Page 9 of A Certain Step (Midnights at Pemberley #1)

ETHAN

“ I ’m so sick of characters dying! God, why?

Why did we do this to ourselves? I looked up spoilers.

I knew what was coming. I told myself I’d be fine.

But I take it all back. I’m not fine. I’m mad.

Good characters don’t deserve to die on-screen.

Isn’t it bad enough that we have to watch real people die?

Now we have to watch characters we love have the same fate, and for what?

Good television? Fuck that. I’m over it. Never again.”

Ethan wanted to weigh in, but he knew she wasn’t done venting yet.

Willa got up off the couch and started pacing around the room. “And after everything they had been through.” She sighed heavily. “This sucks. This sucks so bad,” she said, wiping a few tears from her eyes.

She moved toward where Tulip sat, and as though sensing her agitation, his cat rose and leaped behind the couch. “See, even Tulip is sad. She’s gone off to hide. Or she thinks I’m a mad woman; either way, we’re not having a good time anymore,” she remarked.

He stifled a laugh. He had rescued Tulip from a shelter in Boston, a tiny lit tle nugget who’d been abandoned at six weeks old. Willa had insisted that he keep the name the shelter had given her, so Tulip stuck.

Willa walked back toward the coffee table, took her can of Dr. Pepper, and chugged what had been remaining.

“Do you need something stronger?” he asked.

She stopped her pacing. “I need my memories wiped. I have massive regrets now.”

Ethan curled his lips inward to suppress a smile.

She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

He tried with all his might to hold it in.

“You’re telling me that after three seasons of investing in this love story, you’re not the least bit upset at this outcome? The same man who cries every time they show what Tiny Tim’s future would be if Scrooge doesn’t change in The Muppet Christmas Carol?”

And then he laughed. He was upset, but Willa’s adorable face was a bright spot in the moment. He couldn’t help himself. “We knew this was coming. We’d been preparing for it.”

“It still doesn’t make it any better,” she said. “And it’s a shitty reflection of the real world I’m trying very hard to escape from.”

“It doesn’t, no, and I’m not laughing at you. I was laughing at the way you got up. And at Tulip’s reaction,” he replied honestly.

She scoffed affectionately, her belief in his response falling somewhere in between “nice try” and “whatever, it’ll do.”

In an instant, Willa squared her shoulders, and the sudden spark of an idea flashed in her expression. An entire story danced in her eyes in a way he recognized from all the times she’d done this before.

“Get up, please,” she said, confirming his detection.

He did as she asked, pushing his coffee table against the couch to free up space on his living room floor.

Willa opened her phone and played what he recognized as Billie Eilish’s “No Time to Die.” She stood before him, bopping her head first, moving her fingers afterward, lost in thought. This was how a choreography with Willa always started.

“This song always felt too sad to ever choreograph anything to, but it’s perfectly appropriate right now,” she noted.

He nodded in agreement. It wasn’t one he’d ever think about, but he understood exactly how she got here from where they’d been. He understood the mood she was trying to convey—the emotions she wanted to release.

“We’re going to start with the gradual waltz that Jane and Bingley have during the wedding song. The first one that is a little slower, where it’s basically the two of them sort of losing themselves in each other,” she waited for him to verify that he knew which one she meant.

Ethan lifted his left hand for her to take and placed his right hand against her back. She put her hand in his, gliding the other to the slope of his shoulder.

They moved as she’d suggested for what felt like less than ten seconds. “Follow my lead for when it gets a little quicker, yeah? We’re going to focus more on the bridge,” she detailed.

He let her guide the motions, reveling in the fleeting sight of her in his arms.

They waltzed in the way she’d suggested then she nearly ripped herself away from him, spun in a clip turn, then fell back toward him where he caught her in his arms. She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming. “Excellent catch. I figured you’d get exactly how I wanted that one.”

She pulled away from him, listening to the music, moving in-place in small ways he gathered she was trying to piece together. “Ugh, we need a bigger space for what I’m picturing. And I’m going to need Miles’ input. No offense,” she added apologetically .

He chuckled. “None taken. I could train for years, and my body would still never move the way his could.”

“Still, you got me started on something, and I’m now thoroughly excited that I could channel my sadness into a dance, so thank you,” she said with a bow.

“Anytime,” he replied.

He looked at her for a beat, head tilted toward the ground, listening intently to the music once more.

He remembered when they’d first danced together. During a day off in Boston, Miles was out sick with the flu.

She’d been fixating over Duncan Laurence’s “Arcade,” so she had called Ethan to see if he’d be willing to step in with her.

He had plans with Sam and Declan, but he canceled on them, selfishly happy to spend more time with Willa—to move with her, see what it was like when she worked through an entire choreography from scratch.

It wasn’t the kind of number that required too much from him, more acting in a sense, less dancing.

It didn’t have them touching as much as he would’ve liked, either.

But it was also the first time he learned how to lift her, consumed immediately by the sensation of her in his arms like that.

His hands splayed against her waist, her body sliding slowly down his form.

She was perfect for him. He considered it then; he was positive about it now.

The repeated motions were intoxicating.

He recalled coming home in a daze that night, tossing and turning with his fingers still buzzing from all the ways they’d touched her. His mind racing with all the little smiles she’d given him, the way she lost herself in the music—the movements.

There had been a point during the whole process where she made him crawl to her, making him realize at that second that he would do anythi ng for her. Crawl, jump, run in circles—whatever she asked of him. He’d do it without hesitation.

He’d always try a little harder for Willa. Stay firmly anchored if she needed someone’s arms to fall into. He’d lift her higher if she wanted to leap toward the skies.

The memories pushed him over the edge every time.

She had been so patient with him, so at ease and open in how she taught him every routine. He remembered the way she glowed when they finally nailed the entire thing in one go.

On the nights when he craved her touch, he thought of that day.

He remembered the teal legging set she’d worn. The cut-off pattern in the back of her sports bra, her bare skin between the fabric; the grueling humidity that was made a thousand times more bearable because of how the two of them moved.

Ethan had memorized all the ways she looked at him that day.

He cherished the healing narrative that unfolded through the choreography she created.

He savored the way she giggled every time they messed up and how she trusted him fully.

The way she lay across the floor where he joined her side by side, their exhales hard and heavy until they stabilized into something more measured.

She was back with other dance partners after that, Miles mostly. Sometimes Christian. And Ethan understood that entirely. The two of them only shared small numbers here and there, moments of her helping him with his form for Midnights at Pemberley that ended too quickly .

Nothing had been like that day. Slow. Rewarding. Emotional.

No amount of time spent with her felt like it was enough.

He’d never felt that way performing before.

No matter how engrossed he’d been in a role, no matter how closely he knew his character or his scene partner, he could leave it all behind once the ghost light turned on or when the director called cut.

The emotions never followed him home. But with Willa, every move was different—every gaze from her felt like discovering constellations for the first time.

God, how he wished again that she could go on as Elizabeth. One time only. A single show, though he knew that would inevitably make him greedier, drive him to want more of her.

What if he told her? Right here at this moment while she stood in front of him with her mind worlds away, creating something magnetic?

What would happen if he blurted that he’d metaphorically been transported back to the past, where memories of them dancing left him breathless and wanting?

What if he told her he went back to that place often?

What if he told her that he thought about her constantly, on and off the stage?

Willa felt like coming home after a long day of pretending, falling onto the couch, and knowing he didn’t have to try as hard. He didn’t have to force a smile if he was too tired to. He could just be Ethan, content and happy. He could be hers and no one else’s.

She stopped the music and looked up at him, forcing him out of the memories and immersing him back into the present. “I should head out. I can’t believe previews start tomorrow.”

He wanted to ask her to stay, but he knew that’d be a step too far. Still, he wished for it desperately, with everything in him.

“I’ll take the subway back with you, so you’re not alone. My car chose the worst time to require servicing,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, it’s late. You need to rest. We both do. I’ll just order a ride.”

He and Willa stood outside his apartment, waiting for her Lyft to pull over.

When she looked at her phone and noticed that the driver was fast ap proaching, she turned and wrapped her arms around him.

“If I have nightmares about this fictional death, I’m waking you up and forcing you to suffer with me. ”

He laughed into her velvety hair and faintly pressed his lips against her temple. Could she tell? If she did, she didn’t say anything. “And I’ll answer the phone with only a few complaints.”

Willa peered up at him, her arms still circled around his waist. “There better be zero complaints. You’re the one who suggested it . Now you pay the price.”

“Okay, no complaints. Call me whenever.” He secretly ached for that, too. He’d maybe grumble for a millisecond, but his tired mind would link itself with his heart and realize that it was Willa—every part of him could stay awake for her and do anything she wanted.

Releasing his arms from her, Ethan opened the car door and ensured the driver saw him. “I know I have your location, but text me the second you get home,” he said.

He didn’t actually know her location, but it was something he figured he should say to guarantee her safety.

“You got it,” she replied.

That sentiment wasn’t a lie, though. He wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully if he didn’t know she got home safe from leaving his house, so he’d wait for her text.

He walked back up to his apartment and plopped himself onto the couch.

Tulip jumped forward from behind the couch and straight into his lap.

“Thanks for giving us the privacy, Tulip. You’re a real champ for that. ”

She gave him a death glare.

“Are you mad that Willa left or that we made you hide?” he asked as though she’d answer.

Tulip lifted her little head and stared at the wall next to him.

He scratched underneath her chin. “I’m going to pretend you’re mad at me because I was too much of a coward to tell Willa how I feel.”

She did not react. Still, he took it as validation. He sat there until Willa’s text vibrated on his phone.

WILLA

I’m home, alive, and found fix-it fan fiction to read in the car.

He chuckled.

ETHAN

Send it over if it’s good.

WILLA

??