22. Dancing with Disaster （And Other PR Nightmares）
22
DANCING WITH DISASTER (AND OTHER PR NIGHTMARES)
ARIANA
Seven o'clock finds me in Madame Rousseau's studio, going through the waltz steps alone while I wait for Connor. The late April rain creates ever-shifting patterns on the hardwood floor, like even the weather is practicing its choreography.
Like everything in my life lately, the simple move-step-glide that once felt impossible now comes naturally. Four weeks of lessons have changed more than just my footwork.
They've changed everything.
"Your frame is perfect."
I catch Connor's reflection in the mirror as he enters, suit jacket already off, sleeves rolled up in that way that makes it hard to concentrate.
"Liar." But I'm fighting a smile. "Pretty sure Madame would say I'm still too tense."
"Madame says everyone is too tense." He moves closer, and my pulse does a slow roll. “You have come a very long way from 'caffeinated penguin,’ to be fair.”
"One time. She called me that one time. "
"Three times, actually." His hands settle on my waist, turning me to face him. “Personally, I found it charming."
"You found my complete lack of grace charming?"
"I found your determination charming." His thumb traces circles on my hip. "Still do."
I should step back. Should remember why I asked him here. Should definitely not be noticing how good he smells or how his eyes darken when I sway closer.
"Connor..."
"Dance with me?"
I hesitate. "We should talk."
"After." He pulls me into frame. "One dance first."
And because I'm weak—because I want these last few moments before I ruin everything—I let him lead me into the waltz.
We move together like we've been doing this forever, like our bodies know a truth our minds haven't caught up to yet. His hand is warm on my back, his steps sure, his eyes never leaving mine.
"You're over-thinking right now,” he murmurs.
"So are you."
"What gave me away?"
"That little crease." I touch the spot between his brows. "The one that shows up when you're trying to solve a problem."
His smile is soft. "Maybe you're my favorite problem."
"Connor..." My voice cracks. "I need to tell you something."
"So tell me."
But I can't. Can't form the words that will destroy this. Can't bear to watch his expression change when he realizes I've been lying this whole time.
Can't risk losing the way he looks at me right now—like I'm something precious instead of something broken.
"Ariana?" He slows our movement. "What is it?"
My phone buzzes in my bag :
KAT: The countdown is on
KAT: The annulment window closes at midnight in a week
KAT: You have to tell him
"I—" The words stick in my throat. "I can't do this."
"Can't do what?"
"This." I step back, out of his arms. "Us. Everything."
His expression shutters. "Why?"
Because I love you. Because I'll ruin you. Because everyone I’ve ever thought I could rely on falls apart.
My relationship with Will. Dad. Even Mom.
Because losing someone isn't just about death. Sometimes, it's about watching them fade while you're still holding on.
Instead I say. “Because it's not professional. What we agreed on. Because the IPO?—"
"Don't." His voice hardens. "Don't hide behind work. Not with me."
"I'm not hiding."
"Aren't you?" He moves closer. "Because from where I'm standing, you've been running since Vegas. The question is... what are you running from?"
Everything. Nothing. Myself.
"I have to go." I grab my bag. "I'm sorry, I just... I have to go."
"Ariana—"
But I'm already running, his voice fading behind me as I flee into Seattle's rain.
I spend the next five hours walking the city, letting the rain soak through my clothes, trying to convince myself I'm doing the right thing.
My phone buzzes constantly:
LILY: Dad's trying to trademark "Bristol's Bodacious Blend"
LILY: Also maybe starting a YouTube channel?
LILY: Something about "protein-powered lifestyle inspiration"
Then :
KAT: The annulment papers are on your counter
KAT: You need to decide
KAT: Before it's too late
And finally:
CONNOR: You left your sweater
CONNOR: The blue one
CONNOR: The one you were wearing when you first learned to trust your partner
That last one breaks me.
My feet carry me back to the studio without conscious thought. It's nearly midnight now, the rain still falling, and I need... something. Answers. Peace. The ability to turn back time and never walk into that Vegas chapel.
The ability to stop loving someone knowing it’s just a matter of time before I lose them.
I let myself in with the key Madame gave me for "extra practice," and begin to dance. Alone this time. The way I've done everything since Mom died.
The way I’ve kept doing everything, because it's safer that way.
Because if you don't need anyone, no one can leave you.
"Your frame is still tense."
I whirl to find Madame Rousseau in the doorway, still in her performance costume.
"I thought you had a show tonight?"
"Finished early." She moves into the studio with that effortless grace I'll never master. "Though perhaps the better question is why my star pupil is practicing alone at midnight?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"Ah." She studies me in the mirror. "This would not have anything to do with why Monsieur Reeves left here looking like someone had stolen his favorite Porsche?”
"I did what I had to do. "
"Did you?" She adjusts my arm position. "Or did you do what was safe?"
"There's nothing safe about this situation."
"L'amour is never safe." She guides me through the steps. "That is what makes it worth the risk."
"I can't risk his company. His future. Everything he's built?—"
"And what about what you have built, mon cherie?” She stops our movement. “You think I haven’t picked up anything in these last four weeks. Mon Dieu, I swear…This wall around your heart? This idea that being strong means being alone?"
"I'm not alone." But the words sound hollow. "I have my family. My work."
"Ah yes, your work." She sighs. "Always fixing everyone else's problems. Never letting anyone fix yours."
"That's not?—"
"Tell me, when you first came here, could you dance?"
I look away. "You know I couldn't."
"But you learned." She taps my chin, making me meet her eyes. "Because someone believed in you. Someone caught you when you stumbled. Someone showed you that control is not the same as strength."
"This is different."
"Is it?" She raises one perfect eyebrow. "Or are you still that scared little girl, watching her maman slip away, believing that if she is perfect enough, strong enough, no one else will leave?"
Tears blur my vision. I shared that detail—about my mother Alzheimer’s—in confidence. "That's not fair, Celine.”
"Life is not fair, chérie." Madame's voice softens. "But that does not mean we stop dancing."
Dancing. Like the way Mom used to spin me around our kitchen, back when she still remembered my name. Back when she could still follow the steps of a simple two-step without getting confused, without that lost look creeping into her eyes.
"I used to dance with her," I whisper, not meaning to say it aloud. "Near the end, when she'd get agitated. It was the only thing that still made sense to her sometimes."
"And now?" Madame asks gently.
"Now I count steps. Track movements. Fix things for everyone because..." My voice breaks. "Because someone has to. Someone has to remember. Someone has to stay strong. Someone has to?—"
"Stay?" She touches my cheek. "Or perhaps... someone needs to learn that staying does not always mean leaving first?"
My phone buzzes again:
CONNOR: I know you're running
CONNOR: I just wish you'd tell me what you're running from
CONNOR: Because I'm right here
CONNOR: Ready to catch you
"Go home, ma chérie." Madame squeezes my hand. "Before you forget the most important lesson of dance."
"What's that?"
"That sometimes..." She smiles sadly. "Sometimes the bravest thing is not letting go, but holding on."
I leave the studio, Seattle's rain mixing with my tears as I walk home. Because she's right.
I've spent my whole life being strong for everyone else. Being the support system, the fixer, the one who never needs help.
But maybe that's the biggest lie of all.
The annulment papers sit on my kitchen counter exactly where Kat left them, stark white against dark marble, waiting for signatures that will make this all go away.
That will make him go away.
I stare at the phone screen—at Connor’s words—until they start to blur, until my chest aches with everything I've been trying not to feel.
I look at the annulment papers again, at the neat line waiting for my signature, at the chance to make everything simple again.
Safe again.
Empty again.
And suddenly, I know exactly what I have to do.
Even if it breaks both our hearts in the process.