Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Nevaeh
“You’ll find she’s one of the most exquisite dancers we have to offer,” Ignazio boasts.
The trio of men turn their heavily lidded gazes on me. Dark hair, average builds, flat faces, they could be triplets if only at a glance.
I stand before them in wait for their judgment. My heart’s never beat so fast. I remain in the preparatory position, my arms rounded, hanging down toward my hips. Both ankles touch, my knees turned outward.
This visit is so impromptu, I’m still in my tights and leotard. The rest of the dancers have been dismissed.
My limbs ache and muscles burn. But I keep form, staring vacantly ahead, as if I’m the little figurine trapped inside a snow globe. The glass dome that surrounds me may be invisible, but it’s there—I’m under no illusion any of these men have good intentions.
They perceive me as delicate and docile. Their toy to play with.
Possibly true, considering the imbalance of power.
But I’m not as clueless as they think. The owner of my contract isn’t the hero. He’s the villain.
These men do his bidding.
“This? This is the girl they said they want? She’s too small,” says the man on the left end. He gives me another once over that oozes disdain. “We’re supposed to have someone who can seduce a man if need be; who can be bold enough to tell lies and pass undetected.”
“She is very undetectable,” Ignazio insists. “Just look at her. Pretty enough… but very unassuming.”
I hide the scowl that threatens to take over. From the time I was a young girl, Ignazio has found ways to subtly and not-so-subtly insult me. One second I’m too short and weak. The next second he claims my hips are too round. Then I’m just “pretty enough.”
He does the same to the other dancers. They’re either beaky or scrawny or he’ll accost one if she’s going for seconds during dinner.
In this case, he’s using his criticisms to advocate for me. To what end, I’m unsure.
I know nothing about these men other than they work for Nero. They wear all black and talk in a fast East Coast accent only vaguely hinting at their Italian ancestry.
“If this is who they want,” says the man in the middle, stroking his chin. “She’s better than nothing.”
“There must be something they’re not telling us.”
“What did your boss tell you anyway?” Ignazio sidles over in keen interest.
Talk about a lack of subtlety…
I’d roll my eyes if I weren’t standing in front of them.
Still in the preparatory position, my thighs shake from exhaustion and discomfort.
“What our boss told us is for us to know and you to mind your fucking business,” says the last man, the one on the far end.
A single scolding look is all it takes—Ignazio falls silent and doesn’t dare fish for info again.
But he does delight in the cash that’s offered. His eyes light up, his hideous grin spreading to reveal his nicotine-stained teeth. The men finalize their transaction with an exchange of money and a crushing handshake.
Ignazio whines in pain, bending half over, his knees shaking. The one whose gripped hold of his hand is the man in the middle, flexing his power in warning.
“Don’t fuck this up for us. If you do, it’s your head on a pike.”
The trio pivot on their heels at the same time. Suddenly I’m back under their microscope. They crowd around me, forming a wall that blocks Ignazio out.
Still, I remain where I am. Still a doll. Still obedient.
“They say you’re our best chance,” the right one says. “So that’s what we’re going to do. And if you say a word, it’ll be your head on a pike too…”
I gasp as I spring up in bed, drenched in sweat despite the frost on the window.
Several seconds pass before I’m aware enough to recognize I was dreaming. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m lying in Caelian’s massive king-sized bed—larger than a regular king-size, it’s built for a man as broad and large as Caelian is.
Except it’s vast and empty without him.
The sheets are untouched and wrinkle free. The air cold and unsettling.
I clutch the duvet to my chest and force out the breath trapped in my lungs. I can’t sort into words what’s bothering me. An inexplicable feeling is disturbing my spirit, like I’m vaguely sensing something is off.
The silence weighs down on the room until it becomes unbearable and I’m leaping out of bed. I go straight to the window that overlooks the front part of the estate. The grounds sprawl into the darkness without any sign of waking life. Even the insects have turned in for the night.
“Cael, where are you?” I mutter.
No one had updated me before bed.
I’d asked Ms. Poitier and Umberto but received no answers. I’d even resorted to asking the overnight security I saw patrolling the halls. Everyone either flat out ignored me or provided a non-answer.
I sigh. “Sort of ironic that you’d let me sleep in your room, Cael. What use is it if you’re not even here?”
I’m in Caelian’s most private space. I could snoop around if I wanted to.
There’s probably information hidden within his drawers or buried in his closet that he wouldn’t want me to find out about.
In the past, when I’d first arrived at his estate and was forced to marry him, I probably would’ve seized the opportunity.
Now, I couldn’t feel more differently.
I trust Caelian implicitly… which is why I’m so deeply disturbed by my premonition. It’s not what secrets Caelian could be hiding that concerns me.
It’s what secrets those around us could be that do.
The clock tells me it’s only a few minutes until four. Exactly the time of night when the security cameras were capturing Ms. Poitier sneaking out into the woods.
Now or never.
I snatch my robe off the hook in the closet and slide my feet into the cozy pair of slippers by the bed. Within a few short steps, I’m creeping into the hall and then the staircase. Yet another moment where my skills as a ballerina come in handy.
My movements in the dark are quick and controlled. I’m cognizant of my surroundings at all times, straining my ears for the slightest noise. I make it to the east wing where the parlor leads into the terrace outside.
Caelian’s house feels like swimming in dark waters. It’s such a large space, the shadows engulf everything, making it feel like wandering an endless void. But I can’t turn on any of the lights or risk giving myself away.
An ancient grandfather clock lines the wall, covered in cobwebs like most of the furniture on this side of the house. Three more minutes until four.
I take cover just in time. As I crouch behind a credenza out of the way in the back corner, a figure appears in the doorway. Short and stout in stature, the figure maneuvers the dark room with practiced precision.
Ms. Poitier.
My hand covers my mouth to stifle any shocked breaths I take.
She cuts through the room to the double doors that open to the terrace. For half a second, I consider confronting her on the spot. Popping out from my hiding spot and flicking on the nearest light to let her know she’s caught red-handed. At the last possible second, I decide against it.
Since I still don’t know what’s going on, it’s best to stay hidden and observe.
When Ms. Poitier makes it far enough out from the terrace that she’s shrinking, I get up and creep over to the door. Despite how dark it is, I track her figure from through the glass, witnessing firsthand how she disappears into the distance.
The woodland surrounds Caelian’s remote property. What could she possibly be doing in the woods so late in the night? Is she meeting someone to provide them information? How could she betray Caelian like this?
Anger rises up inside me on his behalf. It ignites like a hot flame that could turn destructive.
For a second time, I’m tempted to confront her right now, in the moment. I’m no warrior, but I know self-defense. I’m fast and full of energy. I can handle myself if I needed to…
My feet inch forward as if to act on my impulse. Follow Ms. Poitier into the woods and find out what she’s up to.
You can’t. Caelian would be furious. He said stay out of it.
I ball my hands into fists at my sides and breathe through the anger bottled up. Maybe I won’t follow her outside, but I’ll definitely keep track of what she’s doing. If Matteo can launch his investigation, so can I.
A small part of me is still unsure what I’m really seeing.
My dream lurks vaguely at the back of my mind, vivid enough I’m not sure it can even be called a dream. It’d felt so real, it was more like a memory I’d forgotten about.
…maybe because it was…
Just another miserable memory of my time at the dance company. Very few memories I look back on fondly.
Except for performances. Those were always my favorite.
I loved being on stage, showing what I could do. The stories I could tell with my body.
My favorite performances were the more intimate venues.
Not the performances held at the Dresden Dance Company Theater, but the private shows we did for some of our most cherished clientele.
I’d often been featured, spinning in circles for a small audience that gave us their undivided attention.
Often they’d pause in the middle of their drinks and conversation.
So captivated. So tuned into us.
Me.
Intense, piercing eyes I’ll never forget….
I’m on the cusp of a new thought—I can feel it forming—when a hand clamps down hard on my shoulder from behind.
I’m not alone anymore.