by Linnea May
What does she want from me now? Did I forget something? I instinctively touch my headpiece, trying to figure out if I might have dropped a pin or a feather or another part of my costume. Things like that happen all the time, especially to me, and it's the only reason I can think of why Miss Bellaforte would be calling for me.
I make my way toward her, meandering through the other swans walking in the opposite direction.
"Yes?" I ask, as I reach Miss Bellaforte.
"There's someone here to see you," she says, pressing her thin lips together. "A young man, very insistent. Lucas Abrams."
"Lucas Abrams?" I ask. "I don't know anyone by that name. Did he say what he wants?"
Miss Bellaforte raises her eyebrows. She looks utterly annoyed, which is a little reassuring, because I don't think she'd look at me like that if she had bad news to deliver.
"He said it was urgent, that's all," she says. "I told him to wait for you right off stage."
"But, can't I change before I-?"
"Sara, I don't have time for this now, would you please go and talk to him?" Miss Bellaforte interrupts me.
I don't understand why she's being so harsh with me, but decide not to argue, even though I'm dying to get out of my costume. As much as I love how it looks, it's awfully tight and uncomfortable, especially after a performance.
The backstage area is clearing out, as more and more dancers make their way back to the dressing rooms.
Who the hell is Lucas Abrams? If he has access to this area, he must somehow be connected to the company, but I've never heard his name before. Is he some kind of talent agent? Does it happen this way? I perform, he watches me, notices me among all the other, identical-looking swans, and then picks me out from among all the others to offer me a position as a soloist?
My heart jumps with excitement at the prospect, but when I reach the area right off the stage, I realize that I couldn't be more wrong.
Even in the dim light behind the closed curtains and all the rummaging that is still going on with the stagehands around us, I instantly recognize him. He's wearing a suit, standing tall and confident, his hands buried in his pants' pockets. He’s standing halfway turned away from me, but I can see the outlines of his many tattoos peeking out on his neck just above his shirt collar. He's wearing sneakers that clash with his otherwise dressed-up ensemble, but his hair looks more in place than it did back in his apartment.
It's him. The one night stand guy from the club.
"Lux," I breathe.
Chapter XII
Lux
She looks different, so very different from the last time I saw her. I mean, of course, she does. She's in costume, dressed as a swan, looking more bird-like than human.
But it's not just that. As I turn around to see Sara standing just a few feet away from me, her eyes widened with surprise, I notice she's carrying herself differently, too. Her posture is different, the way she moves, even the way she slightly tilts her head to the side as she observes me from a distance.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, suspicion running deep in her voice.
She approaches me with awkwardly wide steps. It may just be the costume and the way it dictates her movements, but even when she walks, she reminds me very little of the drunken, sassy girl I picked up at a club two nights ago.
"I still have your phone," I tell her, suppressing the urge to touch her. She looks so exotic, so strangely beautiful. Her make-up has been so convincingly applied that it's hard to see the girl hidden within, but nothing can hide those riveting steel blue eyes. I'm surprised to see how intact the make-up still appears, even though it's evident that she's been sweating quite a lot. Strands of black hair are sticking to her temple, just below the white feathers of her headpiece, a clear telltale sign of the strenuous exertion she just went through.
"Oh, right!" she exclaims. "I tried to contact you about that, too. Several times!"
She comes to a halt in front of me and crosses her arms in front of her small chest, shifting her weight on one leg while extending the other to the side, her eyes fixating on me as she pouts. It's the cutest look, especially in her current get-up.
"Why didn't you pick up when I called?" she asks, defiantly lifting her chin toward me and narrowing her eyes just a bit. "I thought I'd never see my phone again!"
I shrug. "I wanted to deliver it to you in person."
She arches her eyebrows. "Even so. Here? Now? How did you find me anyway?"
"I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone," I say, taking a step closer to her, shrinking the space between us. "It's been a while since I've been to the ballet."
She rolls her eyes.
"Oh, come on!" she groans. "Admit it, this is the first time you’ve ever been to the ballet! You don't strike me as a guy who goes to cultural performances. How did you even get a ticket to this performance on such short notice? It was sold out weeks ago. And who did you bribe to get back here?"
Her eyelashes are fluttering. I can see that my presence makes her nervous. She could just ask for the phone and walk away, never having to see me again. Instead, she's standing here, asking me all these silly questions, when I know she must be exhausted and eager to get out of that tutu and wash off her make-up.
Her eyes are still fixated on mine, and that doesn't change when I lift my right hand to touch her face. She flinches just the slightest bit as I caress along her cheek, gently following the outline of her feminine jaw, before traveling to her trembling lips. She may not even realize it, but her lips part as if by command, allowing the tip of my finger to slide between them, if that's what I wanted to do right now. But I don't. Instead, I place my thumb at the corner of her mouth and my palm on her cheek, allowing her to lean into my touch, which she does.
"Money can buy you anything, at anytime, anywhere," I simply say. "And you know, I'm - as you put it - freaking rich."
The hint of a smile appears on her face, but her eyes narrow.
"I want my phone back," she whispers, her voice barely audible with the commotion around us. "That's why you're here, right? To give me my phone back."
I nod.
"You'll get your phone back," I say. "But I want a date in return."
She furls her eyebrows. "Are you blackmailing me?"
"Such an ugly word," I say. "And no. I'm not. In fact, I'm offering you two things: your phone and a date with me. A proper date. One that you will remember."
She stares at me through her still narrowed eyes, contemplating the suggestion, her cheek still leaning against my hand. I can feel her shivering beneath my touch. She looks so delicious, so exquisite, in this costume. If it was up to me, I'd take her right here and now, and make that little swan dance just for me.
The images are burnt deep inside my head. Her, in that dress, dancing on stage. I couldn't figure out which ballerina she was at first, even though I was sitting in one of the front rows. She was hidden among a sea of white tutus. Dozens of girls, all dressed in the exact same costumes and looking eerily alike, all sharing the petite and strong features of dedicated dancers. But it didn't take long for me to find the only swan I wanted. Even among all the others, and with her rather short stature, she managed to stand out from all the others right before my eyes. They were glued on only her, watching mesmerized as she danced with such admirable passion and perfection. This girl was born to be a dancer, and I hate that she wasn't the one in the lead role. There was only one dance in which she could truly shine, could stand out, because she was only competing against three other swans. When they entered the stage for that particular act, I spotted her at once. She was the second one to enter the stage, the one who at one point moved her head a bit faster than the others, as if excitement took over, causing her to rush through a sequence that I know must have been the most important for her tonight.
It was breathtakingly beautiful - and so fucking sexy. While the pure and innocent good girl vibe has always gotten to me, this was a whole new level of purity, and I wanted to claim it – I w
anted to claim her – for myself.
Now that she's standing right in front of me, still radiating that mystical appearance, I have to hold myself back from not taking her right here and now. Images keep rising up in my mind. Images of her in that dress, completely naked underneath, chained to the bed, and submitting her perfect little body to me. I will make this happen. I have to.
"So," I whisper to the little swan standing in front of me. "When can I take you out?"
"I still have performances," she mumbles. "Two more."
"Just tell me a night," I urge.
She bites her lower lip.
"Friday," she says. "In two weeks. Two weeks from Friday."
"That's unacceptable."
She frowns at me. "But that's when the season is over!"
"What are you doing tonight?"
Her eyes flicker. "It's late. I'm exhausted."
"But there's no performance tomorrow, right?"
"No, but-"
"Just a night cap," I say. "And I promise, you won't have to move much tonight. I'll help you to wind down and relax."
I lean forward and plant a soft kiss on her trembling lips. This is not how I kiss, ever. Careful, gentle, inquiringly. We are standing in a dark corner, just right off the stage, and we’re surrounded by people cleaning up, fixing lights and preparing the stage for another group’s performance the following day, but none of it matters. I've been ignoring the distractions the entire time we talked, but it's even easier now that our lips are glued to one another. She welcomes my kiss with a surprising eagerness, and her tutu brushes against my leg as she leans in closer, yearning for more. A soft moan escapes her throat when I end our kiss and retreat.
"I wish I could take you home like this," I give voice to my naughty thoughts. "You, in this costume. I've never fucked a beautiful swan before."
She giggles, and I'm sure she's blushing underneath all that make-up.
"It's not mine," she says. "The costume belongs to the company."
She pauses and looks up at me. "It's very expensive."
"Expensive," I reply, huffing. "As if that ever matters to me."
"Show off," she says, winking at me.
She takes a step back. "Will you give me a moment to change?"
"If I must," I reply. "I can help you with that."
She smiles at me, shaking her head. "You'd rip the fabric. And besides, I'm sharing my dressing room with the entire corps de ballet. We wouldn't be alone."
"I wouldn't care."
"I would," she says. "Wait for me in the lobby."
She turns around and I watch her walk away, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, while the tutu nods around her narrow hips.
Chapter XIII
Sara
"I'm sorry," I feel inclined to say when I meet him outside in the lobby. "I know this isn't as glamorous as my stage outfit, but I didn't expect to go anywhere but home to my bathtub tonight."
I'm wearing a loose-fitting gray sweater, white leggings and my soft black suede winter boots, an oversized scarf wrapped around my neck to protect myself against the chilly evening wind. My hair is tied back in a bun. I washed my face and replaced the smeared stage make-up with a swipe of nude eyeshadow and thick mascara, something I wouldn't have bothered with if Lux hadn't shown up.
I know I shouldn't do this. Just a day ago, I swore to be better, to never do stupid things like this again. Spending nights with men who are a bad influence on me, losing myself to the short-term pleasure they promise - and all of that while the season is still going. I still have performances coming up, even though the next one is not for another three days. I shouldn't risk this, especially for him, the guy who took me home with him, even though I was obviously drunk.
But when he showed up like this, backstage, looking like he did in that suit, looking at me with that controlled hunger. His demeanor is so confusingly charming and erotic. And he wants me. Me. Why would a man like him want a girl like me? I know that my athletic body is alluring to a lot of men, but I've often been told that I'm funny-looking, with my light eyes, black hair and child-like size. I'm not the kind of woman that turns men's heads on the street, especially when I'm dressed the way I am now, which is most of the time.
"You look perfect, little dancer," he says, placing one hand at the small of my back as he gently leads me out of the auditorium. "Besides, you won't be wearing much once we get to my place.
He's so self-assured, so confident that I will just follow him wherever he leads and have sex with him again, even though our last night together didn't exactly end on a positive note. His confidence is strangely enticing, and yet I feel obliged to resist.
"I'm really tired," I say. "Don't expect any special moves from me tonight or-"
"I'm not expecting anything," he says. "And I'll make sure you won't move much at all."
"What?" I ask, looking up at him with big eyes. "What do you m-?"
"Get in," he interrupts, as he opens the door of a black limousine parked right in front of the entrance and motions for me to slide in.
"Is this yours?" I ask stupidly.
"Why would I ask you to get into another man's car?" he says, gesturing with his eyes for me to obey his instructions to get into the car.
I follow his command and slide into the backseat. He closes the door behind me and walks around the car, taking his seat on the other side, right next to me. Only now do I notice there's someone sitting in the driver's seat, hidden behind a tinted wall of glass that provides us with privacy.
"You really are freaking rich," I muse.
He knocks against the glass shield in front of us and the driver starts the car.
"My family is," he says. "But yes, I have my ways of multiplying our wealth."
"Your name is Lucas Abrams?" I ask. "Why did you tell me it was Lux?"
"Because that is what I'm called," he says. "No one but my mother still calls me Lucas. I've never liked the name."
"What's wrong with Luc-?"
"It's Lux for you," he interrupts, casting me a warning look. "Call me Lucas one more time, and I might have to punish you."
"Punish?" I ask. My heart skips a beat at his words. Why does this excite me? I don't even know what he means by punishment.
Except I do. I have a very clear idea of what kind of punishment he might be talking about.
Is he that kind of guy?
If he is, I'm in bigger trouble than I thought I'd be with him.
"Why did you seek me out like this?" I ask, realizing the question implies I'm fishing for compliments.
"Because you left your phone in my apartment," he says. "And I thought this wouldn't have happened if someone didn't want us to meet up again."
"Someone?" I ask. "Me?"
He casts me a look. "You. Me. An almighty power. Fate. Call it what you want."
"You don't strike me as a religious guy," I say.
"I didn't say I was," he replies, shrugging. "But some signs need to be pursued, and I felt this was one of those times."
We sit in silence for a few moments, as I ponder what to say next, or rather, how to phrase my concerns. I shouldn't be presumptuous, but if I've learned anything from my mistakes in the past, it's that I need to be careful and look out for myself.
I need to protect myself.
"You can't hurt me," I whisper, not daring to look at him. "Please don't hurt me."
I must sound so stupid.
I can feel him looking at me. His eyes are locked on me, observing me as he processes my words. I know he's waiting for me to turn my head to look at him, but I can't.
"Who says I want to hurt you?" he finally asks.
"No one," I hurry to reply. "I'm just saying... you can't. My body... I need to be able to perform."
"And so you will," he says. "I take no joy in breaking bones - or poisoning little girls to a point where they can't remember their own decisions the next day."
I blush as he reminds me of my own irresponsibility.
/> "I didn't want to imply anything," I utter. "It's just... I've made mistakes in the past. And I swore to myself I wouldn't let it happen again."
"Mistakes?" he asks. "Was I a mistake?"
I look at him, surprised to see him look at me with a somewhat pained and disappointed expression.
"I wouldn't be in this car if I thought you were a mistake," I say. "But I don't trust myself sometimes."
"Do you trust me?" he wants to know.
I hesitate, unsure how to reply. I don't know if I trust him yet. I know his full name now, he has shown up at my performance, he must have talked to Miss Bellaforte, maybe she even knows him? She said his name as if I should recognize it, as if he was someone people knew.
"I want to trust you," I say. "But you confuse me."
He casts me a cocky smile. "Good."
"Good?"
"That means I've grabbed your attention," he says.
"You certainly did," I admit. "I think it would be easier to trust you, if I knew a little more about you."
He raises one eyebrow, twirling his hand to beckon me to continue talking. "What do you want to know?"
"Who are you?" I ask. "I mean, what do you do?"
"I run a business," he says.
"Could you be more specific?"
He sighs. "It's a tech start-up, really not that interesting. We help companies secure their computer systems against hackers."
"So, you're an IT nerd," I tease him.
He reacts to my remark with a little chuckle. "I guess you could say so."
"And that's how you became this rich?" I wonder out loud.
"I told you, I was born rich," he says.
"So, your father is the one who's running the business?"
"No!" he says with such vehemence that it startles me. "No, my father has nothing to do with this. This my own business. I may have used my trust fund to start it, but I'm the one who's in charge, and the one who made it as big and as successful as it is today."
He pauses, trying to calm himself down. Mentioning his father has visibly upset him. They don't seem to have the best relationship.
