Chapter Eleven
The two places where I felt most at home were on the ice and in front of a mirror in a dance studio. Today, though, my studio
was way less hospitable than usual thanks to the camera crouched in the corner and mic wires tucked into my leotard.
And Ben getting ready to watch my every move, notepad in hand.
And my teacher Justin’s focus on the trespasser and not his student.
We were supposed to start fifteen minutes ago but Justin couldn’t stop fawning over Ben. Everyone was set up and ready, with
Neil on the camera and Hailey poised to do whatever her job was—so far it had involved feeling me up so she could get the
mic attached to my thin leotard—yet Ben was still fielding eager questions from Justin.
“I swear, that waltz you and Violetta did on Dancing with the Stars was revolutionary,” he said. “I think it rewired my brain.”
Ben threw his head back and laughed at Justin’s hyperbole. “Why, thank you. We had fun with that one.”
“Seems like you two had a lot of fun,” Justin answered, wiggling his eyebrows. “Was that a showmance, or . . .”
“A gentleman never tells,” Ben said with a wink that did all the telling for him.
I’d seen a second or two of videos from the show that I couldn’t swipe away fast enough and heard all sorts of commentary
about their partnership as I scrolled, but I never paused to watch any footage of them. At least not for more than a few seconds,
and yes, the little that I saw proved that he was fucking phenomenal, and that there was real heat between Ben and his smoke
show Russian partner.
But who didn’t Ben have chemistry with?
“You looked so smooth, but that was some complicated choreo,” Justin said.
“You think?” Ben frowned at him. “You could totally do it. Let me show you.”
He reached out his hand and my lanky, six foot four, redheaded dance teacher went concave, like Ben had shot a lightning bolt
at his chest.
“Seriously? The show was like three years ago. You still remember it?”
“Every second is etched in my brain,” Ben answered, tapping the side of his head. “Put me in front of the judges and I’ll
score another perfect thirty right now, even without practicing.”
I couldn’t frown any harder at him.
“C’mon, let’s do it,” Ben continued. “Can someone play ‘Love Story’ by Indila? If not I can count it out.”
Of course he could count it like a dance teacher. Ben could do everything.
He was still standing in the center of the studio with his arm outstretched, in perfect dance posture.
The familiar one-two-three waltz rhythm filled the room, probably thanks to Hailey, and even though I was a few seconds away from getting pissed off at the time wasting, I sort of wanted to see what the two of them could do together.
“You don’t mind a quick detour?” Ben asked me.
I shook my head. I was an excellent fibber.
Justin stepped over to him and took his hand tentatively.
“I’m leading,” Ben joked.
Justin had about two inches on him, but he somehow managed to compress his body enough to look like a convincing follower
as they began moving together. It was a fast Viennese waltz with a woman singing in French over dreamy piano and strings.
I half expected the two of them to ham it up as they danced, but Ben was deadly serious, staring at Justin with the same intensity
he’d had when he danced with Violetta.
It might’ve been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. Ben had chemistry with everyone.
The pilot light in my heart flickered on yet again, and it wasn’t just because the song moved me. I was awestruck that sporty-guys’-guy
Ben had zero qualms about gracefully spinning Justin across the floor. They moved perfectly in sync, Justin thanks to his
years and years of training, and Ben because he seemed to have a natural gift for movement and the muscle memory to recall
the choreography.
Unlike Justin in his black tank top, dance pants, and bare feet, Ben wasn’t dressed to move. His button-down shirt, jeans,
and dress sneakers should’ve handicapped him a little, or at least left him squeaking his way across the floor, but Ben still
glided like he was on skates.
He made it impossible to look anywhere but at him.
I glanced over to Neil and Hailey and they were equally mesmerized by the show. Justin was a trained ex-Broadway dancer, so it was no surprise that he could fake his way through it, but Ben was obviously a good enough leader that they even nailed all the little flourishes.
I swear I caught Justin’s fair skin going pink every time he whipped his head from the awkward side-angle dance position to
gaze at Ben. Ben beamed back at him.
They finished and they bowed in tandem. We applauded so long that they both took a second bow.
“Holy shit,” Neil called out. “That was insane, you guys. Glad I turned the camera on.”
Justin hugged Ben quickly. “Oh my god, that was so fun. Thank you!” He turned to me. “You need a turn with this one next. He’s amazing.”
The thought of Ben’s hands on my body, expertly leading me through choreography, was enough to make me hold my breath for
a moment. I definitely hadn’t agreed to touching him.
Thankfully, I had an ally on my side. I pointed to the clock mounted above the mirrors. “We need to watch the time.”
“Aw, crap, sorry.” Ben’s forehead furrowed. “We’ll disappear into the background now and leave you to it.”
The lesson went well despite the unblinking eye in the corner recording my every move, along with Ben taking notes. But dance
was my safe space, my original obsession before I ever touched a skate. Ballet, jazz, tap, ballroom . . . my skating foundation
was strong thanks to everything I’d learned on a parquet floor as a child.
It felt like Justin worked me harder than normal, partly because February was speeding toward us and probably also because he wanted to impress Ben.
We ran through a ballet warm-up, then some free-movement exercises, a couple of dry-land run-throughs of both my performance pieces, and then we finished with some new hip-hop choreography, just for fun.
I’d never danced better, and by the time I finished I was a sweaty mess.
And now I was going to have to be on camera. Perfect. I wasn’t my mother’s daughter in that respect, because I never even
considered asking to do the interview before I sweated my face off.
“Do you have another class right after or can we stay in here for a bit, just to finish up with a couple of quick interviews?”
Ben asked Justin. “First you, then Quinn. No problem if not. We can find another space.”
“We’re good for the next hour,” Justin answered. “And I would be honored to say nice things about Miss Albright on the record.”
“Fantastic, appreciate it. Hey Quinn, do you mind stepping out for a few minutes? It’s a more candid conversation when the
subject isn’t watching.”
I was grateful for the chance to do a quick touch-up in the bathroom while they chatted. I wasn’t concerned about what Justin
would say about me because we were each other’s biggest fans. I didn’t love not getting to watch Ben in action before sitting down with him for our first official interview.
I was used to quick blot-and-brush primp sessions thanks to the interviews that usually happened right after finishing a performance.
My sweaty hair was fine in a topknot, and a little mascara and lipstick made me look human again. I threw my fuzzy white shrug
over my gray leotard since the sweat wasn’t drying fast enough.
Hailey walked into the bathroom. “They’re ready if you are.”
I turned around to face her. “Do I look okay?”
I was surprised that I even cared, but the specter of my mom would always haunt me, especially with a trip home on the horizon.
Plus, I knew she’d scrutinize every second of the show to find negatives to point out to me and anyone else who’d listen—always disguised as concern, of course.
If I looked too pale, she “worried” about me getting sick.
If my smile was anything less than neon white, she scolded me about the negative health effects of drinking too much coffee.
“Gorgeous, as usual.” Hailey smiled at me. “Let’s go.”
“This’ll be quick,” Ben explained to me as I walked into the studio. “It’s supplemental.”
“Okay,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure what he meant.
Hailey tested my mic again, and we were off.
“We’re not doing an intro or anything since this’ll be slotted into the piece,” Ben continued.
I nodded and actually watched the switch happen in Ben as we waited for Neil to get into position with the camera. His incandescence
got even more vibrant, like someone turned up his brightness setting. Ben marked the beginning of the interview to camera,
then focused on me.
“Let’s talk about your dance background, because what I just saw out there was next level,” Ben said.
His opener was gift-wrapped with a bow, his way of proving that he was going to abide by our agreement. Ben knew exactly how
and why I’d gotten into dance, or at least he had four years ago.
He could’ve said something like, “Your mom was your first dance instructor, correct?” It would’ve made for a better story,
and teed up the home-visit portion of the show. Instead, he left it up to me.
“I’ve always loved dance,” I began tentatively. “Since I was really young. You could say it’s in my genes.”
I assumed that I had some hereditary skills thanks to my mom, plus the years watching her teach classes from my pack and play probably helped with my timing and rhythm.
When I heard certain old songs I was instantly brought back to that big mirrored room that had been my second home.
I could almost smell the place, and hear the wood floor creaking beneath dozens of feet.
I’d accidentally given him a thread to unravel by mentioning genetics though.
“So you took classes as a child.” Ben nodded at me in a way that made me feel like I was already doing a good job. “What age
did you start?”
“As soon as I learned to walk, basically,” I laughed. “My baby shoes had taps on them.”
I realized that I had to come out and talk about it, high level. I knew she’d bring it up, and it would look weird if I didn’t
corroborate it.
“My mom is a dance teacher,” I explained. “I lived my dance lessons every day.”
His mouth went tight when I admitted it, but I noticed that Neil wasn’t swinging the camera around to capture Ben’s expressions.
He didn’t have to disguise his knee-jerk negative reaction to me talking about her.
“Do you have a favorite style of dance?” Ben asked. “Because I’m guessing that you’re good at everything.”
I wanted to hug him for the blatant pivot. Ben was already working hard to help me feel safe, so even though it was risky,
I relaxed a little.
I wasn’t about to let my guard all the way down, but I decided that it would be okay to crack the window for Ben.