by Teri Wilson
Ivanov’s choreography for the pas de deux, her duet with Chance, included a lift. She’d expected this, of course. Lifts were almost always a major part of any pas de deux. But typically they were more toward the middle, or even the end, of the duet, so she thought she’d have a day or two to get acclimated to her new role, before being hoisted into the air.
She’d been wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Ivanov’s pas de deux started with a lift. Not just any lift either. The opening move was an angel lift—the most dangerous partnering move of all.
It also happened to be the exact lift that Tessa and her partner had been doing when she’d fallen and hit her head.
Alexei Ivanov had no way of knowing this, of course. And Tessa had no intention of telling him. She wasn’t even sure he knew about her deafness. Most of the dancers did, since so many of them had trained at the Wilde School of Dance in their preprofessional lives. Madame Daria might have known, but Tessa wasn’t certain. The ballet mistress was a rigid taskmistress and wouldn’t have treated Tessa any differently had she known. Which was a good thing, as far as Tessa was concerned.
But Alexei Ivanov was new to New York, and Tessa was quite certain he’d never heard of her before this week.
She debated whether or not she should tell him. Her mother insisted that Tessa should. At Tessa’s celebratory dinner at the Bennington, Emily Wilde had mentioned it more than once. Probably more than two or three times. Tessa wasn’t sure. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Julian when she should have been reading lips. It didn’t matter, though. She’d already decided not to say anything to the choreographer about her hearing loss or the accident.
She didn’t want to be seen as weak, lest he reconsider casting her in the lead. Also, the timing couldn’t have been worse. Tessa could hear out of her right ear now...sort of. Looking Ivanov in the eye and telling him she was deaf would feel like lying. And she certainly couldn’t admit she was in the middle of some kind of medical crisis. He’d dismiss her on the spot.
The way she saw it, she had no choice but to show up and perform well enough to prove herself worthy of being chosen to dance a principal role in a major New York ballet company. All she’d wanted all along was to be treated like any other ballerina, and now was her chance.
The trouble began when Chance put his hands on her waist. Until then, on the rare occasions when Tessa allowed herself to remember her fall, she’d seen it as a slide show flickering in her consciousness. An old-time silent movie with muted Kodachrome colors and slow-motion shadows.
Her memory was what she’d always imagined an out-of-body experience must feel like, but even that wasn’t quite right. She felt removed from what had happened. Detached. Like it hadn’t actually happened to her, but to another girl entirely. Some young ballet hopeful who Tessa had never met—a girl with beautifully arched feet, a straight, supple back and stars in her eyes.
That girl bore such little resemblance to the person Tessa saw in the mirrored walls of the ballet studio, she felt like a disinterested spectator. It was as if she’d never even been in the studio that day, never set foot on that moon-gray Marley floor, never felt the rush of wind through her hair as she’d been lifted in the air. But rather like she’d been outside on the snowy Manhattan sidewalk, with her face pressed to the window, breath fogging the glass as she watched in horror while the boy stumbled and the pretty ballerina in his arms went tumbling to the ground.
When Chance touched her, when the warmth of his hands pressed against her leotard, it all came rushing back.
She remembered details that had somehow become lost over the years—the way Owen’s hands shook during their opening promenade, the clean soap smell of his white T-shirt. She remembered everything, from the tremulous smile on his lips when she’d launched herself into his hands to the final horrifying sound after her free fall—the nauseating crack of her skull banging against the studio floor.
Tessa wanted to press her hands against her ears and block it out. She probably would have, if the entire cast hadn’t been there watching. Madame Daria. Violet. All the other ballerinas who’d been passed over for the lead, standing with their arms crossed, feigning nonchalance as they waited for her to screw up, to make some fatal mistake.
And Julian, sitting at the piano.
He was watching her with an intensity that made heat gather and pool in her center. What was it about that man? She shouldn’t be attracted to him. She absolutely shouldn’t. Most days, he was borderline rude. His car wreck had clearly left him bitter.
But Tessa could understand that, probably more than most other people could. And her dog liked him. A lot, which was a surprise. Mr. B had always had such discriminating taste. His fondness for Julian had nothing to do with the butterfly wings that beat against the inside of her rib cage every time he looked at her, though.
Julian had signed for her. He’d spoken to her with his hands. And when he did, it had felt almost as if he’d taken a step inside her world of silence.
No man had ever done that for her before. Not even the man who at one time had wanted to marry her.
He wasn’t very good at it. He was quite terrible actually, but somehow that made his efforts all the more endearing. She liked it when he used those musical hands of his to talk to her. He had lovely hands. She wondered what it might feel like to be touched by those hands, those skillful, poetic fingers. Treasured, probably. Like a rare instrument. A Stradivarius.
She gave him a nervous smile from the center of the practice-room floor. He smiled back.
God, what was wrong with her? Could there possibly be a worse time to flirt? Focus.
Chance gave her waist a squeeze, a signal for her to look at him. Which she should have been doing in the first place.
“Ready?” he mouthed.
No. Absolutely not. “Yes.” She nodded firmly.
He backed away a few feet.
Tessa took a calming breath, closed her rib cage and found her center, just as Julian struck his first chord on the piano. The music flowed through her with liquid confidence, and she lifted into an arabesque. The moment Chance’s hands found her waist, she arched her back and transferred all her weight into his grasp. He pushed her up, up, up in the air, and her arms floated overhead like angel wings.
For a split second, Tessa felt as though she were flying. Free, like an airy, ethereal bird. Like starlight. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt whole. Her earlier apprehension seemed silly. Then she looked down, searching for Julian.
Huge mistake.
The floor was so far away. Impossibly far. And so solid. Her stomach began to churn, and her mouth went bone-dry.
She squeezed her eyes closed. Her gaze should have been fixed on a focal point. She should have been spotting, just as if she’d been in a turn.
She didn’t know why she’d sought Julian out. Again. She knew better, but she’d allowed herself to get lost in the music, the moment. There was also a part of her that wanted to see his face as he watched her the way she used to be. For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she had a strange yearning for him to see her that way. Bold. Unbroken. Whole.
The very second she looked down, she felt her balance slip. Ever so slightly. Her center of gravity tipped just a fraction too far forward, and rather than waiting for Chance to make the proper adjustments in his grip and stance—as she should have done—she dropped her arms. Her sudden change in position killed the lift. She grabbed Chance’s shoulders and clawed at the cotton fabric of his white T-shirt, gathering it in her fists like a frightened child clutches a blanket.
Then everything went silent, just as it had the last time, right after she’d hit her head. The music simply stopped, as if she’d been imagining it all along, just as she feared.
She opened her eyes and saw Julian, his face pale, sitting at the piano. He’d stopped playing and was instead staring at her and Chance
, which explained the sudden silence.
She looked down at the floor spinning beneath her and thought she might be sick. Chance stumbled, and she screamed, convinced it was happening all over again.
She was going to fall.
Right there, in front of everyone.
* * *
Julian could feel the piano keys beneath his fingertips, but he couldn’t seem to make his hands move. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart stopped beating, as surely as it had the night of his car accident.
She’s falling.
Tessa was all out of balance. She was going to smash right into the ground, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Everything had gone eerily quiet. Still. The world around him was moving in slow motion. Then, just as quickly as it began, the silence came to an abrupt end.
People starting shouting, all at the same time. Chance tried to tell Tessa to lean further forward. She’d shied away from the ground and shifted her center of gravity, pulling him off balance. Julian could see it. Everyone could.
Madame Daria clapped her hands and yelled, “Tessa, lift from your core. Lift!”
The Russian got out of his chair and screamed corrections. “Hold it. Save the lift. Find your balance. Hold!”
Tessa couldn’t hear any of it, obviously. Even if she could, it was too late. There was no saving the lift.
Tessa scrambled down Chance’s body like a frightened animal inching its way down a tree. Chance swayed a little on his feet. His hands tightened around her waist, digging into her flesh until he managed to set her down on the ground. Gently. Deliberately. As if to prove a point.
She was safe.
Chance was an experienced partner. Julian knew that as well as anyone. Tessa had probably been safe all along. But it hadn’t looked that way to Julian, and it clearly hadn’t felt that way to Tessa, as she’d been suspended so far up in the air.
Julian stared down at his hands. They were balled into tight fists in his lap now. In his panic, he’d given up even the pretense of trying to play the piano. Chance’s words from the other day kept spinning round and round in his head.
She had an accident a year or so ago. A ballet accident. Her partner dropped her during a lift, and she hit her head.
She must have been terrified just now.
The Russian was still screaming at the top of his lungs, and Julian wanted nothing more than to jump up and wring his pompous neck. Chance cut Julian a sharp glance. It was a clear warning. Stay out of it.
Tessa stared down at her pink pointe shoes and maintained her death grip on Chance’s T-shirt, while Julian struggled to remain seated.
It’s not your business.
It had nothing to do with him. He and Tessa had only exchanged a handful of words. But Julian couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something there. Some kind of tenuous connection.
He wanted her.
Obviously.
He’d wanted her since the moment he set eyes on her. Even before he’d seen her dance, he’d been drawn to her fragile strength. Her kindness. She was everything that he wasn’t. In a way, they were flip sides of the same coin. Perhaps that’s why she stirred something in him. She touched him somewhere deep inside...a part of him that he’d thought he’d lost.
He had no intention of acting on the attraction. None whatsoever, even though seeing her at the Bennington with another man had made him realize just how much he despised the thought of her with anyone else. Relief had flowed through him like warm honey when Zander had introduced himself as Tessa’s brother. Pure, unadulterated relief.
All the same, he wasn’t fit for a relationship. He never had been, and he certainly wasn’t now. Even Chance was almost ready to give up on him since he’d refused to even discuss Zander’s invitation from the night before. Julian was almost glad the attraction he felt for Tessa didn’t appear to be reciprocated.
And yet, in the moments before fear set in, and she’d started to fall out of the lift, Julian could have sworn she’d intentionally sought him out. Her gaze locked with his, and the joy he’d seen in the depths of her emerald eyes had taken his breath away. It had been the most beautiful damn thing he’d ever seen.
But what had it meant?
“What the hell was that? That lift could have easily been saved. I told you what to do—close your ribs, tighten your core, find your focal point. You didn’t even try. Why didn’t you listen?” Ivanov threw his arms in the air and stalked toward Tessa.
She didn’t answer him. Nor did she turn around, probably because she couldn’t hear the criticism coming from the Russian’s mouth.
Julian was glad. Tessa didn’t need to hear it. She was already shaken up enough as it was. But Ivanov either didn’t notice or he didn’t care. Probably the latter. Chance had told Julian plenty of horror stories over the years about domineering artistic directors. Julian knew the drill. The dance world was tough. He got it. He didn’t like it, but he got it.
Then Ivanov took things too far.
“What’s wrong?” he yelled at Tessa’s back. Then just as she turned to face him, he blew out an angry sigh. “Are you deaf or something?”
Her eyes went as big as saucers. The color drained from her face.
The other dancers in the room all dropped their gazes to the floor. Even Chance. Even Madame Daria. No one said a word in Tessa’s defense. Not one person.
Julian could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. Rage blossomed in his chest. What the hell was wrong with these people?
He stood. The backs of his knees hit the piano bench, and it fell to the floor with a clatter. Everyone turned to look at him, including Tessa.
Chance shook his head. The message was once again unmistakable. Stay out of it.
But Julian couldn’t. Not this time.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t yell. He didn’t raise his voice so much as a decibel. He simply fixed his gaze with Ivanov’s and said, “As a matter of fact, she is. So why don’t you show some damned compassion?”
Chance sighed, and Julian could hear it from clear across the room.
“Mr. Shine!” Madame Daria shot Julian a glare that he interpreted to mean he was about to be fired.
Fine. Three days in this place was enough to drive anyone crazy. It was a miracle he’d lasted as long as he had.
Except a miracle hadn’t kept Julian coming back day after day, and he knew it. Tessa had.
He glanced at her, taking in the sudden flush in her delicate cheeks and the barely perceptible tremble in her lower lip. And he realized the gravity of his mistake. It settled into his chest with a terrible, dull ache. He’d embarrassed her. He’d made things worse.
Didn’t he always?
Ivanov narrowed his gaze at Julian. “What are you talking about?”
Tessa’s flush deepened a few shades.
Julian cleared his throat. He wouldn’t have taken the words back even if he could. Ivanov needed to know what a supreme ass he was being. If no one else would tell him, Julian was more than happy to do the honors. “You asked her if she’s deaf, and the answer is yes. An apology is in order, don’t you agree?”
Ivanov turned toward Tessa. “Is this true?”
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Yes, but...”
“But you decided to let your boyfriend tell me rather then letting me know when the casting sheet went up?” Ivanov crossed his arms and jerked his head in Julian’s direction.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Tessa seemed to be making a great effort not to look at him. “In fact, I barely know him.”
Julian picked up the piano bench, slammed it back in place and began to straighten his sheet music. He pitied whoever ended up taking his place. He really did.
“You barely know him? That’s about to change.” The choreographer’s gaze darted back and forth
between the two of them before settling once again on Tessa. “Since Mr. Shine has taken such an interest in your well-being, Miss Wilde, and since you apparently have an undisclosed challenge that requires extra practice, the two of you will rehearse every evening together for an extra two hours. Is that clear?”
Julian looked up from the papers in his hand. “What? No—”
Tessa shook her head vehemently. “I don’t think—”
Ivanov held up a hand, cutting both of them off. “I’m not asking. I’m telling. Either the two of you agree to this arrangement, or I choose a new pianist, as well as a new dancer for the principal role. The choice is yours.”
Julian shook his head. He’d never been one to take orders, and he wasn’t about to start now. Especially from a jackass like the one who’d treated Tessa so cruelly.
But apparently Tessa had other ideas.
“We’ll do it.”
Chapter Seven
Tessa didn’t really mind staying after rehearsal for extra practice. She probably would have done so even if Ivanov hadn’t insisted on it. She was preparing for her first role in a professional ballet performance. A starring role. She needed all the practice she could get.
But Tessa did mind the fact that she’d been reprimanded in front of the entire company. And she very much minded that the entire episode had been Julian’s fault.
She didn’t allow herself a single glance in his direction for the rest of rehearsal. She concentrated on memorizing the choreography and trying to tune out all the extraneous sounds in the room so she could focus on the music. It was far more difficult than she’d expected, even after the unsettling conversation she’d had with Dr. Spencer.
The dance studio was brimming with noise—Ivanov’s heavily accented voice issuing corrections, the pitter-patter of ballet shoes on the studio floor, the labored breath of the dancers. Every time Tessa caught hold of the melody, something else got in the way. She could feel the music slipping through her fingers, and now that she’d heard it again, she didn’t want to dance without it.
