Page 90 of A Sinful Gravity

Back in the dressing room, she was already waiting.

"Incredible, Luna!" She looked thrilled but controlled herself, coming over for a light hug. "Your condition tonight was perfect! You know the Ballet Chicago people were here,right? They messaged me right after. They want to sign you. No question."

I smiled and took the towel she offered, wiping the sweat off my face.

"So now." She pulled a folder from her bag. "The Chicago tour plan. Final draft. Take a look."

I took it and opened it up.

The lighting was dim, so I walked to the makeup mirror and turned on the bulb lights to read carefully.

An invitation from Ballet Chicago. Another month-long tour, with master classes, media interviews, and sponsor galas woven in between.

The schedule was packed. Every single day had something on it.

"We doing this?" Amy asked.

I looked at that plan, at all those dates and venues and repertoires. This was what I loved. What I'd fought for over six years. From sleeping on the floor at the Royal Ballet to principal dancer now. Every performance was proof I existed.

"Absolutely. I'll review it at home and sign." I said.

Amy patted my shoulder. "Perfect! I'll tell them. Tomorrow's your day off. You can finally rest."

We talked about Royal Ballet business as we left together. Washington nights were quiet, trees lining the streets casting long shadows under the streetlights.

I got home close to eleven.

The yard lights were on. Warm yellow light stretched from the door to the steps.

I pushed inside. The living room lights were on too—the carefully chosen floor lamp, its glow soft.

Cassian sat on the couch with a book. He looked up at the sound of the door.

"You're back?"

"Yeah. Why are you still up?"

He closed the book and stood. "It's late. I waited. How was the show?"

Something shifted in my chest. "Fine. The show went great."

He nodded. "Good. There's low-cal food in the kitchen. Saved it for you. I'm heading to bed."

He turned toward the first-floor guest room, took two steps, then stopped.

"Oh, Laila just fell asleep a while ago. She drew a picture before bed. It's in the kitchen too."

I looked at him. "Thanks."

He smiled at me without saying anything, then pushed into the guest room.

I stood in the living room, staring at that closed door. Then I walked into the kitchen and found the thermal container with warm side dishes inside. Next to it was taped a drawing—a stick figure with a ponytail, "Mommy" written crookedly beside it.

My heart went soft. I carried the food upstairs and gently pushed open Laila's door.

Moonlight filtered through the curtain gaps, falling on her little face. She was sound asleep, golden curls spread on the pillow, long lashes casting tiny shadows. She clutched that brown teddy bear—the one Cassian gave her.

I crouched by her bed, watching.