Page 23 of Slow Burn

Lira and I walked together from the tube to the theatre.

She was her usual chatty self and seemed to have recovered from whatever had upset her earlier; her eyes definitely looked far less bloodshot than they had been an hour ago.

If she wanted to talk about it, I would listen, but she had assured me that she wanted to focus on the show, and I respected her decision, and would have made the same one myself.

Except for Carlos, I did not think anyone felt quite as invested in tonight’s success as the two of us, although of course, the entire cast and crew hoped that Slow Burn would get amazing press coverage.

Theatre critics were notoriously hard to please – sometimes it felt as though they were trying to tear you down, purposely looking to find things wrong with the production: sloppy directing, a running time too long for its own good, over-indulgent routines and so on.

But if the reviews were good , we could expect a huge surge in ticket sales for the remainder of the run, and I hoped that this would likely translate across to our European tour, too.

‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Lira, as we navigated the backstreets behind Leicester Square.

‘You really want to know?’ I asked.

‘Course I do,’ she said. ‘I can practically see your brain ticking over. It’s good to talk, you know.’

I gave her a look. ‘Really? Only I thought we didn’t do that?’

When I’d found her crying earlier, I had been genuinely concerned.

I still had no idea what had prompted it; it could have been anything from a relationship break-up – I had not heard her mention a boyfriend, but that did not mean she did not have one – to family problems, to fears about tonight.

In my fantasy, she had never found anyone special, either, after our night together in Paris.

Although, of course, I really had no idea.

And there had been that kiss the other night – she had not kissed me like she had a boyfriend, but I could not rule out the possibility completely.

‘I appreciated you asking if I wanted to talk earlier,’ she said, a little guarded.

‘But I don’t find sharing my problems helpful.

Particularly with the show on my mind. I had this feeling that if I started talking about it, the tears would just come flooding out and then I’d be exhausted and puffy-eyed for what should be one of the most exciting nights of my life. ’

I nodded, completely understanding. It was always easier, in my opinion, to bury things rather than deal with them.

One day, when I had time, I would go and sit on a beach somewhere – Bali, maybe, or some remote Caribbean island – and I would let myself think about my life and what I’d achieved, what had gone wrong and what had gone right.

But it suited me much better not to address anything much at the moment because I was scared of what might happen if I did.

‘Anyway, we were talking about you,’ she insisted.

I laughed. ‘Fine. It was nothing huge. I was worrying that my name is not enough of a pull for people in the U.K. In Italy it is different.’

‘You’re a celebrity there,’ she said.

I shrugged. ‘A little. I get recognized in the street, I can get tables at the best restaurants. Here in London, I could be anybody. Carlos is probably more well known than I am.’

‘So the two of you together is the appeal,’ she said. ‘And the five-star reviews we’ll get tonight, obviously.’

She grinned at me.

‘You think?’ I asked.

‘I’m manifesting.’

I frowned playfully. ‘Manifesting? What is that?’

‘I really don’t think you’d be into it.’

We reached the theatre and I held the backstage door open for her. ‘Do you profess to know everything I am into, Lira?’

As she brushed past me through the door, something sparked between us; a feeling I could only describe as a gut-punch, but in a good way. I was suddenly acutely aware that she knew some of the things I was into – in bed, it had been as though we knew exactly what to do to please each other.

Every night lately, when I went to bed, I fantasized about Lira up on stage in that red, ruffled dress she had worn when I had first noticed her across the hotel bar in Paris.

But older now, wiser, and more sure of herself than she had been then.

I was desperate to explore every inch of her body all over again, but that was typical of me – I always wanted what I could not have.

And Carlos would kill me if we complicated things by getting romantically involved.

But, if I were being honest with myself, it was because I knew that one night with Lira would never be enough – it had not been then, and it definitely would not be now.

As we walked along the corridors backstage, I thought she might have been thinking about our connection too, because suddenly her cheeks were redder than they had been before, and she could not properly look me in the eye.

‘We must focus on the show,’ said Lira earnestly. ‘That’s all that matters, right?’

‘Right,’ I said, convincing myself as much as her.

‘And I know how much Slow Burn means to you, too. I won’t let you down.’

‘Of course you will not, that I am sure of,’ I said, stopping outside of my dressing room.

Lira carried on walking, glancing at me over her shoulder.

‘See you later,’ I called to her before opening my door and going inside.

At around 5.30, after Daniella had led us through the warm-up on stage, Carlos gathered us all together for a pep talk.

The air was thick with anticipation – in ninety minutes’ time, the audience would begin filing into the auditorium.

In two hours’ time, the first piece of music would be piped through the speakers and we would be waiting at the side of the stage, ready to begin.

It did not feel possible that, just three weeks ago, I had had no idea who my leading female dancer would be, and now here we were, with the dances I loved performing most being the duets I had with Lira.

‘I want to express my gratitude to you all,’ said Carlos, ‘for your hard work and dedication these past few weeks. As you know, our schedule was very tight, and without your complete and utter focus, we would not be performing a show of this calibre tonight.’

The cast murmured their appreciation, a few clapped half-heartedly.

Everyone was nervous, everyone felt the weight of responsibility.

I was on stage for all but ten minutes of the running time, which was entirely taken up with costume changes.

If I did not dance at my best, it would affect things for everyone.

I kept my eyes directly on Carlos, not wanting anything – i.e.

Lira – to throw me off. If the first time I properly looked at her tonight was when we were on stage together, that would be the best thing.

I would retreat to my dressing room after this and then I would harness all my pent-up energy into my performance.

‘I hope you all have family and friends coming again tonight to cheer you on,’ said Carlos.

I glanced furtively around me – there were lots of nods and ‘yesses’.

I did not dare look to see if Lira was nodding away, too.

Was I the only person who did not have somebody coming to watch them, to support them, specifically; somebody who would tell me I was wonderful no matter what?

Sure, I could tell myself it was because I was Italian, because my friends and family were over there, not in London.

Yes, that was the reason. When we took to the stage in Florence, people would come to see me, and by then my performance would be perfect: I would make my mother and father proud.

After Carlos had finished speaking, I headed directly for my dressing room. If somebody stopped me to say good luck, I said the same back to them, but I did not want to engage. Annoyingly, however, Daniella seemed determined to talk.

‘Good luck tonight,’ she said. ‘You know you’ll be brilliant, right?’

‘Thank you. I hope so,’ I replied.

‘If you fancy relaxing afterwards, let me know,’ she said. ‘We can have our own private press night celebration.’

She winked at me. I forced myself to smile, because I did not want her to feel bad, but really? Did she think sex was on my mind, at such an important moment for my career? And honestly, even if it had been, it would not have been Daniella I would have been daydreaming about having it with.

‘We will have cast drinks,’ I said, as gently as I could manage. ‘And then I will be heading home to get some sleep. The last few days have really taken it out of me.’

Luckily, we had reached my dressing room and I pushed open the door, shutting it behind me with another cursory smile at Daniella.

When the time was right, I would have to explain to her that I was not interested in her romantically, nor was I interested in anyone else.

For all the attitude she gave about us being casual, about it being sex and nothing more, I sensed she had feelings for me.

I supposed I was flattered in a way, but it only served to hammer home how completely incapable I was of taking things further, of having an actual relationship.

One day, perhaps, I would work out why that was.

I knew it was not because I did not enjoy being with the women I slept with – being with somebody , full stop – but because I had this need to keep an emotional distance that I could not quite explain.

My father had repeatedly told me that dancing was for girls.

The kids at school had teased me relentlessly for doing ballroom dancing lessons instead of football.

Sometimes, I wondered if this was my way of showing everyone just how much of a red-blooded alpha male I could be.

As if she could somehow sense my thinking, my mother called. I nearly did not pick up, I should be preparing for the show, but she was probably calling to wish me luck and it felt mean to let it ring out.