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No. No, I hadn’t overstepped. It’s true that we have a history, it’s true that Nate’s got his baggage, but that’s no cause for Mrs. Winthrop to chew me out and accuse me of killing her son. Where does she find the nerve to look at me and give me an ultimatum like that?
Stay away from my boy, and you’ll likely have a very long, successful career.
A sense of dread is lodged at the base of my throat.
Mrs. Winthrop’s clearly unhinged. I just can’t take the risk. I need to refocus, concentrate on recuperating and making it to spring auditions. That’s the one and only goal. Men, they come and go. My career as a ballerina is what matters most to me. I can’t piss away all those years of hard work and dedication over a man who wouldn’t even fight for me.
Even if that man is Nate.
Nate.
I wonder where he is right now.
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.
No. Don’t think about him.
Put your pointe shoes on and get ready for allegro.
My toes hurt. My shins hurt. My knees hurt. Everything hurts, but I push forward. I’d rather feel this pain, let it consume my mind until there’s nothing left, than think about Nate.
Miss Helen’s at the front of the class, spouting off dance sequences for us to follow. I have a hard time listening, though, mainly because the ballerinas behind me don’t understand that gossip really should be whispered.
“Do you think it’s true? Do you think Eve really slept with the substitute doctor?”
“She doesn’t seem like the type.”
“It’s got to be true. My friend’s friend said she saw them out to dinner the other night.”
I throw a glare over my shoulder, which immediately shuts them up. They clamp their mouths closed, looking away as quickly as possible to avoid my heated gaze.
Miss Helen claps her hands. “Everybody got that?”
No. No, I most certainly didn’t get any of that.
I take up a position toward the back knowing full well that if I make a mistake, at least it won’t be in a place where everyone can see me fail.
Upbeat piano music plays over the studio speakers, and we all begin to move.
I can’t find the rhythm. My count is off. I nearly trip over my own feet as I attempt a four-count chaine. Even though the melody of the song is happy and uplifting, I’m anything but.
“Steady, Eve,” Miss Helen calls to me over the music. “Keep your lines straight and graceful.”
I can’t keep up. It’s like a fog is covering my mind, thick and heavy and dragging me down. Every single one of my moves is late. In the reflection of the dance studio mirrors, I cringe at myself. I look like an awkward little duckling drowning beneath the water’s surface. I’m supposed to be good at this. This is my area of expertise, my comfort zone.
This sucks.
Everything sucks.
I should have just stayed in bed.
I finish my sad excuse of a pirouette—stopping in the exact opposite direction that everyone else is facing—when I see him.
Nate’s standing by the studio doors, watching me carefully. His hair’s a bit disheveled, his stubble’s grown into a short beard, and there are heavy bags beneath his eyes. He isn’t dressed to impress like he normally is. His button-down shirt is full of wrinkles, his rolled up sleeves are uneven.
Don’t look at me.
Miss Helen claps her hands. “Concentrate!”
But I can’t. I don’t have the strength to. The muscles in my calves burn, while the rest of my body’s fatigued beyond explanation. I just want to keel over and puke. I want the dizziness to stop.
Nate’s still watching me, a guilty look in his eyes.
Please, don’t look at me that way.
The music over the speakers fades into nothing. The studio lights overhead are disorienting. My stomach’s keen on completing a triple flip while my guts tie themselves up in knots. I can no longer tell if I’m the one spinning, or if it’s the room.
The next thing I know, the ground’s coming up to meet me.
I don’t even remember falling. My whole body’s gone numb.
Shadows encroach on the edges of my vision as a terrifying nausea sweeps through me. I’m simultaneously freezing and sweating like crazy, a chill clawing its way up and down my spine. I’m vaguely aware that someone’s calling my name, that I’m being surrounded by concerned onlookers.
The exhaustion’s too strong to fight any longer.
I let it take me.
I close my eyes, and everything goes black.
The last thing I hear is someone screaming my name.
Chapter Nineteen
Nate
I know something’s wrong the second I lay eyes on her.
Eve’s pale like snow, her eyes bloodshot and watery. She looks wobbly up on her toes. If it were anyone else, I’d chalk it up to inexperience. But Eve’s too good of a ballerina to be unstable. She’s a master at what she does, the embodiment of grace and expression.
