Tempted by Deception (Deception Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

“No. I watch them so I can get inspired before I put my own spin on it.”

“Why? Are you stuck somewhere?”

“A little.”

“Which part?”

“At the end of act one, right before Giselle dies, how do I convey the emotions without being melodramatic?”

“First of all, you need to stop addressing Giselle in third person. She’s you now. If you don’t live inside her, she won’t live inside you.” She places a hand on my chest. “If you don’t allow her to consume your heart and soul, you’ll only go down in history as another ballerina who portrayed Giselle well enough.”

Stephanie’s words hit harder than I expect them to. I’m vaguely aware of my surroundings when the door to the theater opens and the producers waltz inside, accompanied by their associates. They often watch us rehearse, even though Philippe dislikes it with a passion.

“Just know this.” Stephanie takes my hand in hers. “In order to be Giselle, you have to be a whole ballerina and a whole person. No one denies you’re a whole ballerina with perfect technique and elegance that’s spoken about in all the ballet circuits, but are you a whole person, Lia?”

She releases me and summons the staff over, unaware of the shackle she just snapped around my ankle.

My insecurities bubble to the surface, attempting to suffocate me and pull me under.

Turning around, I stuff all those emotions to the bottom of my gut. Luca once said that I have to face my past to live on, but I declined, stubbornly burying that black hole and its dark box and going on with my life. I’ve been doing great and I will continue to do so, no matter what he or Stephanie says about it.

After the warm-up, we go through the opening scene. I don’t stop moving or take any breaks. I feel like if I do, my ankle will act up. I need to see Dr. Kim about it. He’s been taking care of my legs since I had enough money to hire him as my attending physician. He’s the best orthopedist around, and as someone whose daughter wants to become a ballerina, he understands how much we fuss about the slightest pain in our ankles. But I’m sure he’ll shoo me away with some muscle ointment, as usual.

When it’s time for my entrance, I step into Giselle’s shoes. I’m the timid maid who loves to dance with no care for the world. I leap, then twirl, letting the symphonic music flow through my veins.

Since it’s a somewhat solo scene, I’m pulled from my surroundings and living in my head, a poor maid who has nothing on her mind but dancing. Not knowing that in her innocence, she’s attracting a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

That’s when I sense it. I’m about to jump when a sharp presence wrenches me from the confines of my fragile Giselle.

For the first time during a rehearsal, I stare at the audience. The producers are there, animatedly chatting among each other.

One isn’t a producer, though.

Far from it.

His dark gray eyes lock with mine and I lose my footing. But I save it at the last second, landing on my feet instead of on pointe as per the choreography.

He’s here.

The stranger has come back.





4





Lia





I cease breathing.

I blink once, twice, desperately trying to chalk this up to another play of my imagination, a manifestation of my demons and hallucinations.

Maybe I’ve exhausted my mind so much that it’s started to fabricate things.

Raising a shaky hand to my wrist, I sink my nails into it. Pain explodes on my tender skin and my mouth parts.

This is real.

I’m not dreaming or hallucinating. I’m not waking up from this nightmare in a cold sweat. This is the actual world.

A few rows ahead, the stranger who held a gun to my head a week ago is sitting with the producers. He’s wearing a gray cashmere coat over his black shirt and his hair is styled, neat, looking like a CEO who’s just been to a meeting. His demeanor is composed—normal, even.

But there’s nothing normal about him.

Even from this distance, I can feel the danger emanating off him in waves and aiming daggers straight at my chest. His expression is neutral, but it wouldn’t be more terrifying if he were scowling. Because I know what that façade hides, what actually lurks beneath the surface.

A killer.

A lethal, cold-hearted one at that, who wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

Did he change his mind and come to kill me after all?

Is this my last dance before I meet the fate of the men from that night?

My legs tremble and I’m a second away from collapsing on my face or vomiting the salad I had for lunch.

“Lia!” Philippe’s impatient voice echoes through the air, yanking me back to the present. In my stupor, I forgot that I stopped mid-movement.

What the hell? That’s a first and it doesn’t go unnoticed. The other dancers scowl at me as if I personally hurt them. Philippe and Stephanie watch me, puzzled, because they know I’m not the type to lose focus or get distracted.

Not when it comes to ballet.

“I’m sorry.” I release a long breath. “Let’s go again, please.”

I don’t trust myself to not break down here and now if I keep staring at him or imagining his gun pointed at my head. So I take refuge in the one thing that gives me joy—dancing.