Ballet Master (Teacher's Pet Book 2) by Cassie Mint

Author:Cassie Mint [Mint, Cassie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Cherry Publishing
Published: 2021-05-05T18:30:00+00:00

Six

Raphael

There is something wrong with Paige.

The first day in the theater usually bubbles with excitement. The dancers can imagine it properly for the first time: the rows of faces in the audience. The music floating up from the orchestra pit. The heat of the lights and the deafening applause.

The rest of the dancers chatter excitedly as Madame and I lead them through the backstage corridors, giggling and whispering as we pass the stars’ dressing rooms. And none have more reason to be excited than Paige—she has the biggest part. The most to gain.

Yet she trails behind the others, barely listening to whatever her partner David is droning about in her ear. Her eyes skate along the scuffed linoleum floor, the flyers pinned to cork boards fluttering as she walks past.

Her shoulders are slumped. Her face is pale.

My God, what have I done?

“The costume fittings are scheduled for 3pm.” Madame lists the day’s appointments in my ear, but I cannot concentrate either. Not when my angel is dragging her feet over the corridor floor, so lost and deflated.

Did I hurt her?

Did I—did I force her somehow? Make her feel obliged to me—the ballet master? Bile rises in my throat at the thought. It felt so perfect in the studio yesterday, the two of us falling into flawless sync when we were alone—did I imagine that?

God.

If I have harmed my angel… I cannot live with myself.

“I must speak to the leads.”

I contain myself until we are gathered on the stage, the dancers gaping at the scenery hanging in the flies overhead. But as soon as Paige’s eyes land on me, I can’t wait a moment longer. I need to speak with her. I need to know.

“The rest of you warm up. Run through the steps. We will block out the opening dance.”

I barely hear my own instructions. I can only see Paige, can only watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath her sweater. Her chunky sweatshirt is gone today—she is draped in a soft black woolen sweater which brushes against the dips and swells of her body.

Perfect for the black swan.

She is perfect.

“Paige. David.” I clear my throat. “Come here, please.”

David strides quickly over, but Paige drags her feet. She walks to me like she is walking to the gallows, and pain ripples through my chest.

“Are you ready?” I croak. She won’t look at me.

“Yeah, definitely,” David says brightly. “I’m so psyched.”

Fine. Whatever. I am happy that David is psyched, but can he not see that his partner is wilting?

“Give us a moment please, David.” Enough pretense. His eyes widen, but he walks away without another word. He joins the nearest group of dancers, dropping his bag to the floor and beginning his stretches, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Yes, Monsieur Dupont?”

Her voice is so quiet.

“Raphael,” I grit out. “Why do you not use my name?”

She looks up then at last, anger sparking in her eyes.

“Because we are in rehearsals, Monsieur. And here, I have no right—”

“You have all the right.

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