Chapter 30
“Ow!” I hissed as a pin struck me in the side. I turned to the costumer, who looked at me unapologetically, a bunch of other pins held between her teeth. “That hurt!”
“Beauty is pain,” she said in a thick Russian accent that reminded me of the one Alek got whenever he was in a jealous mood—all angry that Raphael had to touch me while we danced. I guessed it was a good thing that he hadn’t been present for any of the balcony scene rehearsals.
Yet.
Because it was only a matter of time before Madame Germaine made Raphael and me actually rehearse the kiss. We’d gotten away with forehead touches up until this point, but she was insistent upon a true declaration of love for the show, which was less than three weeks away.
Alek was going to go ballistic.
“Beauty doesn’t have to be pain,” I muttered. Spa masks, bubble baths, a cute new shade of lip gloss. None of those were painful.
“It does when you are Juliet,” she snapped right back, stabbing me with another pin as she placed a bit of embellishment on the bodice. I resisted the urge to scowl back at her.
If you aren’t happy, don’t pretend to be.
Damn it. I did scowl. And it felt good.
A few minutes later, I was finally out of the costumer’s closet and in the theater. I could practically feel Alek’s nervous energy subside as I stepped into the stage lights. He hated going long without seeing me, which meant that our hours apart were basically torture for him.
I moved next to Raphael and waited for Madame Germaine’s orders, my eyes going out to the seats to find him.
I found him in the back of the audience, his body once again shrouded in shadows. I waved once before the sound of the cane on the floor snapped my attention back to the rehearsal.
People were scurrying about in half-finished costumes while sets were being placed, and a tech crew practiced the lights.
We were preparing for next week’s full dress rehearsal after our sitzprobe earlier this week, which was the rehearsal where we ran the show with the orchestra for the first time.
There were a few kinks to work out still—playing with a large group of live musicians was much different than our one accompanist, who feared Madame Germaine more than she feared God—but overall, it went pretty well.
Madame Germaine said I’d more than exceeded her expectations, probably because I spent most of my evenings in my house practicing as a way of avoiding Jules.
I’d broken my silence—it was almost impossible for us to go over a month without speaking to each other when we lived together—but not by much.
Our dinners were filled with stifled pauses and awkward conversation, and any attempts to bridge the gap on his end were met with a RBF Mia would be proud of.
Jules seemed to expect me to forgive him a lot sooner, but I was holding out.
He needed to learn that my crush on Alek was more than just a fleeting fancy that could be shoved aside with an order.
I loved Alek now more than ever, and I was determined to let my stubbornness win out over my brother’s.
“We will practice the balcony pas de deux,” Madame Germaine said. She gave Raphael and me a sharp look. “In full.”
I gulped. I knew what that meant, and judging by the stiffness in his posture, so did Raphael. The director expected us to kiss.
Raphael gave me a nervous look. To his credit, he didn’t want to kiss me as much as I didn’t want to kiss him. Neither of us was the other’s type. I wasn’t a male, and Raphael wasn’t Alek.
But I think the biggest reason for his hesitation was Alek.
Everyone knew of my boyfriend’s possessiveness.
Despite never showing his face in our rehearsals, he’d made it known with the flowers he gifted me before things all went wrong and the notes he still left me now, usually containing the words “mine” in some form.
Plus, I had a giant hickey on my neck from where he bit me yesterday.
Thankfully, Jules believed my lie about it being a curling iron burn from rehearsal. Maybe Elsie stood up for me, or maybe the makeup I threw on under my hoodie actually hid it. Considering the way Raphael’s eyes kept flashing to it, I doubted it was the latter.
“It’s okay,” I said softly, hoping that was true.
Raphael didn’t look convinced, but he went off to the side of the stage anyway as Madame Germaine ordered, “Begin.”
The orchestra began to tune up, and I took my first position.
The music was soft and slow—a stark contrast from the chaos I could hear backstage—as I began to dance alone as Juliet in her room.
My dress flowed with the rest of my limbs as I moved like water, flowing and shifting in time with the rise and fall of the music.
The director hummed as Raphael darted on and off the stage until he appeared in front of me, his arms outstretched as the music became even more emotional and romantic. I ran on pointed toes, enveloping him in a soft hug that made Mia roll her eyes at me backstage.
I pushed Raphael away, running away from him, pretending to be worried while he chased me. For a moment, I was reminded of Alek and me—of our circumstances forcing me to leave him while his obsession with me fueled him to find me.
It was Alek I thought of as Raphael and I came together and began our soft dance.
Alek who my heart swelled with love for while my body moved in a rhythm of romance.
The pas de deux was so much more than a simple loving dance.
It was an innate conversation between hearts and souls, the comfort of knowing and being known, the feeling of pleasure as two slowly began to move as one.
And maybe that was why the others gaped at me from behind the curtains while Raphael and I danced: because the whole time, I was thinking of the man I truly loved.
Alek.
The dance was filled with tender moments—pirouettes, arabesques, lifts. We moved with the sweeping music, portraying a story of young, budding love kept apart by tragedy.
Raphael’s fingers continued to find the hem of my dress, Romeo showing his longing for Juliet. And every time he picked me up into the air, his hands trailed down my body, fingers brushing against my lips.
I could feel Alek’s anger as I arched my back and reached for the sky, my face a perfect portrayal of a yearning woman. But it was Alek I was yearning for.
It was always him.
Still, I understood why his jealousy began to weigh down the air. Raphael and I were doing an incredible job of capturing the emotions in the dance. It would have been easy to believe we were truly in love. And I was in love.
Just not with Romeo.
By the end of the dance, Raphael kneeled to the floor.
My steps were light as I crossed the stage to him.
Raphael stood and grabbed my waist as I went up onto pointe.
And with my heart thundering in my ribcage, he cupped the back of my head and spun me in a close circle.
My hands fell against his jaw as Raphael pulled me in for a soft, open-mouthed kiss.
“STOP!” a voice boomed from the back of the theater.
My heart dropped.
The silhouette was standing now, stalking down the aisle with his fists clenched, walking like some dark god hell-bent on making every sinner suffer. And right now, the two biggest ones were sitting center stage for him, displayed like a feast.
I gulped as I took a step away from Raphael, muttering under my breath, “Rapha, if you want to live, go. Now.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the seriousness of my tone or the air of darkness hovering around Alek, but Raphael listened, running backstage before Madame Germaine could force him to come back.
“Yes?” Madame Germaine said, holding up her chin. But even she appeared to tremble under the weight of his aura.
Alek stepped halfway into the light. The muscles in his jaw were clenched, and his eyes were completely black. And maybe there was some part of me utterly ruined, because my core tightened with need at the feral expression in his eyes.
“Everyone. Out,” he growled lowly. The authority in his voice was enough to bring a wave of fresh goosebumps to my skin. His rage sounded barely controlled, an unhinged beast gnawing at the bars of its cage.
One wrong move, and it would break free.
The other dancers turned to Madame Germaine, who nodded before exiting the stage.
Maybe the director would have fought more if we hadn’t been nearing the end of rehearsal anyway.
We might have even gone a little late because of how long it took for me to deal with the costumer—who pinned me extra for complaining.
Soon, the theater was empty, and we were alone.
“Alek,” I whispered, my voice cracking in the middle. I could feel his anger from the front row. It both frightened and exhilarated me.
Alek ascended the staircase to the side of the stage, each step mimicking the echo in my heart.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
By the time he reached me, I was already a wet, quivering mess, my body aching to have him again. Twenty-four hours was too long.
I was tired of this—of this half-life without him.
I wanted a full relationship with Alek. A real one where I could bring him over to dinner without worrying about who would be the first to fire a gun.
I wanted to see him in the audience at all of my shows and go out to the club with him and Mia.
I wanted to go on normal dates outside of the Company, I wanted to wake up next to him each morning, and I wanted to fall asleep wrapped in his arms.
And one day, I wanted to marry him.
Alek gripped my chin and lifted my eyes to his. The darkness in his expression practically turned me into a puddle. Some sick part of me answered the sick part of him—and I liked it that way. I liked knowing we made each other better and worse.
Maybe Jules was right. Maybe I didn’t really know what love was like. But I couldn’t imagine it looking any different than this.
“When were you going to tell me you had to fucking kiss him?”
“I…” But I had no good answer.