My grandmother continues her explanation, but I’ve stopped listening. All I needed was her name, and I’ll be damned if I don’t see her later this evening.
As I roll her name around in my mind, I find myself desperate to meet her. Once I set my mind to something, nothing can hold me back–I wouldn’t be as successful as I am if that wasn’t the case.
“Will all the dancers be at the gala afterward?” I ask, feigning nonchalance as I keep my eyes glued to the stage.
“Of course. Has one of them caught your fancy?” she counters, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
“Ballerinas aren’t my type,” I lie, the ease of which surprises even me.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Your mother would be offended,” she says with a scoff. “Besides, how would you know? You’ve never dated one.”
All I can do is grunt in response. She’s repeated the same thing my entire life, and I’ve always ignored it. Thankfully, she drops it as she turns back to the performance.
As soon as the finale is over and the curtains close, I rise from my seat and excuse myself, promising to catch up with them at the gala. They give me suspicious looks, but I don’t have time to explain.
I’ve got a ballerina to find.