Ballet Master by Cassie Mint

Nine

Paige

The alcove is icy cold once Raphael’s warmth is gone. I dress quickly and silently, shivering in the dark, nerves gathering in my stomach.

What we did…

I’d been so happy. It felt so right. But alone now, quietly dressing like some shameful secret…

I bite my lip and pull on my clothes faster.

I wait for Raphael in a dressing room. It’s empty now, the counters cleared and the room cloaked in shadows, but it will be mine soon. For the showcase.

My moment as the black swan.

I wrap my arms around my waist and squeeze. This is good. It’s good. I’ve been cast as the lead, and Raphael held me like I was precious.

So why is there a pit of dread growing in my stomach?

When the door scrapes open, I blow out a relieved breath and smile, hopping down off the counter. But it’s not Raphael who marches into the room.

“Madame,” I splutter. “I was—I was just—”

She holds up a gnarled hand. “Do not lie to me.” Her black-ringed eyes rake over me and she purses her lips. “Come on.”

“Come where?” I follow her in a daze through the theater corridors, my bag bouncing against my hip. “Madame?” I can still feel Raphael between my legs. I grit my teeth and walk faster.

“I cannot teach bad girls. You will bring shame to the academy.”

I stumble, my heart slamming against my rib cage.

“Madame,” I gasp. “Please…”

“Did he tell you he loves you?” She sneers over her shoulder, not breaking stride. “Foolish girl. Powerful men will say anything to get between a pretty girl’s thighs.”

I swallow hard, my tongue thick. Because the truth is even worse—Raphael didn’t even tell me that. He called me sweet names and said he would keep me. But love?

Have I thrown everything away for one embrace in the wings?

“Please, Madame.” I ball my hands into fists to stop from grabbing the back of her sweater. “I’ve worked so hard. This doesn’t affect my dancing—”

“Of course it does,” she scoffs. “Do you think he would have cast you if he did not want to bed you?” She sniffs. “Though bed was a bit beyond you, clearly.”

My breath saws in and out of my lungs.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

Madame leaves me on the stage docks, the wind tugging at my hair. I don’t even deserve the front door. And that is where Raphael finds me, my lips numb and my face tingling, but not from the cold.

“Paige!” He jogs over, a smile stretching his cheeks. Oh god, he’s so handsome. Even now, my sore heart flips over in my chest. “Ready to go, angel?” He grips my hips, kneading the bones as his voice drops. “I want to show you my suite.”

More sex. More seduction.

Oh god, what have I done?

I bat his hands away, anger and despair climbing my throat. “Don’t touch me!”

“Paige?” He reaches for me again, then remembers my command. His hands hover in midair, partway to my waist. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” My cold laugh bounces around the dock. The wind whistles along the theater wall. “You’ve cost me everything, Raphael. Everything. I threw away my only chance to dance for one fumble backstage.”

His forehead creases. His voice hardens. “What are you talking about?”

I wave a hand, impatient. I can’t say it out loud. I can’t. And he’s a smart man—he can read between the lines.

We’re caught. And I’m the one to pay the price.

My career, gone. My future, gone.

I’ve been so stupid.

“I will fix this.” He cradles my face, sweeping away a tear with his thumb. “It is my fault. I will fix it, angel.”

I gather the last scraps of my dignity. Build a wall around my poor, shattered heart. And shove him away by the chest, gritting my teeth at the hurt flashing across his face.

“I don’t want anything from you.” My voice is hollow, but it carries. And Raphael flinches, his face going pale. “I never want to see you again, Monsieur Dupont.”

I leave him there like Madame left me.

And I make it half a mile before I burst into tears.

* * *

“Oh my god.” Leona ushers me into the apartment, pulling my bag off my shoulder. “Avery!” she yells into the living room, then turns to me. “What happened?”

I sniffle, too ashamed to say the words. I can only shake my head, mute.

“Did he hurt you?” Avery clatters into the hallway behind Leona, her blonde hair scraped into a French braid. The two of them are puffed up, ready to pick a fight.

I think of the gentle way Raphael held me. The worshipful look in his eye as he slid inside me, sealing us together.

“No,” I rasp. “But I’m out of the academy.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “I’ve lost everything. I’ll never be a dancer.”

They hiss, faces twisting. They know how much this hurts me. How hard I’ve worked for ballet.

“We’ll fight it,” Leona says at once. “We’ll campaign. Or kick up a fuss. There must be something we can do.”

I shake my head, lip wobbling, and they both deflate. Avery takes my elbow and pulls me through to the living room.

“It’ll be okay,” she says softly. “There’s more than ballet, Paige.”

I scowl at my lap. She doesn’t get it. Avery likes college, sure, but it’s not her whole world. Especially since her hot professor changed jobs and became her boyfriend.

But Leona understands. Without her art, she’d go mad.

Just like I’m going now.

The worst part is, I’m not just sad about the ballet. It’s been less than an hour, and I already miss Raphael so much that my heart throbs.

“We’ll fight it,” Leona says again. “We’ll figure something else out. Another path to dance.”

I nod, too numb to argue anymore, and Avery drapes a soft throw around my shoulders. They settle on either side of me on the sofa, both stunned into silence.

Leona clears her throat. “Well. You know what this means, right?”

“What?” I mumble. I’m suddenly so tired, I could sleep for years.

“Pizza.” Her elbow jabs my ribs. “A whole one all to yourself.”

It’s silly, but a snort bursts from my mouth, and they both sag in relief at my sides.

“I’ll get my laptop.” Avery pops up, and Leona slings an arm around my shoulders. I rest my head back against the cushions.

“Leona?” I murmur at the ceiling.

“Yeah?”

I screw my eyes shut. “Don’t forget the garlic bread.”

* * *

Madame calls me at 10am the next morning. I answer the phone slowly, my voice thick from crying all night.

“Um. Hello?”

“You need to come back,” she snaps without preamble. “He won’t direct without you here.”

She hangs up without another word and I stare at the phone in my hand, my heart thumping in my chest. My lips part ready to call for Leona, but it buzzes again in my palm.

“H-hello?”

“Paige Stevens? I’m calling from the East Coast Ballet Company. We’d like to arrange an audition.”

The calls come all morning, one after the other. My week fills up with private auditions for incredible companies—the kinds of places I’ve always dreamed of working. My fingers shake as I write down the details, a weird buzzing sound in my skull.

After the fourth call, I put my pen down and pinch my arm.

Ow.

Yeah, this is really happening.

I forget all about Madame’s call until she rings again after lunchtime.

“What do you want?” she growls. “You already have the star role. Do you want new costumes? A private room to screw the director?”

It’s my turn to hang up without a word. I toss my cell phone onto my bed with savage pleasure.

The one person I don’t hear from is Raphael. I snatch up the phone each time it buzzes, eager to hear his voice, but it’s always someone else. Another fantastic opportunity that he’s clearly arranged for me, but not him.

I only want him.

I don’t have his number. Don’t know which hotel he’s staying at. And I told him I never wanted to see him again.

“Oh god.” I rub my eyes, too jangled up to think straight. “Raphael.”

I need to find him. I need to make this right.