Chapter Twelve Allegra
Twelve
Allegra
I barely sleep the night of the food festival, which means I wake up the next morning cranky and sore—my muscles still haven’t fully recovered from pole dancing. But I think my brain hurts more than my body. Cord Donovan is giving me emotional whiplash.
It’s not like I want the guy to fall in love with me or anything, but the way he came out with that whole I’m not a relationship guy bit last night makes it seem like he thinks I’m falling for him. Which I’m not. Obviously.
And yet. When I see his name flash on my phone, I can’t deny the flutter in my stomach.
Cord: I’m sorry about how things ended last night. I had a really great time with you and I hate that I ruined it.
Me: You didn’t ruin it. I had fun with you too.
I bite my lip, typing and retyping my next text before I finally bite the bullet and send it.
Me: Look, maybe we should just admit that we are two attractive people who are attracted to each other but aren’t looking for anything serious. Maybe if we stop denying it, we can just let it be.
Cord: Damn, Slippers. Are you telling me you’re attracted to me?
Me: Are you going to pretend like you’re not attracted to me?
Cord: No.
Cord: Also, is this Chloe’s influence? Where did this boldness come from?
He’s not far off, assuming it came from my lesson with Chloe. But he is equally responsible.
Me: Actually, I think this is just coming from me.
Cord: I’m impressed.
Cord: I’ll see you next week, okay?
Me: Sounds good.
Cord is impressed with me. Bolstered by the thrill, I dance better than I have in a long time.
At the end of rehearsal that day, as everyone is packing up their bags and shuffling toward the door, David pulls me aside. “Nice work today, Allegra. I couldn’t take my eyes off you up there.”
A couple of the other dancers slow down as they pass us, their ears perked to hear what kind of comments David felt the need to tell me in private.
The ickiness of the sentiment is outweighed by the power of a compliment from David Morgan. He didn’t say anything nearly as nice to any of the principals, instead he was focused on me. It’s exactly the kind of attention I need from him as we close in on auditions.
I flash him a small but polite smile. “Thank you. Any improvements you’ve seen from me are credit to your instruction.” It’s a flat-out lie, but from the smirk on his face, he believes it.
“What was that all about?” Lucy asks as we duck out of the rehearsal room and into the hallway.
“Nothing,” I lie again, though this time I take no pleasure in it. “Any fun plans for the weekend?” I throw the question at her in hopes of distracting her.
The look in her eyes tells me she isn’t buying what I’m selling, but she doesn’t push me. “I’ve got a date tonight, actually.”
“Oooh, that’s exciting. Who with?”
Lucy rambles on about her upcoming date as we make our way out of the building and onto the bustling streets. It’s late in the evening, but it’s Saturday and this is New York and therefore people still crowd the sidewalks.
“What about you? Any interesting plans? How are things going with your sexy stripper?” Lucy waggles her eyebrows at me as we wait to cross the street.
I roll my eyes. “First of all, he’s not a stripper. Second of all, he’s out of town for the week so the only exciting plans I have are dinner with my family tomorrow.”
Lucy flashes me a sympathetic smile. “How are things with your mom?”
Though Lucy and I both have similar histories with our moms—moms who long for us to achieve the ballet dreams they never got to realize—Lucy has established firm boundaries with hers.
Honestly, she could probably teach a class on mother/daughter boundaries and I bet a lot of us in the company would pay good money to learn her secrets.
“They are what they are.” I haven’t actually spoken with my mother since that phone call in Times Square two weeks ago.
I probably have a few missed calls, if I were to check my recent call list, but she didn’t bother leaving voicemails or sending follow-up texts.
Which means I will be on the receiving end of a passive-aggressive lecture or two at dinner tomorrow.
Maybe with Bethany’s wedding right around the corner, her motherly attentions will be so focused on that, she won’t have time to guilt me.
I should have realized there’s one thing my mother always has time for, and that’s guilting me.
“It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to speak to you, dear,” she says, air-kissing my cheek the moment I walk through the front door of my childhood home, an Upper West Side apartment that not only could be but has been featured in Architectural Digest. “You must be so busy with work, you don’t have time to check in with your mother.
Did you get the Venmo I sent the other day?
I assume it went through, but I didn’t hear from you, so I wasn’t sure. ”
I don’t have to roll my eyes because Bethany does it for me.
“Sorry, Mom, between Swan Lake and preparing for the audition coming up, I haven’t had a ton of free time.
But thank you for the money, I appreciate it,” I add as an afterthought.
I do appreciate it, of course, I just hate that I need it in the first place.
Her eyes light up at the mention of the audition. “That’s right! Your audition. How is it coming along? Are you feeling confident? Should we have skipped dinner so you have more time to practice?”
Bethany loops her arm through mine and drags me into the living room to the pristine cream sofas we were never allowed to sit on as kids. “She doesn’t need to practice, Mom. Allegra knows exactly how to nail this audition.”
“Aw thanks, little sis. I’m so flattered by your faith in me.”
She shoves me, mostly gently, into the seat next to her fiancée Cassidy, a Black woman with buzzed hair and impeccable style. “You’re not escaping this dinner because we have wedding things to discuss.”
“I should have known you had ulterior motives.” I lean over and give Cassidy a hug. “It’s not too late to back out you know. No one would blame you for wanting to escape the Hart women.”
Cassidy laughs. “Unfortunately, I think you’re as stuck with me as I am with you.”
Bethany plops down next to me, grabbing a large binder from the coffee table and pushing it into my hands. “Okay, so I, of course, have most of the important details figured out. But I’m putting together the seating chart and I need to know who you’re bringing as your plus-one.”
I flip aimlessly through the pages, appreciating Bethany’s color-coded spreadsheets. “I don’t have a plus-one, B.”
She lowers her voice. “Well, you might want to get one. Mom hinted she would be happy to find you a date if you didn’t have someone in mind already.”
I groan. As if my mother’s meddling in my career isn’t bad enough, I certainly don’t need her butting her nose into my nonexistent love life, too. “Maybe I could ask Lucy?”
My phone vibrates right as I’m pulling it out of my pocket to text Lucy and see if I can bribe her with an open bar.
Cord: Just checking in and making sure you’re still up for Tuesday?
“Oooh!” Bethany reaches for my phone. “Who is Cord Donovan?”
“Cord Donovan?” My mother chooses this incredibly inopportune moment to enter the room with a tray of appetizers like this is the 1950s or we’re some royal family—she’s even wearing a retro-style cocktail dress, her hair and makeup impeccably done even though the rest of us are in leisure wear.
She sets down the tray on the coffee table and rises, her hands finding their normal resting place on her hips as her brow furrows, though her forehead barely moves and remains wrinkle-free.
“That name sounds familiar. Do I know him?”
My cheeks flush at the thought of my mom knowing anything about Cord. “I don’t think so.”
“Allegra’s going to bring him to the wedding!”
I pinch Bethany on the arm, hard. “I am absolutely not bringing him to the wedding.”
She looks at me with wide, fake innocent eyes. “Why not? You guys are going out this week, right? Didn’t he just text you to confirm?”
“You’re going out during the week? Is that wise when you have so much on your schedule for work?” My mom sits primly in an armchair, crossing her ankles and pulling her pencil skirt down.
“I don’t have a date this week or any week. I am not bringing Cord to the wedding. And I’m perfectly capable of budgeting my time all by myself.” I reach forward, grabbing a deviled egg from the appetizer platter and shoving the whole thing in my mouth.
“Allegra, you know I use full-fat mayonnaise in those.”
Cassidy takes one of her own, chomping a big bite. “And they’re delicious, Mrs. Hart!”
Mom flicks invisible lint from her skirt. “Cassidy, dear, I have told you, you must call me Julie. You’re about to be my daughter-in-law.”
I shoot Cassidy a grateful look. “How are wedding plans coming? You must be so busy focusing on throwing the perfect event.”
My mom takes that as her cue to launch into a tirade about the caterers, which quickly turns to how incompetent the florist is and how much the photographer is overcharging.
Bethany glares at me, but it’s her own damn fault for mentioning Cord.
I snatch my phone back from my sister while my mom is distracted. I have to cough to cover the gasp that flies from my mouth when I see the texts she’s sent.
Me: Would you want to come with me to my sister’s wedding?
Cord: That depends. Is there an open bar?
Me: Of course.
Cord: Then count me in, Slippers.
“I am going to murder you,” I mutter under my breath to my former sister.
Bethany smiles at me sweetly. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want him there, I know you do. We will be talking about this later. I want all the details, or I’ll make sure to let Mom know how much you would love for her to set you up with one of her friends’ sons.”
Scratch that. Murder is too good for her. I will be sneaking into her room the night before her wedding and shaving her eyebrows.