Page 31 of Falling for the Bosshole

Ana stopped. It was enough to give her exactly what she needed at that precise moment. She remembered who she was. Ana Garcia was a dancer and a professional one. The phrase “the show must go on,” filtered through her head.

“I will go on stage tonight, despite being stripped of the dignity I fought so hard to find, despite knowing that the only man I ever truly loved has betrayed me in the most horrendous way possible so much so that I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again,” she vowed.

When the curtain rose, Ana danced like there was no tomorrow. On that stage, she was smooth when the choreography called for it. She was rowdy and energized with the whole ensemble on stage. She smiled at the audience when it was expected of her. Her body was sensuous and provocative in her dances with Ricardo. She was running on pure adrenaline because she had dug so deep into herself; she knew she was almost depleted.

“Just one more dance, Ana,” she chanted as she scurried back to the dressing rooms to change for the finale.

Killian Church, her ever-reliable assistant, confidant, and adviser all rolled into one, waited for her in the room. Ana always found the girl’s presence very comforting. Killian could read her like a book, and if she sensed something was worrying the dancer, she wouldn’t hesitate to ask. Ana didn’t want to talk about the incident. She was afraid she would lose whatever was left of her will-power to step out on stage for the finale.

As if fate was not yet done tormenting her, Killian showed her the costume she was to wear. It was a Gypsy dancer ceremonial dress with a loose maxi skirt made from the sheer material. The blouse was equally sheer, tight around the waist, and free on top, allowing it to drop seductively down her shoulders. If the gods wanted to announce to the world what Ana was, then the costume was the most obvious evidence that the gypsy blood runs thick in her veins.

Kilian expertly tied a scarf around her hair as Ana grabbed loads of bangles and necklaces and put them on.

Killian stepped back and clapped her hands. “You look like a true Gypsy,” she gushed in pure delight.

“Yeah,” Ana muttered, “because I am.”

Suddenly, Ana remembered something.

“My backpack…where’s my backpack,” she searched around her.

“It’s here,” Killian replied, scurrying to where the bag was before handing it to her.

“Could-could you give me a minute?” Ana pleaded.

“Sure,” Killian replied, gesturing at the clock to make sure Ana was aware of the time, before heading out the door.

Ana rifled through the bag’s contents until she found what she was looking for. It was the Gypsy waist scarf with the tiny bells, the same scarf she found in the dump years ago back in Torrevieja. She caressed the fragile piece of cloth with her fingers. This waist scarf meant everything to her. It had propelled her dream of becoming a dancer. It was the very fabric that made her days brighter when things became unbearable between her and her mother. This was her lucky charm. It represented all that she was, a girl with Gypsy blood running through her veins. And she was proud of it. Damn Horne Calloway, who tried to make her ashamed of that truth. Fuck Lance Mancini, who denied her that.

She brought the fabric to her lips and kissed it. “Don’t fail me now,” she prayed.

She tied the scarf around her waist and looked in the mirror. The fabric was the missing piece that brought the whole costume together. It was like the discovery of the missing pieces in her mother’s past that made Ana whole again.

She stepped out of the dressing room to find an agitated Killian waiting outside.

“What took you so long,” her assistant asked worriedly while checking the dancer from head to foot.

Before Ana could reply, their attention was caught by a commotion at the other end of the hall.

An usher was in a scuffle with two burly men who were assigned to guard the dancers’ dressing rooms.

“Lemme go, Mr. Mancini asked me to give a note to…” the usher complained.

“…And Mr. Mancini gave strict orders not to let anyone in there. So, unless he appears, there’s no way you are entering, buddy.” The guards were adamant.

“What’s that all about,” Ana asked Killian. She was certain she heard Lash’s name mentioned in the argument.

“We don’t have time for that,” Killian huffed, pulling her by the elbow as they headed the other way.

Ana and Ricardo executed the Gypsy dance to perfection. Ana and Ricardo interpreted the wonder of discovering love, the pain of a lost love, the struggle to pick up the pieces and start all over again, the excitement over the first time their bodies met- all these in ways that held the audience captive. Ana danced her way to the center stage, where Ricardo joined her. The drama was palpable as the spotlight focused on their silhouettes. They clasped hands, suggesting anticipation. With the music reaching a crescendo, Ana stood still as the camera zoomed in. She raised her chin, parted her lips, and gave her dance partner a real kiss.

The stage lights dramatically blacked out. Silence filled the entire auditorium. Then the house erupted as one in a standing ovation. Cheers and bravos emanated from the audience. The lights came on. Ana and Ricardo curtsied elegantly to the house before leaving the stage.