Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
En avant: to travel forward.
Rudy
Right, left, or center? I turned a critical eye on the small dining table at Alexander’s apartment, trying to decide where best to place his Valentine’s Day card.
He’d left for the theater hours ago, so I’d spent the afternoon preparing an after-show retreat for him.
I’d arrived for my second visit a few days earlier, and as this one was slated to last most of the month, I felt justified in making myself more at home.
Besides, Alexander had outright told me to feel free to do whatever I wanted to make the place more comfortable.
He likely meant arranging things so I had a workspace for my remote work, but I’d run with the permission nonetheless.
I’d brought a lengthy to-do list with me for the ballet school, and I fully intended to deliver so the board wouldn’t regret allowing me to work remotely.
It likely wasn’t a permanent employment solution, but then neither was Seattle.
Alexander would finish out the season here, and then we could apartment hunt in Philadelphia.
In the meantime, though, there was no reason this place couldn’t feel more like a home.
While Alexander had been busy all week with tech week, dress rehearsal, and publicity obligations, I’d discovered an adorable home goods thrift store in the University District.
I’d stashed away all my finds until today.
As soon as Alexander had left, I’d gone to work on my mini-apartment makeover.
I shook his gray comforter into a cheery red and white duvet cover, added colorful throw pillows to his couch, along with a soft, cable-knit blanket for him to curl up with.
I’d found some cheap frames at the thrift store to grace his bare walls with a collection of programs and pictures from Alexander’s last few shows, along with a couple of Odyssey prints for fun.
A few flameless candles, some aromatherapy, and a bottle of massage oil completed the staycation vibe.
I set the table for a late-night feast, finally deciding to prop my card against the vase of flowers I’d picked up at the market.
I’d accepted a grocery delivery earlier in the day, so the fridge was full of ready-to-eat things for after the show.
Convinced I was acing House Husbandry 101, I spruced myself up with a shower and shave and put on the nifty plum-colored velvet jacket I’d found while thrifting.
Our parents had arrived on the same flight earlier in the day, and I’d encouraged them to get a swanky pre-performance dinner near the theater, which was a short walk from Alexander’s apartment.
I met them in the soaring lobby of the historic theater, near the grand staircase. My father and Alexander’s were deep in conversation about whether Seattle merited an expansion basketball franchise, but our mothers had to fuss over my fresh haircut and outfit.
“You look so handsome.” My mother snapped a dozen quick pics with her phone.
“Marvelous, darling.” Elaine, who’d likely never entered a thrift store in her life, made it sound like I’d found a fashion cheat code. “So smart to embrace the retro style.”
“Oh, the themed cocktails look so pretty.” My mother gestured at other well-dressed attendees, many of whom held shimmery pink cocktails or flutes of champagne. “I already placed our order for intermission.”
“Excellent.” Elaine led the way toward our seats as we stopped for an usher to scan our tickets and hand us programs. Alexander’s return was heralded on page one, with him looking resplendent in a gold tunic and tights. The camera had caught him mid-leap, underscoring his triumph over injury.
“Look at these seats.” Mom gushed over the tickets Alexander had secured for us. As I was about to sit, she pointed to the arm of my chair, which held a small wrapped gift and a card. “Oh, and something for you!”
We were in a section of seats usually reserved for season ticket holders and patrons.
A few other seats also had gifts or cards.
Two rows ahead of us, one of the padded velvet seats had a waiting pair of signed toe shoes, while a seat farther down had a red rose along with a thick card.
The ballet took good care of its donors, and I carefully examined the envelope to make sure it wasn’t for Elaine.
But my name was scrawled in Alexander’s tight handwriting, so I opened the envelope under the watchful eyes of our mothers.
I had to trust Alexander wouldn’t have gifted me something too personal to open with an audience.
The card featured a pair of dice with an I love how you roll message.
Told you I’d find the game store in my neighborhood.
Play group meets next Friday night. Be ready!
Alexander had included a gift card to the game store, and the box turned out to be a set of Valentine’s colored dice, arranged to look like a box of chocolates.
“He does know you well.” My mother reached over Elaine to give me a fond pat.
“Make him take you out to dinner first,” Elaine advised as she read over my shoulder. “Somewhere nice.”
“Good idea,” I said noncommittally. Elaine and I undoubtedly had vastly different ideas as to what constituted a romantic date night.
“Oh, don’t you look splendid.” Melody Fox, the patron for Ballet Philadelphia, arrived to take the aisle seat next to me. She wore an elegant black cocktail dress with a matching beaded wrap, and her snow-white hair was swept up in a loose bun with a pearl clip.
“Mrs. Fox.” I gave her my warmest smile, as anyone making it possible for Julian Hale to hire Alexander away from Seattle was automatically one of my favorite people. “Did you fly in just to see Alexander?”
“Call me Melody, dear.” She bumped my shoulder with hers.
“I didn’t put forty years into developing several bestselling wrinkle creams to sound ancient before my time.
” She had a musical laugh similar to my mother’s.
“Yes, I came to watch Alexander’s return.
And there’s a young dancer we’d like to lure away as well. ”
“Happy fishing.” I grinned at her, and she returned the smile.
“Indeed.”
“And thank you for all you and Julian are doing for Alexander.” My appreciation was genuine because the contract Julian had offered Alexander was quite generous by ballet standards.
“It’s a pleasure.” Her warm brown eyes sparkled as she leaned in closer to my ear. “You want to know a secret?”
“Of course,” I whispered back.
“That’s my ex-husband with wife number four.” She gave a subtle point a few rows up to an older couple with a horse-faced gentleman and a heavily made-up woman. “They’re well-known donors here. I’m so going to enjoy the renewed success of Ballet Philadelphia. The petty keeps me young.”
“I won’t tell.” I chuckled, careful not to stare too much at the other couple.
“I like you.” Melody bumped my shoulder again. “I’ll have you and Alexander over this summer, after the move. I have ideas for your future as well.”
“I look forward to it.” At present, I was happy continuing as assistant director at Hollyberry Ballet School.
Alexander and I had had many late-night talks about our hopes and dreams. At some point, I might find a position closer to wherever we found an apartment near the Ballet Philadelphia studio, something with flexible hours that could accommodate a family down the road.
Not that we were ready for that quite yet, and not that I was about to discuss those dreams with our mothers so eagerly listening in.
“Ideas for the future sound exciting.” My mother nudged my other side. “I’m so proud of you and Alexander.”
“Shush,” I said as the house lights lowered. Thank goodness. We certainly didn’t need our mothers in cahoots with Melody. “The show is about to start.”
The performance was the world premiere of a ballet from a newer, rising choreographer with a custom score, and anticipation for the debut swept through the theater as the orchestra sounded the opening notes.
The production featured white minimalist but inventive sets with geometric shapes, ramps, and multiple levels.
The energetic opening featured multiple dancers from the Corps de Ballet, a swirling group number full of movement and activity.
I held my breath waiting for Alexander’s entrance in the second scene.
As the corps retreated, he emerged alongside one of the female principal dancers for a stunning pas de deux, which featured a longer and more complex solo than the variation he’d performed in The Nutcracker.
He was fire personified, complete with a flaming red-and-orange tunic, a part he owned from the first commanding step onto the stage.
The crowd thrilled to his every movement with audible gasps of delight with each jump.
Somehow, my nerves and I survived until intermission, where I declined a cocktail and nibbled a few pretzels to try to make it to the end of the show.
Alexander wowed the crowd with another solo before the finale, and the roar of applause after the final curtain was due in no small part to his electrifying performance.
The crowd gave him a rousing ovation, and I finally let myself fully exhale.
He’d done it. He’d returned to the stage better than ever, an utter triumph, and I had no doubt that the critics would be raving about his performance.
His reputation among the best of the best was secure yet again.
My mind flashed back to the first time I’d spied him in the studio at Hollyberry, how tentative he’d seemed as he worked through his recovery.
What a difference a few months made—for him, for me, and for us as the entire course of our future had shifted.
I allowed a moment of nostalgia for those first icing and game sessions we’d enjoyed, just the two of us, as I joined our parents and Melody in the crush of people with backstage passes looking to greet Alexander and other dancers.
Alexander leaned against a wall, sweaty, breathless, and utterly transcendent, a portrait of an artist at rest. I let everyone else greet him first before making my way forward.
Ten years had passed since I’d first seen him like this, an untouchable ballet god.
But now, he was mine with a smile that was for me alone.
What had started as a simple crush had become a dream transformed into a reality of a love far beyond my greatest hopes.
Emotion clogged my throat and made my eyes burn as I stepped between our mothers to greet him.
“How was it?” he asked me with a weary smile. “I trust you to be honest.”
“You were splendid,” I assured him. “Your lines in your variation were perfect, especially in the pas de deux.”
“You paid attention.” He offered a small smirk.
Our gazes met, a private moment in the thick of so much backstage activity. The fondness in his eyes made my breath catch. That this man, this legend, loved me was a wonder beyond words, and gratitude filled my chest, making it even harder to speak.
“Truly, darling,” Elaine assured him, filling the silence. “You’d never know you had a year away.”
“I owe a lot to Isabella and my PT team.” He gave a humble shrug.
“And your own hard work,” my mother added. “Your Cavalier for us was one of your finest moments, but you were incredible tonight.”
“You are all much too kind.” Alexander demurred, but his eyes revealed how pleased he actually was.
“Are you showering here or at home?” I asked him.
“Say that again.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me another step closer so my legs brushed him.
“Home.” My chest lifted with the word, an almost indescribable happiness filling me. I could be that for him, be the home he needed and wanted, create that space for both of us.
He smiled slowly, a genuine grin, all for me. “I’ll take a fast shower here so as to not frighten our driver. Or you.”
“I’m not afraid of a little sweat.” Knowing our mothers were close behind us, I made it a light tease, but Alexander wasn’t shy about giving me the most heated of looks.
“I know.”
After another round of praise and congratulations, he took his leave to go shower and change.
I’d walked to the theater, but Alexander was exhausted enough that I ordered us a driver on the rideshare app for the trip back to his apartment.
We held hands the whole way back and in the elevator on the way up to the apartment.
He sagged against me as I unlocked the door.
“I’m starving—” He cut himself off with a startled noise as he took in the changes I’d made to the place. His gaze swept over the art on the walls to the couch to the dining area, pleasure softening his features. He squeezed my hand. “Oh. Look at this. You outdid yourself.”
“Trying to earn that lifetime role.” I mimicked his humble shrug from earlier, adding the same arch tone.
“It’s already yours.” He pulled me in for a kiss. “Along with my heart.” He punctuated that declaration with another, more lingering kiss, one that warmed me from the inside out. He pulled away with a reluctant groan. “And my body, but that may have to wait till after food.”
“I can wait.” I meant that. I’d waited ten years for my crush to become reality.
I’d waited through the holiday season for our fling to transform into undeniable feelings.
I’d wait through this season of long distance and transition for our future together.
I leaned in for another quick kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Alexander. ”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” His blue eyes shone brightly, reflecting back all the same emotions rising within me. “I can’t wait to spend all my holidays with you.”
“It’s a plan.” I laughed as I made my way to the fridge to prepare our late-night Valentine’s supper.
Had I planned this whole thing? I hadn’t, of course, and neither had our scheming mothers, but we certainly felt meant to be, as inevitable as Alexander kept joking.
In him, I’d found my true purpose and calling, but also a deeper confidence and sense of self.
He’d chosen me to partner with, and I, in turn, chose to welcome his love.
We both deserved this happiness, and I couldn’t wait to watch our next act unfold.