20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Alyssa
A my’s hip connected with mine as Mia and Pasha whirled across the dance floor.
They weren’t at full speed yet—only about three-quarter time—but they were hitting every single lift, turn, break, and hand change with ease.
They were so close, and excitement stirred in my belly.
The routine, done right, would be just as I’d imagined.
“This routine,” Amy breathed out. “You’re going to be famous.”
I laughed and rocked my hip into Amy’s. Did I expect people to take notice? Of course. Mia Malone would be performing my choreography at her wedding, which was being live streamed to the world. Would this routine make me famous? Unlikely.
Instead, fan accounts would probably spring up all over the Web, bowing down to the beautiful brute who’d danced so wonderfully smoothly with Mia.
His transformation from awkward, stilted, and two-left-feet to smooth, in-control, and rhythmic was incredible.
As part of the behind-the-scenes bits Mia planned to release on social media after the wedding, people would see how completely Pasha had been transformed.
I was proud of the dance I’d put together, but I was bursting with pride for him, his determination, his awakening as a dancer .
“You realize you’ve created competition for yourself, right?” Amy asked. “Women are going to be lining up, knocking down his door to climb into his bed after the wedding.”
I chuckled and gave Amy the side-eye. “And they weren’t before?
” I’d heard the dancers talking last tour and on this one as well.
He’d never been short of offers or suggestions.
After the words left my mouth, heat flooded my cheeks.
What a stupid thing to say. As though I was admitting what we were to each other.
“Not that it matters. He’s free to do whatever he wants. We’re colleagues, friends.”
A sly smile touched Amy’s lips. “Yes. I look at all my friends and colleagues the way you two look at each other. Makes total sense. Can you find me a friend and colleague like that?” She batted her eyes.
“I’m sure he doesn’t look at me any differently than he looks at you.” A lie . At first, he’d gazed at me during our sessions like he wanted to devour me whole. Lust . Enough men had perused my body for me to be able to recognize the nakedness of desire.
Lately, though, there was a softness around his eyes when we made eye contact that sent my heart galloping. His feelings weren’t just lust anymore. What I couldn’t decide, what I was afraid to ask, was whether I could ever compete with the love he’d had for Zoya.
When we’d talked about her death, he’d said he couldn’t feel that way again. But I wasn’t sure if he meant he wasn’t capable of loving like that again or if it was something else entirely. His answer, had I been brave enough to ask, might have broken my heart.
“I don’t know if you two are lying to yourselves or you’re just lying to me, but we should all understand what you just said is not at all true.
” Amy waved her hand toward Mia and Pasha, who’d just finished their routine.
Pasha’s gaze was locked on me as he drank from his water bottle.
“ Mia is talking to him right now, and he’s only got eyes for you.
You’re it. The rest of us—we don’t exist right now. ”
I laughed and avoided a direct response. Giving Amy the truth was a bad idea this late in the game. No matter how much I liked her, could trust her, the risk was still there.
Tonight was the last show, and as of midnight, we’d no longer have to hide because of my contract.
My two-week Bellerive wedding contract didn’t have a nonfraternization clause. While Mia might not fire me with only hours left to go, putting any of us in that position would be silly. We’d come so far without repercussions. No point in taking chances now. “Let’s go tell them how great that was.”
“Once they’re doing the routine at speed, people are going to be blown away.” Amy wandered with me over to Mia and Pasha. “You deserve a lot of credit for this, Alyssa. I hope you get it.”
***
Goose bumps rose across my skin while I stood in the wings, watching the final show of the Mending Hearts Tour.
Not far from me, Tyler held Victoria in his arms, a giant pair of headphones blocking the full volume of the concert from her.
She clapped and wiggled, brimming with joy.
Then, she’d gaze at Tyler, the word Mama on her lips.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t look at a baby and cringe at the responsibility, and marriage didn’t make me nervous. What Mia had with Tyler and Victoria didn’t seem so bad. Maybe it was even a little bit perfect. How did you get that with someone?
Someone .
Who was I kidding?
Pasha .
He was the reason these ideas were floating through my head. I’d never wanted kids after my own screwed-up childhood, and marriage had been abstract—something that might happen, someday. I wasn’t completely sure I could handle it, even the few times I considered it.
Deep inside, a longing for both now stirred.
On my other side, a hand brushed mine, and I jumped, startled.
His scent wafted over, and I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there.
His fingertips grazed mine, not quite a handhold, and I suppressed a sigh of contentment.
Unable to resist, I allowed myself a glance, and our gazes locked.
There was no better feeling, no better moment than this one.
Standing in the wings of the stage, my hand almost in his, knowing I’d never been happier, more content, surer of a choice I’d made.
For the rest of my life, I’d never regret him, these few months together, the way he made me feel.
This . This was what music was invented to express.
The last song of the tour started, and the crowd roared.
Mia was on her final encore, sitting at the piano, underneath the dimming lights, and this song, more than any other, made my heart ache.
The night Mia and Tyler had surprised everyone at the bar, I had asked Mia about its origin.
In a drunken ramble, Mia had told her the song was about how badly she’d wanted things to work out with Tyler and how afraid she’d been that they’d never find their way back to each other the way they’d once been.
The melody was haunting, the kind of song you bawled your eyes out to and never quite understood why.
Pasha bent down, his lips close to my ear, and my body came alive.
I wanted to curve into him, absorb his warmth, bask in the glow of the song and his proximity.
Should we be this close together? We tried to keep our distance, especially when he was on a shift.
His fingers slid along mine, locking our hands together, and all thoughts of caution slipped from my mind.
I didn’t care who saw them, what they thought. My heart stampeded through my chest.
“This song,” he murmured, “always reminds me of you.”
My breath caught, and I searched his face.
My chest swelled with emotion. God, I wanted to kiss him, to feather my lips along his jawline, to whisper three words in his ear.
Was he the type who’d say them back even if he didn’t mean them?
On my toes, I cupped a hand around his ear and whispered, “Tomorrow, on the island. I can’t wait to get you alone. ”
The air around us magnetized. If I slid a hand along the front of his jeans, the effect I had on him would be obvious.
An audible rumble erupted out of the device in Pasha’s ear, and he dropped my hand, stepping back as though he’d forgotten he was working. Maybe he had.
We’d never shared a moment like that in public before. I glanced around to see who’d been watching, but everyone else’s eyes seemed glued to the stage, to Mia’s final performance. Thank God.
“Tomorrow,” Pasha agreed, snagging my pinky finger before letting my hand drop again. “We’ll be free.”
I released the breath I’d been holding. “Free,” I agreed. “Sounds amazing.”
The only thing left was tonight’s Mending Hearts goodbye party for the staff. If it was anything like all the others I’d been to during my time as a dancer, things might get a little wild.
Everyone was drunk. The clock had struck midnight almost half an hour ago, which meant many people’s contracts were finished.
There was a good chance someone in the room would never be hired again for a Mia Malone tour, or possibly any tour ever again.
People talked—famous people seemed to have a secret network for determining who was worth their time.
Drinking and—we might as well face it—the number of drugs in the ballroom wouldn’t lead to good decisions.
I wasn’t worried about myself. I wasn’t drinking or doing drugs. Make it to Bellerive —that was my mantra. Pasha was working anyway.
“I think,” Amy said, sipping her drink beside me, “my favorite part of the end-of-tour parties is the number of people who can no longer maintain a basic level of decency.”
I laughed and followed Amy’s gaze to the dance floor. Maria was topless and grinding with a female stagehand who we’d nicknamed Red River because she talked about her period so much.
“Being sober on a night like this has its perks,” I said.
“I’m so jealous that you get to spend two weeks on a magical island with Mia Malone and her family.”
“And she’ll be at every dance practice, perfecting my choreography. Which seems really great, but…”
“She’s still your boss.” Amy arched an eyebrow.
“I get that. She’s nice, but yeah, you can’t ever forget the fact she could make or break the rest of your career.
” Amy tipped back her drink. “Then when people like Jazz get fired and start acting like assholes, they make it worse for the rest of us.”
“I meant to check, actually,” I said, digging in my clutch for my phone, “to see whether she’d posted anything today. We all know she was high on stage. ”