8. February 2024
8
February 2024
V aughn stopped by the theatre in the morning to ensure his brother understood the terms of the contract and his own expectations.
‘Would you relax,’ Antonio said, shrugging on his hi-vis vest. ‘Your part is done. Now you hand the reins to me.’
Letting go was not normally an issue for Vaughn. The two brothers had different strengths and roles within the family and businesses, and they each left the other alone to do their part their way. But this project was different. A certain dancer had Vaughn personally invested in the project. ‘I don’t want any mistakes. Understand?’
Antonio picked up his hard hat and dropped it onto his head. The look on his face was a combination of confused, annoyed, and amused. ‘Would you like me to show up at your bar later and coach you on how to do your job?’
‘I dare you to try.’
Antonio shook his head, the beginnings of a smile on his face. ‘What are you even doing here?’
Vaughn raised the folder he was holding. ‘I’m just dropping off some paperwork.’
Antonio gave him a doubtful look. ‘And seeing what subcontractors are on site?’
Vaughn looked over at the false wall that had already been erected in front of the bar. ‘The pop-up bar needs to be ready to go before opening?—’
‘Everything will be done as per the overly specific schedule,’ Antonio said, clapping him on the arm and turning him away. ‘Now can you piss off?’
Vaughn pushed his hand away. ‘ To the highest standard .’
‘Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first twelve times.’ He shook his head before turning back to his work.
Vaughn looked up at the ceiling, and the memory of people screaming as debris rained down on them had him pressing his eyes closed. Sometimes he could still smell the polyester insulation and feel the plaster dust in his nose and throat. The same dust that had covered every inch of those children.
Shaking off the memory, he caught the lift to the first floor to deliver the paperwork to Nigel, but the director was out, so he left the documents with the receptionist. As he was heading back to the lift, he glimpsed Willow through an open door. She was alone in one of the dance studios, eyes fixed on the mirror as she rose and fell on pointe. He stopped involuntarily, gaze moving down her black leotard all the way to her ankles, which were covered in sports tape, a testament to how hard she was pushing herself. He was an intruder in that moment but found himself unable to walk on. Instead, he entered the studio and leaned against the wall, waiting for her to notice him. It took her a moment to register that it was him. Their eyes met in the mirror, and her heels instantly dropped to the floor.
‘Mr Gallo,’ she said, turning to face him.
‘Miss Hayes.’
She attempted to brush the loose strands of hair back from her face, but the sweat on her skin made it difficult. Her hair was bundled atop her head, her skin flushed from hard work. She really was breathtaking in any state.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘I had to drop something off to Nigel.’ His eyes moved over her face. ‘It’s only midmorning and you’ve already exhausted yourself.’
Willow bent and picked up a towel off the floor. ‘I’ll recover in time for rehearsals.’ She took a moment to wipe off, watching him cautiously as she did so. ‘Did you hear we’re doing Giselle next season?’
‘I did.’ Nigel had been sure to mention that. ‘Have any casting decisions been made yet?’
‘Not officially.’ She wandered closer.
‘What about unofficially?’
She glanced at the door before speaking. ‘Harrison’s considering Lili for the role of Myrtha.’ The genuine excitement for her friend was visible on her face.
‘That’s great news. What about you? What role will you have?’
Angling her head, she gave him a perplexed look. ‘I’ll be in the ensemble, of course.’
Vaughn pushed off the wall and took a few steps towards her. ‘You’re too talented to be stuck in the chorus for another season. Surely you know that.’
She smiled and shook her head at his words. ‘Not everyone is cut out to be a star.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘It comes with a lot of pressure?—’
‘You can learn to manage the pressure as you work towards a principal role.’
‘A principal role?’ A laugh escaped her. ‘I’m too heavy for the lifts.’
What on earth was she talking about? He barely knew how to respond to such an insane statement. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’
Her smile faded, and she leaned on one foot. ‘I realise how crazy that sounds to a non-dancer, but the smallest amount of weight can have such a big impact.’
‘You think you’re too heavy?’ He had to check he was hearing her correctly.
‘Only as a ballet dancer,’ she clarified. ‘Obviously, outside this setting I’d be?—’
‘You’re perfect in any setting.’ His tone left no room for argument.
She exhaled softly. ‘I’m an ensemble girl—and that’s fine. It’s more than I ever thought I’d be.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘There’s no resentment. I feel only gratitude.’
He allowed his gaze to drift down her body once more, lingering on the soft curve of her waist before returning to her face. Her cheeks coloured under the scrutiny, but she didn’t look away.
‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, ‘you would be perfect as Giselle.’
A slow smile took over her entire face. ‘That might be the best compliment I’ve ever received.’
Someone walked by the door, and they both looked in that direction. It was time for him to go.
‘This delusion of yours, that you’re too heavy,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘Did Mr Walsh tell you that?’ Call it a hunch .
She shifted her weight again. ‘It’s his job to make decisions in the best interest of the company. It’s not personal. It’s honest.’
It reeked of being personal. There was clearly some other factor at play, because Willow had exactly what it took to succeed. ‘I could lift you with one hand.’
Her forehead creased, and the corners of her lips tugged upwards. ‘Said with an awful lot of confidence for a businessman with no dance training. At least that I’m aware of.’
He didn’t need dance experience to know that he would never let her fall.
Her eyes remained locked with his, and the doubt in them began to morph into curiosity. For one charged moment, neither of them spoke, and a strange energy settled between them.
‘Mr Gallo?—’
‘You can call me Vaughn.’
She nodded and looked around the studio. ‘One-handed you say?’
‘That’s what I said.’
The world outside the door seemed further away the longer the two of them stood there. Seconds ticked by. Time slowed down, allowing him to savour the unadulterated connection.
Willow was first to look away. Her hands went to her hips, and she turned in a circle before looking back at him. ‘Prove it.’
He barely had time to register her words before she ran towards him, calling his bluff. She was clearly waiting for him to hold up a hand, step out the way, or at the very least tell her to stop . But he didn’t do or say any of those things. When she was close, she launched herself into the air. The blind trust was concerning. It was reckless, but he did catch her—effortlessly.
With one hand .
His outside fingers wrapped her waist, the middle three cradling her lower ribs. He lifted her straight up and held her there. At first she looked a little taken aback, but then when she realised he wasn’t going to drop her, she stretched out her arms and legs like an eagle mid-flight. Smiling, she closed her eyes. He watched her face as she was suspended there, felt her relax into the pose.
When she eventually looked down at him again, her smile vanished. Something in his expression had unsettled her. He was not smiling. She had forced him to cross a line he hadn’t been ready or willing to cross.
He had never touched her.
Vaughn had been very deliberate in never shaking her hand or even standing too close. Distance was his best weapon against her. He could enjoy the warmth of the fire without being burned. But now he held the full weight of her in his hand, touching places he was never supposed to touch. His palm greedily siphoned heat from her body.
Reading his expression, Willow took hold of his arm and lowered her legs, the toes of her ballet shoes brushing his thigh as he brought her face closer to his. She smelled like green apple and watermelon.
She swallowed.
Every muscle in his arm was working as he held her there. Willow’s lips parted, barely, and that tiny movement had him returning her to the ground and taking a step back, putting some necessary distance between them. Her hands returned to her sides. The air in the room seemed thicker suddenly, that fruity scent suffocating him. Or maybe that was the guilt. After all, he had no right to touch her like that, to forget himself in her presence. She was never to be touched by a man like him.
‘I should go,’ he said, irritation in his voice.
‘Mr Gallo.’
He was already walking towards the door.
‘Vaughn.’
That stopped him in his tracks. The familiarity, which he had insisted on.
He looked back at her. ‘What?’ Her face fell at his sharp tone. That was the exact kind of thing he had been trying to avoid.
She took a brave step towards him. ‘What’s the matter?’
He looked her straight in the eye and said, ‘Don’t ever do that again.’
She shook her head, visibly confused. ‘Do what?’
‘Let me touch you.’ The words came out low, like a warning.
Her hand went to her stomach, to the exact spot his hand had been moments earlier. ‘It was just a lift…’ Her voice faltered as she said it, because it was a lie.
Vaughn walked out of the studio, closing the door behind him as an extra precaution. The problem with crossing that line was that he could no longer deny his attraction. He could no longer dismiss it or squash it down into something small and insignificant. A flame had ignited inside him, and now he feared it would consume everything in its path.
As he entered the lift, he looked down at the palm of his hand, expecting to see physical marks left by her—but only the heat remained. He shoved his hand into his trouser pocket, looking up as the lift doors closed.
The last thing he saw was Willow standing in the hallway watching him.