Chapter 12
TWELVE
“First position.” Julia stood straight and tall, arms curved in front of her, legs in a perfect ninety-degree turnout. She outstretched her arms, shifted her legs further apart. “Second position.”
Daniel was sitting on the sofa in the corner of her home studio, facing the wall-mounted barre. He’d adopted a classic alpha male pose, legs spread, one arm draped over the back of the sofa, taking up as much room as possible. Tequila sat at his feet, wearing her silly grin.
She lifted one arm above her head, holding the other out, crossing her feet. “Fourth position.”
Daniel nodded at the barre. “Can you put your leg up on that thing?”
She did.
His eyes scrolled down her body. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think that’s my favorite position.”
She took her leg down and crossed her arms. She tried to adopt a prim expression, but her cheeks were on fire. “Daniel, I’m trying to teach you ballet fundamentals here.”
He grinned and held up his hands. “I am one hundred percent focused.”
Oh, he was focused, alright. On certain parts of her anatomy in this leotard.
She fanned herself and went to take a sip of water.
It was hot in the studio. The cantilever doors were closed because the builders were still making a racket outside.
But that wasn’t the only reason she was sweating before she’d even begun any routines.
Having Daniel lounging over there, with his spread legs and damp singlet and slow smile, was like having the thermostat turned up to the max.
She kept her eyes off him and swept her gaze over the pool area and the path that led around the house.
Checking the coast was clear. Her mom had wedding-related appointments in the city and wasn’t due back for another hour.
But occasionally one of the other girls from the Joffrey would show up at her studio to rehearse with her in the afternoons.
She looked back at Daniel, feeling a stab of guilt that she was so worried about anyone finding out about him.
She reminded herself that they’d both agreed to keep this thing a secret.
And while she didn’t know the reasons why he wanted to shield her from everyone in his life except for his brother, she knew why she was reluctant to introduce him to her family and friends.
And it wasn’t because she was ashamed of him. Far from it.
It was because she was afraid of discovering that she was ashamed of them.
She sat down on the floor and took off her leg warmers and ballet slippers and started prepping her feet for pointe shoes.
She applied Second Skin, then tape and gauze.
Laced them up tightly, then got back to her feet and tested the flexibility in her insteps.
She bent her knees, bearing down on her ankles.
Feeling for pain, feeling for tenderness.
Then she did a bourrée, a little wandering movement on the tips of her toes, like she was shimmering over the floor.
Daniel had been watching her silently the whole time. “What’s this Giselle thing about, then?”
She’d told him she was going to perform the Peasant Pas de Deux from the famous ballet.
She went over to the iPod that was connected to the sound system and queued up Adolphe Adam.
“It’s about a beautiful peasant girl who falls in love with this rich nobleman called Count Albrecht.
But he’s already engaged to this other woman and doesn’t tell her.
When she finds out about his betrayal, she’s so devastated she dances until her heart gives out.
” She took a sip of water. “In some versions, she stabs herself. Then her body is buried in the woods.”
Daniel snorted. “Wouldn’t it be better if she stabbed Count Asshole and buried his body in the woods?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “That wouldn’t be very romantic, would it?”
“Be a hell of a lot smarter.”
She walked back to the center of the floor. “Well, maybe one day you can choreograph your version and see how popular it is. You can get Quentin Tarantino to direct it.”
He just shrugged, his look saying he might just do that.
“Anyway, that’s not the end,” she said. “After she dies, Giselle comes back as a ghost. And there are a bunch of other spirits living in the forest with her called the Wilis. They’re the ghosts of all the women who have been betrayed by men.
And they want to kill Albrecht by making him dance to his death.
But Giselle intervenes and saves him. She forgives him, and lets him go, and then goes peacefully back to her grave. ”
Daniel, far from being enthralled by the story, appeared unimpressed. “That’s it?”
She nodded.
“Tell me she at least gets to kick him in the balls at some point.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I have a feeling ballet’s not for you.”
He smiled, spreading both arms across the backrest of the sofa. “Hey. I’m enjoying it so far.”
She had to admit he had a point about the storyline.
Giselle wasn’t a feminist masterpiece. She knew it was meant to be about the redemptive power of forgiveness, but she’d always hated how the Wilis were portrayed.
Instead of showing them as a sisterhood of tragic women fed up with being treated poorly by men, the ballet presented them as creepy, man-hating harpies with axes to grind.
Maybe one day she would choreograph her own version, too. One where the Wilis were the heroines of the story. But she suspected it wouldn’t be any more popular than Daniel’s version. Classical ballet isn’t exactly known as a progressive art form.
She picked up the remote and hit play, feeling strangely calm.
She usually felt riddled with nerves before any performance.
Stage fright had crippled her for most of her life; it had gotten so bad in her teens that her mom had sent her to a psychiatrist who specialized in performance anxiety.
Her diagnosis: Julia was far too fixated on perfection, to the point it was interfering with her mental health.
Julia’s response had been, no shit, Sherlock.
She took a second to relish this feeling of waiting to start and not quaking in terror.
She looked over at Daniel, lounging on the sofa.
Maybe it was because she was performing in front of someone who probably couldn’t tell a pas de deux from the Chicken Dance.
Or maybe it was because she got the feeling that if she broke out the Chicken Dance and called it a pas de deux, he’d love it all the same.
The music started. She threw herself into every movement, with as much energy as if it were an audition.
It wasn’t a long variation, but there were some complicated beated steps en l’air which required all her concentration.
She ended the piece delicately perched on one knee; her arm gracefully extended.
But inside, she didn’t feel delicate or graceful.
Pheromones were dancing their own little jigs in her bloodstream, and her heart had taken up gymnastics.
He didn’t applaud. He just sat there, his face flickering through a dozen tiny expressions.
Awe and amusement and even something that looked a bit like pride.
Then he reached out a hand to her. She got up and took it and he gave a little tug.
Unbalanced, she toppled onto his lap. Both her knees collided with his thighs, but if it hurt, he gave no sign.
Just wrapped both his hands around the small of her back and looked up at her, his expression settling on wonder.
“Eres incrieble,” he murmured. “You’re so fucking incredible, baby. ”
She placed both her hands on his chest. She could feel the heat radiating off him through the fabric of his singlet. Sweat glistened on his clavicle.
He placed his mouth a fraction away from hers but didn’t kiss her. When she moved to kiss him, he pulled back and smiled teasingly. So, she placed both hands on the sides of his face and held him still and kissed him.
He liked that because he gave a soft moan in the back of his throat. His mouth was hot, and his tongue was not shy, and he was gripping her hips with both hands. And she was enjoying it, right up to the moment when she wasn’t anymore, and she broke off the kiss.
She was still holding his face, and they were so close they were still breathing into each other’s mouths. He looked up at her, something unreadable in his eyes.
He leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her mouth. Then he smiled and tilted his head in the barre’s direction. “Come on. I paid to see the whole show.”
She smiled, too, and climbed off his lap.
He settled back on the couch, both arms draped across the top. “Can you do that spinning around on one foot thing again? Only this time, don’t fall down.”
“It’s called a fouette?,” she said over her shoulder. “And they’re very difficult. I only fell because you distracted me.”
He smirked. “Alright. Just picture me naked. Then you won’t be distracted.”
She threw her water bottle at him. Unfortunately, it was empty.
He swatted it away, still smirking.
She folded her arms and said, “When I was little I used to get nervous before every performance. So, my ballet mistress told me to picture people in the audience as cabbages. Rows and rows of cabbages.”
He laughed. “Okay. Picture me as a cabbage, then.”
She smiled. Pictured him as a cabbage. Then executed thirty-two perfect fouette?s. And didn’t fall down once.
* * *
The breeze coming off the lake was balmy, and the sky was clear but starless. Julia lay on her back on the sand, her damp clothes sticking to her skin.
She hadn’t intended to go swimming, but Daniel had gone in first, wetting his jeans to the knees.
Tequila had thrown herself in after him.
Julia had waded in up to her ankles. Then Daniel had turned and run back and scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder.
He’d become unbalanced, and then they’d both ended up in water up to their necks.