Page 29 of Lights, Camera, Love

Mayday is struggling even more than Avalanche, and Snuggles appears to be locked in a silent scream.

But together, the group makes it through the foot-pivots, shoulder-pops, slide-steps and body-rolls.

When Usher breaks into his solo, doing a smooth dolphin dive and rise-up combo, the crowd’s cheers and wolf-whistles momentarily smother the music.

On the track’s final beat, the dancers freeze in a series of cool, attitude-filled poses, and the crowd goes ballistic.

My smile almost splits my face. I hold up two fists in the air while the dancers pile off the stage towards me, panting and grinning.

Snuggles throws both arms around me and squeezes the breath from my chest.

‘I can’t believe I survived!’ gasps Avalanche.

Bliss laughs. ‘When can we do it again?’ she says, strangling my wrists.

Mayday groans. ‘Never!’ He bends to grip his knees. ‘I ain’t got no nerves left.’

Austin jogs onto the stage from the opposite side to introduce the next celebrity act, and I invite my dancers over to the bar so I can shout them all a well-deserved drink.

I order a virgin mojito, as I’m driving, and cast my gaze around the buzzy nightclub. Now that the performance is over and I’m no longer distracted, my eyes are hunting for him everywhere, even though I wish they wouldn’t.

My stomach twists tight.

There he is.

He’s sitting on one of the navy velvet couches behind the VIP rope across the room, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingers.

When he fails to look in my direction, I blink down at my cocktail, a sea of uncomfortable emotions welling up in my throat.

After what Kye told me at the photo shoot, I understand why he doesn’t want to pursue anything romantic with me.

Still, the blatant rejection, the walking away without a backwards glance, hits a little too close to home.

A palm captures my elbow and I’m tugged into a spin, nearly colliding with Rafael’s silky black shirt and red suspenders.

‘Hey, you,’ I say, laughing as I step back.

‘I just had to spin you in that dress,’ he says, kissing my cheek. ‘You look drop-dead.’

‘Thank you. I’m so sorry I missed your dance.’ I pout over the rim of my glass. The reason I was late to the showcase flares in my mind— I heard my father’s voice; he said my name —and I set my cocktail on the bar, suddenly nauseated.

‘Don’t be silly; you’ve seen me shake my butt a million times.’ Rafael snatches up my drink and takes my fingers in his other hand. ‘Come on, gorgeous—your boys are up here.’

My boys?

He leads me through clusters of guests chattering around high tables and across to the other side of the venue, where he unclips the VIP rope.

Kye’s eyes jump to mine as Rafael sets my glass on his table.

I don’t expect much more out of Kye than a curt greeting, but I’m braced for some sort of reaction from Austin; my figure-hugging salsa dress is not the sort of clothing I usually wear unless Buzz is acting as my stylist. Austin does offer me a wide-eyed whistle and a brief hug, but through it all, he barely looks at me.

Rafael grins down at Austin. ‘Sorry to get you up and down like a yoyo, but the next celebrity act is ready to rock.’

‘I’m always ready for show tiiime ,’ Austin replies with a cheesy grin.

Rafael laughs, then squeezes my shoulder. ‘Why don’t you hang out here in the VIP area, babe, until Austin calls you guys on? Sit and drink, cuties,’ he says, winking at me and Kye through the smoky liner that makes his ebony eyes shine.

Austin’s gaze shifts between me and Kye, and he suddenly pushes close to me, touching his lips to my cheek.

‘Knock ’em dead, babe,’ he says.

I smile. ‘You, too.’

A roving, eagle-eyed photographer aims her camera in our direction, and I make a snap decision, purely for publicity’s sake, to tilt forward and press my mouth to Austin’s. A cold shiver rushes over my lips as they touch his. How can these kisses be getting worse, not better?

Austin heads off with Rafael, and I gingerly take a seat on the couch beside Kye.

‘You know it’s just for the cameras,’ I say without looking at him.

His fingers pick at the label of his beer bottle. ‘Of course. I came up with the idea, didn’t I?’ He finally angles his face to look at me, and heat whips over my cheeks as our gazes sear together.

Hi.

Hi.

I suck in a breath and blink away, reminding myself not to get caught up in fantasy. It doesn’t help that Kye looks eye-poppingly handsome tonight in ripped white jeans and a blue-and-white gingham shirt with a plum pocket square that matches my dress.

The background music fades out, and Austin’s high-energy voice booms through the microphone, drawing a whooping cheer from the amped-up crowd.

Kye’s eyes haven’t left mine. I turn back to him, letting myself become locked in a silent staring competition.

I didn’t expect this. I was sure that I’d turn up tonight and he’d be back to his cool, distant, Groucho self. Instead, he’s gazing at me with a little crease of longing between his brows. At least, I think it’s longing; the butterflies crowding my stomach certainly want it to be.

‘You look beautiful,’ I can’t help but murmur, because he does.

Kye’s eyes soften; his cheeks darken. ‘You are beautiful,’ he says, his voice a deep rumble. ‘And I don’t just mean how you look.’ He reaches to lightly graze his thumb over my cheek. ‘You are very, very beautiful,’ he says.

I tilt my head into his palm as a shaky breath pushes out of my lungs. ‘Kye, what you said the other day—’

‘Hasn’t changed,’ he finishes soberly.

A knife sinks into my heart, and I pull away from him. His hand slips off my cheek.

‘I respect that you don’t want to do anything to upset your best friend,’ I say, wishing we were anywhere but in this loud, crowded bar. ‘And that’s honourable. It is. But boy, does it suck for me.’

Kye’s lips quirk, but the sadness doesn’t leave his eyes. ‘It sucks for me, too.’

Then don’t do it.

He says nothing further, so I pick up my drink and take a long sip. You’d think I would be used to handling rejection by now, considering my history with my father, but this feels agonisingly raw.

Kye sighs, the sound almost pained, as he leans into me, ensnaring me in his gaze. ‘You’re too good for me, Evie,’ he whispers.

We both jump as Austin announces that it’s time for the final act and booms our names through the speakers. Showtime .

I toss back my last gulp of mojito. ‘You ready?’

‘Christ, no.’

I smile as Kye climbs to his feet and reaches for my hand.

Our fingers lace tightly together, and I see a flush of affection shining through his face.

I haven’t performed one dance move yet, and my heart is already a bass drum.

Has holding hands with someone always felt this good?

All the nerve endings in my fingers are lighting up, leaving a trail of sparks wherever our skin makes contact.

Somehow, our conversation at the photo shoot hasn’t pushed us further apart; I think it’s brought us closer together.

‘Comrades, this is an extra special performance,’ Austin announces through the microphone, ‘because, about to hit the stage with the rising salsa star, Kye Evans’—Kye makes a horrified face, and I laugh—‘is my wonderful girlfriend, Evie Scott!’

Kye’s hand loosens in mine a touch, and my fingers constrict around his, silently willing him not to let go.

‘Evie is not only my co-star in my upcoming film, Moving ,’ Austin says as Kye and I wait at the base of the stage stairs, ‘but, uh … look, this is something not many people know, but I’m sure this gorgeous girl won’t mind me telling you—Evie is also showbiz royalty .’

Wait. What?

Kye stiffens as I stare up at Austin, whose face is a white oval beneath the stage lights.

‘Our Evie Scott is none other than the daughter—the only child—of international film icon Gabriel Dean !’ Austin bursts out, like a circus ringmaster announcing his headline act.

A split second of stunned silence envelops the nightclub. Then it tips into a sharp upsurge of ear-piercing whistles and thunderous claps. Kye’s grip on my hand tightens, but I barely register his touch. My entire body has frozen solid, and all I can do is gape up at Austin.

Did he just …

In the corner of my eye, I see a jumble of black camera lenses pointed at me, their red lights blinking and their flashbulbs popping.

I turn and stare vacantly at Kye as the opening bars of ‘La Bomba’ boom through the speakers.

‘Come on. We have to go on,’ he says, giving my hand a light tug as he leads me up the stage steps.

My head is swimming with shock, but as soon as I feel the stage lights warming my face, something inside me resets.

I do what I’ve been trained to do as a professional dancer and get on with the show.

Kye stands directly behind me, folds an arm around my waist, and presses his warm, solid chest to my back. We hold there, still, while the song’s long intro plays out, and a growing horror begins to spread through my stomach.

Kye must’ve told Austin who my father is, even though I asked him not to. Of course he did; they’re so close—they share everything. Why not this? Plus, Kye’s already made it obvious that he puts Austin’s feelings well above my own.

Ricky Martin’s first verse kicks in, and Kye flings me into six lightning-fast spins before dropping me into a dip.

The world pitches onto its side but Kye holds me steady until I’ve regained my balance, his arm cupping my back, his body bent over mine and his dark, thickly lashed eyes fixed on my own.

On the next beat, he pulls me back up and leads me into a cross-body inside turn, followed by a hook turn. His fingers slide down my hair and down my arm, and then he drags my body against his in one smooth manoeuvre, bringing my stomach flush with his.