19. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
ANDREA
“That is not fourth position, Anna. Look around at your classmates for context clues.” My tone is sharp as I’ve learned it’s the only one the kids respond to in class. I tend to be the more lenient instructor and try not to be a pushover, but their sweet faces make it difficult sometimes.
Tonight, I’ll be attending a foundation dinner with Julian, so my anxiety has turned me a little high-strung this morning.
The event is being held at The Glasshouse and will be loaded with tons of sponsors and investors.
I'd be lying if I said I’m anything but nervous.
I’m afraid I won’t be who Julian needs me to be tonight or that I won’t fit in and become the laughingstock.
I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be exactly—as the woman on the arm of Julian Havord. I want to make him look good, so I may have stayed up all night and researched the Bonavich Foundation. They provide grants for nonprofits that assist with promoting health and education.
Julian has a lot of connections, that much I can see. From my research, I can tell he’s a highly respected artist, but I know that’s not the problem. He wants to be more—to leave marks all over the world.
“Show me fifth,” I state, forcing myself to snap back into the present. My little ones do as they’re told. “Wonderful,” I praise. “Now a plier. . .beautiful, ladies.”
I run through the stances with them, giving them time to settle into each position—some are more awkward than others.
One by one, I adjust their positions without a word before calling out what I would like to see next.
Afterward, we go through their routines for the showcase.
As a group, they unsurprisingly voted on using the Frozen theme song.
I look forward to no longer having to listen to it fifty times a day.
What I’ll never tire of, however, is them singing it at the top of their lungs, which I usually let them do at the beginning of rehearsal to get it out of their system.
Once I’m finished with class, the girls take off running to the changing room, eager to see their parents again. We have a few guardians who like to stay and monitor. I was surprised to find that most were lenient and went on about their days before returning at the end of practice.
My next class is ballet VI, which is for eleven to fourteen-year-olds.
As I’m headed back to my office to return the Frozen CD to its designated spot in the bottom drawer of my desk, I see Sybil as she enters the building.
Her dark hair is up in a smooth bun, and she’s dressed for class already—unlike most, she likes to start practice as soon as she can.
When she sees me, she immediately freezes, our eyes locking.
Her eyes are red and splotchy like she’s been crying.
Not a minute later, Thea, Agnes, and Clara walk into the building—snickering at the back of Sybil’s head.
My nostrils flare in anger, but I poise myself and dip my chin subtly toward my office. Sybil follows the movement and the moment she enters; I step inside and close the door softly behind us.
“Take a seat, Sibby.” Instead of sitting behind my desk, I sit in one of the two sage green chairs in front of it. Sybil takes the other .
“Am I in trouble?” She looks at me with big watery eyes and it stomps on my heart.
Quickly, I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. It’s. . .” I pause, softening my features. “I’ve noticed some tension between you and some of the other girls in class. Is there anything you would like to share with me?”
She stares down at her shoes. “No,” she says, her voice small.
“You can be honest with me,” I say gently. She remains silent, so I try a different route. “How about I tell you what I think is going on and you can tell me if I’m right?”
She snorts but nods. Even though she still won’t look at me, I know I’m getting somewhere.
“Are the other girls picking on you in class?” I ask.
Her eyes dart to mine, giving me a sideways look before quickly finding a place back on the floor.
I suppose that’s a yes, though I didn’t exactly need the confirmation.
Now that it seems to be getting worse, anyone with two eyes can see what’s going on, but the important thing is to gain trust here.
Sybil is driven. It’s what will always make her better than those who rely solely on their talent.
The sad part is that this is where it begins, and it only gets harder the better you become. I need her to understand this and learn to let it all fade into the background noise now before it swallows her whole.
I have to brace myself for my next question because it's our policy to ask. “Are they hurting you with more than words?”
She looks up at me now, brows drawn as she thinks. With a slight shake of her head she says, “It’s only words, but they still hurt.”
I nod, understanding. I will have to speak with Nadya, the school’s director to see what can be done about the other girls. Bullying will not be tolerated, but we understand that certain matters need to be handled with care. Such a situation as this can easily turn severe if acted on incorrectly.
Sybil should feel safe here—it’s where she belongs. Every instructor in this school knew it from the moment she stepped onto the floor for the first time at age seven.
It’s the exact reason why I lean forward, lowering my voice as if I’m about to tell her a secret. “Can I tell you something off the record?”
She starts to smile. “Like my friend?”
I laugh, nodding. “Yes, exactly like your friend.”
Her smile breaks free, and she nods eagerly.
“You are going to be exceptional someday, Sibby.” I mean every word I say with my entire heart. “And when that day comes—the day your mountains begin to move—and you look back at how far you’ve come, I want you to remember something.”
She listens closely, her eyes wide.
“I want you to remember that the words that others spoke did not matter—that you’re remarkable because no one but you moved those mountains.” I reach over and touch the top of her head gently. “Shut off your mind,” I state and then tap my finger on her chest. “Feel only with this.”
There’s a hopeful look in her eyes as she asks, “And the world will see it too?”
“More than that,” I say. “The world will feel it with you.”
I STARE DOWN AT the Amex black card sitting next to the note Julian left me.
The man is freely handing over his credit card for me to use.
A thrill shoots down my spine, excitement shouting in my bones.
I’m totally about to have a Pretty Woman moment—minus the prostitute bit.
Though, I don’t think the situation is all that far off.
Needing reinforcements, I grab my cell phone and call Maisie.
It’s forty minutes later when she arrives at the building, and I meet her in the lobby.
She offered to take her car with her personal driver since we both despise city driving.
To avoid being noticed, she’s wearing a white baseball cap and sunglasses to shield her face—her hair blue from a movie she’s filming.
She’s also wearing faded black jeans with a green long-sleeve scoop-neck shirt and white sneakers.
After staring at Julian’s card like the holy grail for a total of eight minutes, she directs her driver—and bodyguard—Caesar, to take us to Fifth Avenue.
He’s a burly bald man with the sharpness of a bobcat.
He’s in his late fifties, divorced, and childless.
I’ve barely ever heard him speak a word.
The most I get out of him is a grunt or a polite nod.
Maisie says he’s shy but when they’re alone, he talks her ears off.
I think she may have been lying though based on the look he gave when she purposely said it loudly enough for him to hear.
“So, he really just. . .gave that to you?” she asks again, eyeing me curiously. “You didn’t have to steal it?”
I roll my eyes with a dramatic huff. “For the third time, yes, he gave it to me. If I stole it, I’d never get away with it. I’d be covered in hives.”
She hums, nodding. “That’s true.” A slow smile spreads across her face.
“Ew. What?”
Her mouth falls open on a laugh that’s also half a scoff. “Did you just call my smile ew?”
I raise my chin. “Yes, because it’s suspicious and I don’t trust it.”
“I’m not the one in denial,” she states and then looks out the window. “You want to know what’s ew? This traffic.” She glances at the rearview mirror, attempting to make eye contact with her bodyguard. “Right, Caesar?”
His answer is a grunt—shocker.
I fix my necklace that’s hidden itself beneath the collar of my fuchsia pink sweater. “In denial about what?”
“Your boyfriend .”
“ Fake boyfriend,” I correct. I knew I shouldn’t have told her, but the truth is I needed her to know. It’s too big a secret to hold in and Maisie has a way of forcing me to crumble. I’m not sure I’ve ever successfully lied to her before.
“Exactly!”
I blow out a raspberry. “No.”
Her lips purse, eyes narrowing. “No, what? ”
“That’s all—just no.”
“Whatever you say,” she sings as we finally arrive at our destination.
I pull my phone out of my purse to check the time but see a text from my mom instead.
We looked up your lover online. Your sister was right. What a catch, my love! The message follows three flames and a winking emoji.
I stare at the screen in distaste. Please don’t call him that. Boyfriend is fine. . .
Her response is immediate. Your father and I can’t wait to meet him. So happy you decided to come home this year. She then sends way too many hearts, and I make a mental note to talk to Willa about teaching her how to use an emoji appropriately.
The moment the car is put in park, Maisie is pulling me out of the car. She refuses to let Caesar open the door for her and it annoys the hell out of him.
He grumpily trails behind us. He’s not dressed in his usual formal attire. Today, he’s going for “normal”. It helps keep eyes off us so we can shop in peace.
After an hour of shopping, every price tag I look at drives me closer to a heart attack.
I was originally excited to go shopping—something I haven’t had the luxury to do in a long time, but this kind of shopping is a lot to take in.
He never gave me a limit so I’m not sure what’s too expensive for someone like him.
“There’s nothing here under a thousand dollars,” I whisper-yell to Maisie who’s doing some shopping of her own. We’ve been to three different stores. She has four bags, and I have zero.
“You’re overthinking it,” she says simply like I’m the problem and not the prices. It’s outrageous really and most of them barely cover any skin .
Fed up with my hesitation, she walks over to me with a few dresses slung over her arm and starts to push me deeper into the store.
“Unhand me.” I shoo her away from me, but she’s relentless. Eventually, attention is drawn to us when my boots squeak against the floor as we both push against each other.
“Go,” she wheezes, continuing to push. “ That way .”
I stand my ground, forcing my body to go limp and heavy. I’m not as Pretty Woman as I thought I’d be. “I will stand here all day.”
“Are you ladies doing all right over here?”
We both immediately freeze and look over to find a worker watching us with concern-filled eyes.
“I’m being kidnapped,” I state.
Maisie releases me and smacks my shoulder. “Rude.”
The man’s eyes give me a once over, the concern gone. Then he notices the dresses in Maisie’s arms. “Would you like a dressing room?”
“Yes, she would,” Maisie tells him, but she’s looking at me. It’s then that I realize the dresses she picked out are for me, not her.
She gives me one last shove when the worker turns his back to us. I glare at her over my shoulder as we follow him, and she beams at me for winning this round.
I reluctantly try on the dresses and step out one by one to get Maisie’s opinion.
So far, her responses have been, “ech”, “blah”, “blech” and my personal favorite, “hell no”.
She even tried to rope Caesar in, but his focus remained on the magazine he was reading.
I’ve secretly liked them all, but I trust her input and fashion sense more than mine.
I start to have fun, and the price tags fall to the back of my mind. We’re both laughing and drinking champagne.
“I’ve never felt so fancy in my life,” I say to Maisie through the curtain of the dressing room.
I’m trying on the last dress in the pile.
It’s an Alex Perry design, and it’s absolutely stunning.
It’s an emerald, green one-shoulder gown with a twist detail that creates a ruching that fits my silhouette to perfection.
"What’s taking so long?” Maisie complains before yanking the curtain open.
I gasp. “Maze, what if I was naked?”
An accomplished smile turns the corners of her mouth upward. “Holy shit, babe. Saving the best for last, were you?” she asks, and I go back to looking at myself in the mirror. I rotate, eyeing the slit in the back of the dress. She blows out a breath. “Now that is elegance .”
I look over at her. “Yeah?”
“This one’s a hell yeah. Hope you’re ready to go camping after Julian sees you in this dress.”
My face twists in disgust, but I find myself holding back a laugh. “Maisie, don’t be gross.”
She chuckles. “I’m being serious.”
“That’s the unfortunate part.” Checking the tag, my eye’s bug. “It’s three thousand dollars.”
“If you don’t get it, I will.”
I take a step back covering the dress protectively. “No, it’s mine.”
She snorts. “Fuck yes, it is.”