15. ControlCrumble #3
I stiffen for half a second, then return the hug lightly, feeling completely out of place in her arms. “Me too,” I murmur. And I mean it… I think.
When Lily and I are back in the hallway heading toward rehearsal, I can’t help but feel like a complete and total idiot.
How did it never occur to me that Irina is Nik’s mother?
I guess since my own mother is never spoken of with tenderness, I just assume Irina must have been something else.
Someone more to him than just a mom. The thought leaves me strangely hollow.
To think that a mother’s love could be so unconditional, offered without expectation and given without reserve.
“Can I tell you something stupid?” I ask Lily. “But you can’t make fun of me.”
Lily arches her brow. “I’ll try my best, but no promises.”
It’s better than nothing. “I thought Irina was Nik’s wife.”
Lily bursts out laughing so hard she nearly doubles over. “You what?” Her giggles bounce off the walls of the corridor.
I nudge her shoulder, heat rising to my face. “Hey, you said you wouldn’t make fun.”
“I’m not!” she insists through tears, wiping at her eyes. “It’s just—Nik. Married. To Irina. I mean, come on. Irina is such an old lady name.”
“So is Eleanor,” I mutter without thinking.
“Well, you pull it off.” Lily snorts, still chuckling.
“Hey!” I nudge her again, though a smile tugs at my lips despite myself.
“Okay, okay, sorry.” Lily walks backwards now, giving me her full attention. “But why would you think that?”
I take a steadying breath. “Just the way everyone spoke about her. She seemed… important to him.”
“Oh, Irina is really important to Nik,” Lily responds, her tone softening. Then she stalls, her steps slowing. “They’ve been close since Daria… and even more so now that she’s been sick. Our families are pretty tightly connected, so we all kind of think of each other that way.”
“Sick?” I ask, unable to hide the concern in my voice.
Color rises in Lily’s cheeks. “Ugh, I have such a big mouth. I—” She darts her eyes away, flustered. “I don’t want to share their business. Just… ask him.”
She spins around and slips back into the studio, leaving me trailing after her, my chest buzzing with questions I’m not sure I have the right to ask.
The rest of rehearsals goes by smoothly.
Gabriel and I walk through our pas de deux a few times, and while it isn’t flawless, at least it’s not a disaster.
The only thing that rattles me is the way the air seems to thicken whenever Nik comes close.
I can’t tell if he’s still frustrated with me over my irrational outburst earlier, or if I’m imagining the heaviness in his silence.
Either way, the nearness of him leaves me bereft—questions about his life and his family prickling at the back of my mind.
By the end of rehearsals, I’m completely wrecked.
My joints ache, and my muscles feel like lead.
I know I should eat, especially since I skipped breakfast and only forced down a protein bar at lunch.
But the thought of food creates a stampede in my stomach.
Anxiety has a way of turning hunger into nausea.
When we’re dismissed, Nik heads straight to his podium without sparing me a glance.
Embarrassment burns hot in my chest. He walked me out every day last week, filling the space with small talk while he packed his bag before the car ride.
But now it’s as if I’m not even worth the effort.
And honestly, I can’t blame him. I don’t even want to deal with myself most days.
I slip out of the studio and into the dressing rooms, moving slowly, almost deliberately, as if stalling can ease the ache in my chest. I change out of my tights, pull on dark plum sweatpants, and slip into a sheer white wrap shirt.
I step outside into the cool air with my bag slung across my shoulder.
I sink onto the bench to wait for a taxi, wishing I didn’t feel so invisible.
After ten long minutes of waiting on the bench, shifting uncomfortably with every passing car that isn’t a taxi, the front doors burst open.
Nik comes striding out like a man on a mission, his hair slightly tousled as if he’s been dragging his hands through it.
His face is tight with worry until his eyes land on me. Then, the tension melts away.
“Eleanor, what are you doing out here?” His voice carries a mixture of relief and irritation. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” He jerks a thumb back toward the studio.
My fingers find a loose thread on my sweatpants, and I tug at it to ground myself. “I… Well, you didn’t ask me to wait. And I figured you were upset with me.”
Something unreadable flashes across his face. “I wasn’t aware I had to ask you to wait every day. I thought by now you knew I was taking you home. I just spent the last fifteen minutes searching for you.” He scrubs a hand over his face with a weary sigh. “And why would I be upset with you?”
“For earlier,” I mumble, heat rising to my cheeks. “For what I said.”
He shakes his head, firm but not unkind. “You’re not the first upset dancer I’ve dealt with, and you won’t be the last.” He reaches down without another word and scoops up my dance bag like it weighs nothing, and jerks his head toward the garden where his car is parked. “Let’s go.”
The seatbelt presses lightly against my collarbone and the faint hum of the engine fills the silence. There’s an odd pull to break it, and for once, I want to be the one to start.
“So… why is there a garden here anyway?”
Nik’s hands stay steady on the wheel as he pulls onto the main road, headlights stretching across the pavement.
“Back in the day it was meant as a break area for dancers,” he says.
“No one really uses it now. Kasper mostly keeps it because Lily likes to tend it, and I’ll go out there sometimes myself.
Helps me gather my thoughts. Every now and then I’ll find Russell out there, but mostly… it’s just Lily and me.”
Something about him alone among the flowers and quiet lodge in my chest. I can’t quite tell if it makes him seem more unreachable or more human.
“Oh.” The word slipped out before I could stop it. My palms dampen against my sweats, and I’m acutely aware of how terrible I am at small talk. “Um… why does no one else use it?”
He shrugs, eyes on the road. “No idea. Everyone’s busy these days. No one takes the time to just… live in the moment.”
His words hang between us, heavier than I expect. Then he glances over, and my stomach dips at the look in his eyes.
“Listen,” he begins, his voice careful, “about earlier—I’m sorry for calling you a trusila.”
My breath snags. He’s apologizing… to me?
A small, almost sheepish curve touches his mouth. “I’m hoping you’ll let me make it up to you.”
“Oh—I—I…” My words tangle into a knot. “You don’t have to do that. It was my fault.” Heat slithers up my neck, burning my cheeks. “And you weren’t wrong. I am a coward.”
His smile only broadens, as if my protest has entertained him. “Live a little. It’s my treat.” His eyes shift in my direction. “And no, you’re not a coward. You just need to trust your abilities a bit more.”
Live a little. Trust my abilities. Easy for him to say. For me, that means letting go, and I can’t afford to do that. Not when every second depends on my focus, on perfecting Odette and Odile, on finally being someone my mother can be proud of.
Then his eyes fixed on mine, steady and sure, and before I can stop myself, I say, “Okay. Your treat, then.”
His smile covers his entire face. “You’ll love this place. It’s my favorite café.” He turns the wheel onto a street I don’t recognize, one that doesn’t lead to my apartment.
A cold knot forms in my gut, anxiety spiking sharp and fast. Nik has this infuriating way of cracking me open like an egg, prying past defenses I don’t even know I have. The more I learn about him, the more I’m drawn in.
This isn’t me. It can’t be me. And yet, here I am sitting in this man’s car, heading toward a café.
When we finally arrive, one of the cutest cafés I’ve ever seen glows warmly against the evening.
Its sign reads Pot & Kettle, painted in cheerful script above wide windows that spills light onto the sidewalk.
Little round metal tables dot the front, each with its own mix-matched chairs, inviting strangers to linger.
To the right, where the street curves into more shops, a fountain whispers as water spills gently into its basin.
Then it registers. This is the same café Scarlett stopped at when she brought me here for my audition. The warm smell of coffee and cream clouds my memory, pulling me back to that day. I hope they have green tea or something I can drink without having to think too hard about it later.
“We’re here,” Nik announces, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Ready?”
I nod, though my stomach flutters nervously, and then follow him inside.
The café is washed in a cozy golden lowlight.
Chandeliers made of dangling teacups glimmer overhead, while picture frames of every shape and size crowd the walls.
Greenery twines around the wooden ceiling beams like vines reclaiming a secret place.
In one corner, a small bookshelf and cushioned reading nook beckons.
And in the center, a display of desserts tower on cake stands.
I know I’ll never let myself taste one. But the sight alone feels… magical.