Pointe of Pride

Chapter 21

The joint bachelor-bachelorette party was relatively tame until Izzy suggested they play Twister. By that point, they were all several drinks in, buzzed enough to think it was a great idea.

It was not a great idea.

For one thing, all the dancers in the room—which was everyone except Izzy, if you included former dancers—were extremely flexible and strong. For another, they were all very competitive. Finally, the prize for successfully getting your hand or foot on your assigned circle was to take a shot. Which was how Carly ended up in a one-legged downward dog, with Alice folded in half next to her with one hand and both feet all on red, as Heather tried to do a tequila shot while holding a one-armed plank.

Izzy, the evil genius, didn’t even play. She just spun the wheel and watched them make absolute drunken fools of themselves.

Eventually, Heather declared that everyone whose body was still their livelihood had to stop playing. “I don’t want my wedding to become a mass retirement event,” she exclaimed, after she’d fallen over, almost taking Carly with her.

“Former dancers, you’re up!” Alice called, shuffling unsteadily over to Marcus and pushing him toward the mat.

“That means you, too, Nick,” Izzy called. Nick, who had given up taking photos of the party about an hour ago, was by the drinks station in the kitchen. Between this morning’s surf with Marcus and the drinks, his cheeks were flushed an endearing pink, and his hair, which had started the evening in immaculate order, was starting to look worse for wear. Carly’s fingers itched to run through it, to mess it up further. To watch his eyes drift closed in desperate pleasure as she tugged gently at the roots, guiding his mouth to where she needed it most.

“Nick, come on!” Heather called from the floor, pulling Carly up short before she drifted too far into fantasy. Neither of them was going to be sober enough to do any of that tonight. For a moment, Nick looked like he was going to refuse Heather—but before she could play the bride card, he poured himself another shot and threw it back, and when they had all finished applauding, he took his place next to Marcus.

Carly threw herself onto the couch and grinned as she watched the two men drunkenly move around the board, talking affectionate trash to each other. When she’d first met Nick, she hadn’t believed him capable of joking around like this, but as much as she hated to admit it, she’d been wrong. When Nick was around people he knew and trusted—or, okay, when he’d had several tequila shots—he was loose and laughed easily. He cracked jokes. Sometimes at her expense, but she gave as good as she got.

She thought about the day they’d met three weeks ago, and how she’d shown him the absolute worst of herself from the very first second. The parts of herself she wished away and was working on. All her rage, all her bitterness. God, she’d been a mess in front of him from the moment her cart had run him over. She’d been desperate for help and desperate not to ask for it, and he’d helped her all the same. If she got promoted next month, it would be in no small part because of this man who’d seen all the ugliest parts of her and managed to produce some of the most beautiful images of her.

And when he looked at her … She remembered the warm light in his eyes as he watched her answer Ivy’s questions this morning. He’d looked at her like he believed she could do anything she wanted, and when he was looking at her like that, his ocean-blue eyes full of confidence and admiration, she believed she could, too. Maybe that was why it had felt so easy to be her best self in front of Ivy—because she’d already been her worst in front of Nick. He’d seen her explode with fury and heard her snark, and he’d sat patiently as she’d explained all the reasons she was broken and not enough for him. And then he’d told her he wasn’t afraid of her. Not afraid of the bitterness, or the brokenness. He wanted whatever she could give him, and she wanted—

Fuck, she wanted him. Not just the sex, although being with him felt like falling in love with her own body after years of fighting with it. Like finding a freedom in her muscles and ligaments that she’d once thought possible only when she was dancing. Nick made her body feel like a gift to be treasured despite its brokenness, when all this time she’d tolerated it while wishing it could be different, better. Normal.

But she wanted more than the sex, she realized with horror as he and Marcus maneuvered their bodies awkwardly on the living room floor. She wanted the feeling of kissing him on that lookout beside the waterfall, the sense that they were the only two people in a world full of beauty and danger and possibility. She wanted this, right now. To watch him drunk and goofy enough to forget his starchiness and his perfect posture, messing around with his friends. Their friends.

She tore her eyes away from the Twister mat, where both men were laughing so hard they could barely hold themselves up, and looked around the room. Everyone else was watching the game. Izzy sat on the floor with Alice sprawled half on top of her, Izzy’s hand sifting through her hair. On the other end of the couch, Heather was watching Marcus as though she couldn’t believe how lucky she was that starting Saturday afternoon, he’d be hers forever. They were all partnered up, all moving on with their lives. Heather’s next great adventure was about begin. Marcus was making the most of retirement, and a few years from now he’d be a PT, helping dancers heal and get back on stage. Nick had photography. Alice had years of dancing ahead of her and a girlfriend who adored her. And Carly …

Carly was thinking about how much she wanted something she couldn’t have. A few days from now, the wedding would be over and she’d be flying back to New York. She needed to go back to New York.

She would go, because she deserved that promotion. She’d danced her heart out for over a decade, watching as women who’d danced alongside her in the corps became soloists, taking their bows alone at the front of the stage while she stood behind them in a long line of corps dancers, faceless and forgettable. Thirteen years of conforming. Thirteen years of being told her job was to dance like everyone else so that the audience would see her but wouldn’t notice her. Thirteen years of feeling replaceable. If Heather hadn’t intervened when Mr. K tried to fire her, she would have vanished from NYB, never to be seen on the Lincoln Center stage again. Some other dancer would have slipped into her peasant maiden costume, and no one out in the theater would even know the difference. Carly had paid her dues, with interest. She had earned this promotion—with some help from Nick—and she wanted what she was owed.

But fuck, she wanted more than that. She wanted something she hadn’t let herself want in years. To keep a man around, because she wasn’t waiting for him to eventually disappoint her. Or worse, for her to inevitably disappoint him.

When she’d ended things with Carter, when she’d made that no more fuckboys vow, she told herself that a man like Nick didn’t exist. Oh, she’d thought he should—she’d thought it was bullshit that he didn’t—but she’d given up on finding him.

She’d found him now, and she didn’t get to keep him. In a few days, this would all be over, and she’d be on her own again. Not the fierce, stubborn independence she’d fought so hard for in the last decade. Not that kind of on her own. The kind that made her chest ache with thoughts of what she could have had.

She hated it already.

When he woke up the morning before the wedding, Nick’s first thought was how lucky they all were that they’d run out of tequila halfway through the night. His second thought was that they’d run out of tequila because they’d consumed all the tequila.

“Merrrgh,” Carly groaned from beside him. He looked over, moving his head as slowly as he could, but it didn’t help. His skull throbbed dangerously as Carly groaned again. It sounded extremely loud.

“Mistakes were made,” he agreed. He groped in the direction of the nightstand, hoping he’d had the good drunken sense to put a glass of water by the bed. He hadn’t. He also hadn’t remembered to close the curtains, and the bright morning light was stabbing him in the eyeballs.

“Merrrgh,” he said.

“’S’my line,” Carly grumbled, and he couldn’t help but smile. He rolled himself carefully off the bed and trudged to the bathroom, trying to remember the last time he’d been this hungover. By the time he’d filled two glasses at the bathroom sink, he’d decided that he’d never been this hungover, and even if he had, last night’s exploits had wiped out the brain cells that had stored those memories.

“Water,” he said, to Carly’s prone form. She opened her eyes and looked up at him blearily, then took the glass he was offering her and took an awkward horizontal gulp. A few droplets ran down her chin, and she didn’t object when he lowered himself onto the mattress next to her and wiped them away with his thumb.

“Thanks,” she croaked, sitting up a little so she could take another mouthful of water. “The fuck was in that tequila?”

“Tequila. I think Izzy might secretly be trying to kill us all.”

Carly nodded, then winced. “Well, it’s working. I’m never drinking again.”

“Until tomorrow?”

“Oh God,” she groaned. “What time is it?”

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “Shit, it’s almost one. We slept through the entire morning. I’ll go get us some coffee.”

“No, no, I’ll go,” she objected. “It’s my turn.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already peeling herself off the bed. Like him, she’d slept in last night’s clothes, and her linen shirt was a rumpled mess, but she didn’t seem to notice. He watched as she pulled a hair elastic off her wrist and wrangled her hair into a haphazard high bun.

“I’ll be back,” she said, crouching to retrieve her bag from the floor. “Or I won’t be, because I’ll be dead.”

“Please don’t be dead until you’ve brought me a coffee,” he said, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. He didn’t see it, but he had a very strong feeling she’d stuck her tongue out at him on her way out the door.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he was aware of was the sound of the door swinging open, followed by rapid footsteps and rustling paper.

“It’s out! It’s out, it’s out!” Carly was saying.

Nick forced his eyes open, squinting against the sunlight. “What’s out?”

She stood over him, a half-finished iced coffee in one hand, a hot takeaway cup in the other, and a newspaper tucked under her arm. “Ivy’s story! It’s in today’s paper, front page of the arts section! And they used the best photo from the Blue Mountains. Here, coffee, with an extra shot. You drink, I’ll read.”

He nodded and took the coffee, taking small sips and hoping he wouldn’t throw them up, and Carly leapt back onto the bed.

She shook the newspaper out and cleared her throat dramatically. “The headline is BALLERINA’S SYDNEY HOLIDAY GOES VIRAL IN A SNAP. A solid pun headline.”

“Mmm, good job Ivy.”

“Carly Montgomery isn’t very good at taking time off. God, isn’t that the truth,” she said tartly.

“The 31-year-old New Yorker, a member of the corps de ballet at the world-famous New York Ballet, scheduled a three-week holiday in Sydney, where her best friend, Australian National Ballet principal dancer Heather Hays, will be married later this week. But rather than soak up the sun and relax on the beach, Montgomery teamed up with Australian dance photographer Nick Jacobs to take a series of scenic photos that have become a viral sensation.

“Jacobs, a former professional ballet dancer himself, launched a career in photography after stints dancing in Germany and France. The once-obscure photographer jumped at the chance to combine his photography talent and ballet experience with his picturesque hometown.”

Carly snorted. “Jumped at the chance? That’s not exactly how I remember it, but okay.”

Nick opened his eyes to roll them, wished he hadn’t, then gestured for her to go on.

“The result has been viral magic: photos of Montgomery posing in front of the Opera House, at the edge of the pool at Freshwater Beach, and at Bridal Veil Falls in the Blue Mountains have struck a chord, been shared all over the world, and spawned thousands of admirers and hundreds of imitators.

“Montgomery says a great deal of work goes into the few shots that make their way onto Instagram. ‘For every photo we post, we probably take a hundred that don’t make the cut,’ she told theMorning Sun this week. ‘There are plenty of outtakes where I’m falling out of a pose, or my hair’s a disaster. But I like the outtakes, even if I don’t post them. They’re an important reminder that dance photos are just snapshots, and it’s easy to make them look neat and perfect. Actual dancing is about movement, and it’s always in the moment. So it can get pretty messy.’

“Jacobs says that outtakes aside, it’s easy to capture a good shot of Montgomery, who started training at the famed New York Ballet School when she was just six and has danced in the company’s corps de ballet for over a decade.

“‘It’s hard to take a bad photograph of someone this talented. Even the bad ones are good. She’s the best thing that ever happened to my photography.’”

Carly’s voice trailed off, and she let out a shaky breath.

“That’s it,” she said after a moment. He opened his eyes to see her staring down at the paper, clutching her coffee cup with white-tipped fingers.

“Good story,” he said, sitting up and reaching for the paper. She didn’t object when he pulled it from her hand, and he turned it over to see that the paper had also printed several smaller images: Carly in black and white on Freshwater Beach, Carly kicking her legs up behind her head in Leura, Carly in that perfect tenuous arabesque up on the scrubby cliffside at North Head. She looked striking in all of them, but the real performance had been her interview with Ivy. Carly had been quick and witty, confident without being cocky, and she’d had the reporter chuckling and soaking up her every word within a few minutes. It was like she was born for the spotlight, Nick had thought as he’d watched her charm Ivy a little more with every answer. This was a woman who knew how to captivate an audience. She’d certainly captivated him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I know you didn’t want to do all this for me, but I’m really grateful that you did. I think it might actually work. It might actually be enough for Catherine to promote me.”

Nick took a deep drink of his coffee, then set it and the newspaper down on the nightstand. “I think it might, too. And you never know, it—”

He was interrupted by his phone, which started warbling and vibrating against the bedside table. Wincing at the sound, he grabbed it and answered the call.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice with a plummy English accent responded. “Is this Nicholas Jacobs?”

“Euh, yes, this is Nick Jacobs. Who’s this?”

“My name is Victor Wilkinson, and I’m the chief photo editor at Vogue magazine. Do you have a few moments to speak?”

After several numb moments—or possibly an hour, Nick couldn’t say—he ended the call with a trembling thumb and pulled the phone away from his ear.

“Vogue,” he said to a wide-eyed Carly, who’d been bouncing up and down with impatience and had repeatedly offered him a pen so he could scribble down what the call was about. He’d refused, because he’d been too focused on making sure that Victor Wilkinson was for real.

“Vogue?” Carly repeated, looking confused. Even as she said the word, it sounded like something out of a dream. Had that really just happened? Had one phone call just saved his floundering career?

“Vogue saw the photos and the article, and they want to hire me. To shoot dancers in couture, all over the world. Wherever I want in the world. He said, and I quote, ‘Write your own ticket, name your price—we just want your images in our magazine.’”

“NICK!” Carly shrieked, and he barely noticed the sound plunging a knife into his hungover brain.

“I know,” he said weakly, letting the phone drop onto the bed. “They’re sending me a contract later today.”

She launched herself at him, jumping onto the bed on her knees and throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her by the waist and kissed her, his lips playing against hers and tasting strong coffee. She straddled his hips and deepened the kiss, and he pulled her hard against him as her tongue dueled with his. A second later, she pulled back, panting, and looked into his face. Her mahogany eyes were sparkling with delight and desire.

“I’m so happy for you. This is huge,” she said, and he grinned. He took her face in both his hands.

“This never would have happened without you. There wouldn’t be any photos without you. Thank you for insisting that we try.”

She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Insisting? You basically made me beg. And to think you almost refused.”

He gave his head a little shake, willing her to be serious. “I mean it. Thank you.”

She leaned forward to kiss him again, but instead he wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed tight, breathing out a slow, contented breath when she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to the skin below his ear. She felt so right there, warm and solid and still. Nick lifted his hand to her head and stroked her curls, feeling them wrap around his fingers, trapping and ensnaring him. Binding him to her.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said drowsily a few minutes later, and he felt a contented smile spread over his face. He had the job offer of his dreams, and none of it could have been possible without the woman who was currently drifting into sleep in his lap.

“I’m happy, too. And I know things are going to work out for you, once you get home.” He ignored the panic that fluttered in his stomach as he said it. Once she got home, just a few days from now. Once this whatever they’d been doing the last few weeks was over. But what if it didn’t have to be over? What if they could …

“Hey, Carly,” he started, not sure what he’d say next but knowing he had to say it, before he lost his nerve. But before he could continue, she pulled her face from his neck, frowning.

“Wait a sec, I think Ivy made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Carly rolled off him and pulled the newspaper off the nightstand. She scanned the article and then began reading aloud again.

“Jacobs is a former professional ballet dancer himself, and launched a career in photography, blah blah blah … The once-obscure photographer jumped at the chance to combine his photography talent and ballet experience with his picturesque hometown. ‘Once-obscure?’ You weren’t obscure, you were established, and a big deal in Paris. She made a mistake. You should call the paper and ask for a correction.”

Nick’s pulse quickened as she talked. He licked his suddenly dry lips, trying to decide what to do. He’d spent enough time with Carly to know that she’d insist on asking the Morning Sun to correct what she believed was an error in their reporting. But if she did that, she’d have to learn the truth about him from Ivy Page. She’d learn he’d been lying to her, and she wouldn’t even hear it from him.

“Nick?” she said, looking up at him with wide eyes, the newspaper still clutched in her hand. “You should make them fix this.”

He ran a hand over his hair. “It’s not a big deal,” he shrugged, hoping he looked unruffled, “and I don’t take it as an insult. Plenty of artists do great work in obscurity. And besides, the paper’s already printed, so it’s too late to change it now.”

She shook her head in confusion, then sat up straighter against the bedhead. “It is a big deal! They got it wrong, and they can probably still fix it in the online version.” Her face was alight with anger on his behalf, ready to defend him yet again, because he’d let her think he was worth it.

He had to tell her. He ran his hand through his hair again, stalling, putting off the moment when her anger would turn on him and change everything.

“Forget it,” she sighed, and for a moment he thought he’d been reprieved. But then she reached for the nightstand again and reached for her phone. “I’ve got her email address, so I’m going to tell her myself.”

Shit. He had to tell her, now.

“Wait a second,” he said quickly, and she looked up from her phone. He swallowed hard. “Don’t send that to her. She … she didn’t make a mistake.”

Carly frowned, then spoke slowly and clearly, as though explaining something very obvious. “Yes, she did. You were not obscure before the photos went viral.”

He forced his mouth to form the words. “I was, though. I … things weren’t getting off the ground in Paris. I thought I’d done everything right, I worked all my connections in the dance world, but no one wanted to hire me. Aside from a few little shitty gigs, no one wanted yet another dance photographer. I’ve spent more time pouring drinks lately than I have taking photos.”

“Oh my God, the Manhattan recipe. But Marcus said—”

“I know. And I should have corrected him, but I was too embarrassed. And then things kind of … got away from me.”

Carly’s eyes had gone dark, and her face was set in an expressionless mask that made his heart pound with dread. “So you lied to him.”

“I—”

“You lied to all of us. You lied to me. To my face.” She spoke clearly, every syllable crisp and suffused with anger. She was gripping the newspaper so tightly that the corners were trembling.

“I didn’t mean to. I just … I didn’t want him to know how badly things were going. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“So you didn’t tell him about your girlfriend, and you didn’t tell him about your job,” she said, tossing the newspaper off the bed. “You just let him believe a bunch of lies? What kind of friendship is this, Nick?”

A hot wave of shame swept across the back of his neck. “The same kind of friendship where you let your friend believe a bunch lies about your sex life for a decade,” he shot back. He heard her sharp intake of breath and regretted his words instantly.

“Fuck you,” she hissed. “I would do anything for Heather. I’m here on the other side of the world for her instead of at home trying to get promoted, because she’s like my sister, and I would never lie to her. I told her the truth about Jack even when I knew she wouldn’t hear it. Even when I knew it would make her hate me.” Her voice cracked, and she blinked away a sheen of tears.

She was right. She’d had the courage to tell her friend the truth even though it could have broken the friendship forever, and he couldn’t even tell Marcus he was going through a rough patch.

“I’m sorry. Really, I am. I should have told the truth,” Nick said. “Because the truth is, I came home feeling really lost, like I didn’t know what to do next. But working with you helped me feel like I’m finally on track.”

Carly’s expression turned thunderous. “I’m so thrilled to hear that, Nick. That’s so great for you. I’m so glad that you feel like you’ve got your shit together. Congratulations.”

“I just meant—”

“You just let me believe that you were some big deal photographer, that you were deigning to help me. You let me hang my career hopes on a bartender,” she said, looking at him with betrayal and disgust on her face. “And you didn’t just lie to me, you turned me into a liar! All those posts where I talked you up and bragged about what a big deal you were, how talented you are!”

She scrambled off the bed, as though she couldn’t stand being near him any more. “God, I’m so stupid,” she muttered, pacing the room. “No wonder everyone else has their lives together and I don’t. Because the one time I decide that maybe this man is different, that this man won’t fuck me over, he absolutely screws me.”

“That’s not fair. I did not screw you. I held up my end of the deal!”

“Only after you let me beg you for help, when I had no other options,” she cried, dashing a few more tears from her eyes. “You let me think you were doing me a favor! Like you didn’t need me as much as I needed you, but you did. You needed this as much as I did, maybe more. And now it’s worked out perfectly for you, and I’m exactly where I was when we started, which is nowhere!”

“Carly, please, I’m sorry I—”

“Fuck you, and fuck your apologies, Nick Jacobs,” she marched over to the desk and snatched her bag from where she’d tossed it the previous night.

“Oh, great, you’re going to storm out again?” he said in disbelief. “You’re not going to stay and do the hard thing and talk about this? Why am I not surprised, Carly? Storming out is all you know how to do.”

She stared at him, her tear-streaked face the picture of wounded rage. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath through her nose. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous and white-hot with rage, but it was perfectly steady.

“We will not talk about this. Not to each other, and definitely not to Heather and Marcus. Tomorrow is their wedding, and we will be the perfect wedding party for them, because that’s what they deserve and that is what we’re here to do. But I swear to God, Nick Jacobs, if you come near me for anything other than best man purposes, I will tell everyone you’re a fraud. Because that’s what you deserve.”

She didn’t even wait for his reply. She gave him one last, disgusted look, then turned and walked out the door.

Carly’s hands were still shaking with rage when she arrived at her apartment. She slammed the door behind her and dumped her bag on the floor, wishing she could smash plates or swing a sledgehammer or scream at the top of her lungs. She settled for marching to the couch and screaming into one of the many starfish-covered pillows.

God, she’d been such an idiot to trust Nick. To believe a word out of his mouth when this whole time he’d been lying to her, lying to all of them. She’d bought the lies, and frittered away what precious time she had to secure her promotion.

She was furious at Nick, but just as furious with herself. She’d been so desperate to get promoted that she’d been willing to believe anything. Willing to grovel and plead for his help and feel grateful when he gave it to her. And it had worked out perfectly for him, hadn’t it? He was no longer an “obscure” photographer, he’d gotten his little holiday fling, and he’d get to walk away and off into his new job before he could even get sick of her and her broken vagina. Tomorrow Heather and Marcus were going to get married, and Nick was going to ride off into the sunset, Vogue contract in hand, and she’d be right where she started, washed up and burned out in her early thirties, with no plan for what came next. As much as she loved Heather, why was it that everyone around her was succeeding and leaving her behind? Nick had just been handed the chance of a lifetime, because of her idea. Her work, her time, her willingness to humble herself and ask for his help after years of working her ass off in the corps and refusing her parent’s offers. She’d given ballet everything, and she was still stuck. Standing still while everyone else moved on.

Carly’s eyes filled with hot, humiliated tears as she remembered how hopeful she’d felt when she’d read Ivy’s article this morning. It had felt like her work was finally paying off, and she’d been so delighted to see those photos in print. Now, her moment in the spotlight felt like a farce. The memory of Nick’s words, there on the page, made her stomach roil in disgust. I love taking photos of her. For a few brief and idiotic moments, she’d wanted him to tell her that he loved more about her than how well she photographed. God, she was an idiot.

After an hour of sniffling and self-recriminating, she trudged across the living room and pulled her phone out of her bag. She’d missed a call from Heather.

Heather, 10:21 AM: Just got a call from the florist, the flowers will be delivered at 10am tomorrow.

Carly, 2:53 PM: Sounds good, I’ll be ready for them.

It was the very last wedding task on her list before the big day really began. Once the flowers, vases, and bouquets were dropped off, she’d put them in the fridge until right before the wedding, so they wouldn’t wilt in the sun. Heather had cleared space in the fridge and made sure that Davo bought plenty of ice and a few spare coolers just in case they ran out of room for all the drinks. She’d thought of everything.

Heather, 2:54 PM: Great, thanks. I also sent a sample of that tequila to poison control because I’ve never been this hungover in my life

Carly let out a watery laugh. She stared down at her phone, wondering if she should tell Heather what had just happened with Nick. She tapped out a few words, wondering where to start. What would she even say? I thought Nick actually cared about me and I wanted to be right? I thought we were a team but he’s been lying to me, to all of us? She shook her head, then pressed a shaking thumb to the delete button and erased it all.

Carly, 2:56 PM: LOL

Heather didn’t need Carly’s problems on her plate again, not the day before her wedding. She’d handle this on her own, she thought, tossing the phone onto the couch and taking a deep, steadying inhale. As long as Nick Jacobs stayed the hell away from her, she’d be fine.