Epilogue
Sophie
Three Years Later
Even with three hundred people in the audience, I feel Harlan's eyes on me as I pirouette across the stage. He tracks every move, the way a predator tracks his prey, his focus absolute.
I dance for him, my body bending and arching, my arms floating up. And when I leap, it's for him, too.
Every step, every flutter of my hand, is a message just for him. I'm telling him everything—how I want him, how I love him, how the thought of losing him is a grief like no other.
I relate to Giselle because of him, because I'd die without him, too.
I hold the final arabesque for half a heartbeat longer than I should, then let it shatter into a failli before melting to the floor like the ghost I'm meant to be.
There's a moment of silence, and then the roar of applause rolls over me as the other girls drag me offstage, my heart still beating in the ragged, uneven time of the music.
In the narrow wings, someone shoves a bottle of water into my hands and tells me I was brilliant. I thank them, but it's automatic. I'm still a ball of adrenaline, my mind snagged on the dual points of dark denim that anchored me for the last hour.
He's waiting for me in the chaos like he always is when I'm finished dancing, his feet planted, his body still, his eyes eating me alive.
As soon as I reach his side, he reaches for me, pulling me into his arms. His big body wraps around me, like he means to fuse us together. His lips brush my sweaty skin.
"Jesus, ballerina," he rasps. "That's the best you ever danced."
He always says that. He always means it, too.
And maybe he's right. I don't know. I just know that performing is different now. Dancing is different now. There's still pain. There's always pain when you're a ballerina. But the joy that got swallowed up by years of being ground down flows through me with every step again.
That's because of him. Because he made me soft enough to bend without breaking and strong enough to fight for what mattered. Because he believed I was always good enough and made me believe it, too.
He's the best parts of me—the wild, happy, joyful parts and the desperate, greedy, needy parts, too. He's my world in a way dancing will never be.
But dancing is peaceful again. It's quiet. I forgot how much I needed that silence to ground me until it was finally settling over me again, a few months after I moved to Los Angeles.
My new company isn't home. Harlan is home to me.
But the new studio is a close second. They accept me, they want me there, and they don't beat me down.
Life isn't perfect. The rest of the ballet world still has plenty to say, but it's a lot easier to ignore when you're surrounded by dancers who just don't give a shit, dancers who treat you like you deserve to be here.
"I was dancing for you," I whisper, tipping my head back until my eyes lock with Harlan's.
The way he smiles… God, I hope he never stops smiling at me just like that, like he knows me inside and out and loves every single loud, messy, complicated piece.
His hand cups my jaw, his fingers feathering across my cheek. He dips his head, his lips brushing mine. "I know," he murmurs into my mouth. "I always know, ballerina."
I kiss him until nothing exists except his taste and the way my heart beats for him. And then he sets me away from him, his eyes soft and wild at the same time.
"Go take your bow, Sophie," he practically growls, his eyes locked on me. The heat and promise in them set my blood on fire, making me ache the same way I always ache for him. "I'll be here."
I know he will. And unlike the people out there—the ones who don't know me—he won't have flowers and praise. He'll have the thing I'll always want most. Him.
Just him.
And maybe, this time, something else, too.
His baby.
It's time.