Chapter 3
THREE
Vaeda
“You’re a goddamn fool, Greyson,” I snap as I close the studio doors for the night. “We’re trying to keep this place open, not invite more scandal.”
“You can’t deny the talent that man has,” he retorts as I roll my eyes and stride back into the studio. “We could put ourselves on the map with him.”
“Or he could burn it all to the ground with no one else to blame but ourselves!” I bellow as I turn on him, making him stumble back a few steps.
“He’s a drug addict, hedonist, and there’s no amount of money his family can pay to make any of it disappear!
We might as well douse this place in gasoline and light the match now. ”
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Vae.” Greyson walks around me through the interview room, opening the door to our joint office. I follow behind him, my heels hitting the hardwood floor with purpose. “He looked clean and repentant.”
I scoff loudly as he sits at his desk, his arms crossing over his chest as he awaits my barrage of complaints.
He doesn’t understand how much of my legacy is tied to this building.
The blood, sweat, and tears I’ve endured over my career, only to have it end in an inferno of flames because he wants to play God and hand out forgiveness. “Please rescind his invitation.”
“What if you could have one more dance? One more competition? Would you grasp it with both hands, or would you turn your back?” He leans forward, his face eager for my response.
My heart slams up into my throat as instant longing coats my insides.
I would give anything to be on a competitive dance floor again.
“I didn’t squander my future, Grey, I was robbed of it.
” I turn from him and fall into my chair, the motion lacking my usual grace.
Achilles tendonitis cut my career short, and even though I can still dance, I’m limited to a studio instead of the rigorous training for competitions.
“We’ve all made choices without considering the consequences, especially as young adults.
I believe he deserves a second chance, and think about how our studio would soar.
The buzz would be journalists’ ambrosia, and we will once again be on the map.
” The energy of his excitement hits me square in the chest, but the moment it comes in contact with me, it fizzles and dies.
Greyson Ford III was a world champion on the dance floor many times over.
His old-money name did him no favors when his family disowned him for his sexual orientation.
He didn’t wallow for a second. Instead, he took a suitcase of his belongings and left his castle in England to become a worldwide known dancer, throwing his success in his family’s faces.
Greyson is the epitome of turning lemons into lemonade.
“You’ve picked him and Yvonne, and although she was a remarkable dancer, you have no idea if they will even be compatible.” It’s the last complaint I have, hoping his rigid need for perfection on the dance floor will shine through.
“If they are not, I will replace her.” His flippant response has me straightening in my chair as I stare at him, my anger rising once again.
“You would kick an aspiring dancer with impeccable technique out of the program for a junkie?” I snarl, my words punctuated with my ire.
“Former junkie, Vae,” he corrects me as he turns in his chair to look me in the eyes. “It’s astonishing you’re admitting to her impeccable technique when all you did was criticize her for the entire interview and dance number.”
“Yeah, well, you know we were taught to never believe we are the best.” I wave him off as he chuckles, the sound bringing a smirk to my mouth. “We’ve worked so hard for this place, and I’d hate to see that kid ruin it completely.”
“He’s a man, Vae.” He gets a twinkle in his eyes as I roll mine. “An attractive one at that.”
“You never could resist a pretty face,” I grumble as he gets up out of his chair to come toward me, his arms reaching out to pull me into his chest.
“I promise not to let him fuck this up. His face will give us the notoriety this place needs to bring in the money. Vae, we need the money,” he stresses as I shove him off me and brush his lingering scent off my blouse. “Think of what it could mean for us to enter the competitive circuit again.”
“Trust me, Greyson III, I know how much we need the money.” I feel myself give in as I rest my chin on my hand. “He’s your responsibility, and whatever happens, you will be the one at risk.”
Despite my groan, he gathers me in for another hug, his squeal of excitement skating along every nerve. Mateo Sanchez better be reformed, or else I’ll fucking ruin him for good this time.
“Gerardo!” I call out as I step into our penthouse, dropping the keys into the dish by the door. “I’m home!”
Following the sounds of music, I enter through the kitchen to find him swaying at the stove while he stirs a spoon in a large pot. My heart clenches as he raises his other hand, flicking it out in a perfect flamenco motion.
When my career ended abruptly six years ago, at the age of twenty-seven, so did Gerardo’s, but he’s never held that against me. He made the decision to quit, and a year later, we were married in a lavish wedding in Barcelona.
We were always best friends, from the age of fifteen, but we only became lovers after my injury. Sometimes I wonder if he married me because he felt pity, or if he truly did have romantic feelings for me the entire time.
“Amor,” I singsong as his hips do one final swirl before he turns at the sound of my voice, his luscious mouth curving upward. “It smells divine in here.”
“I’m making soup,” he says as he drops his hand and sets the spoon on the counter. “You weren’t well this morning, and I wanted to make you something warm.”
Gerardo makes me feel like I am the most important thing in his world, and I know I hit the jackpot the day we became dancing partners.
He’s always been by my side, ready to support me in everything I endeavor, but it isn’t passion that binds us, it’s understanding.
Gerardo knows me better than anyone else ever has, and we’ve built a life on that foundation.
One of trust and unwavering loyalty. As I sit on a barstool, watching him stir the pot with his characteristic flair, I’m reminded of how lucky I am to have someone who accepts me as I am.
“How was the studio?” he asks, sliding a steaming bowl of soup across the counter toward me. His tone is light, but the subtle crease in his brows tells me he’s worried.
“Greyson is taking risks again,” I admit, picking up my spoon and letting the rich aroma fill my senses. “He invited Mateo Sanchez to join the program.”
Gerardo’s movements pause for a fraction of a second before he recovers, grabbing the ladle to serve himself. “The Mateo Sanchez? The one with the uh... colorful history?”
“The very same.” I sigh, swirling my spoon in the broth. “Grey thinks he can turn him into our studio’s saving grace.”
“And you don’t?”
“It’s not that simple.” I meet Gerardo’s soothing, rich-brown gaze. “I can’t afford to let my guard down and accept a former junkie, not with everything we’ve worked for hanging by a thread.” The studio is struggling, and we’ve failed to recruit champion-material dancers to put us back on the map.
He leans on the counter, his expression soft. “Vaeda, you’ve always had an eye for potential. If you didn’t see something in him, you’d have fought harder to keep him out.” He’s hit the mark.
When Greyson chased Mateo down to offer him a spot, I could’ve followed, fought it, but I didn’t.
I remember Mateo Sanchez, and I can never deny his talent.
It was a shock to see him standing here in New York, in our studio, searching for his comeback story, and as much as I hated that he was using us to do it, we were also using him for ours.
I smile faintly, appreciating Gerardo’s faith in me even when I’m not sure I deserve it.
“Maybe, or maybe I’m just too tired to fight Greyson when he gets this determined.
” There’s been some tension between Grey and me lately, and it boils down to the monthly rent, electricity, and expenses piling up.
It’s the lack of interest in ballroom dancing these days, as kids would rather learn thirty-second-long TikTok dances instead, which means we’re becoming obsolete.
“Either way,” Gerardo says, lifting his bowl and gesturing for me to join him at the small table by the window. “You’ll make it work. You always do.”
I follow him to the table, the bowl of soup warming my hands as I release the stress I’m feeling with a sigh.
Sitting across from him, I feel a rare moment of peace settle over me.
Gerardo has a way of settling the fire inside of me, of dousing my flames in cooling water and bringing me back from the edge of a complete meltdown.
“There’s something clawing inside my stomach,”—I grip the silk material of my blouse in my fist—“and it’s hard to ignore.
” I release my blouse and pick up the spoon, bringing the soup up to my mouth and taking a long inhale.
I’ve always followed my intuition, and even though I know Mateo could catapult us back into the scene, I have a feeling the decision to keep him will change the trajectory of my life.
“Taking a chance on anyone is a risk, and unfortunately, Mateo Sanchez is a larger risk than most. That’s why you’re feeling this.
I’m sure Greyson has considered all the threats, and if he’s still confident, I say give it a go.
Mateo did have a stunning future ahead of him at one time.
” He shrugs and slurps his soup, a habit that’s always bothered me, but I’ve chosen to ignore it.
“He ruined that future for himself,” I retort and drop the spoon back into the bowl with a clang. “How do I know he won’t do it again? And with my name connected to it?”