Page 12

Reign

M y first night at the guesthouse with Angelique was.

.. revealing. Not in the way you'd think—though, to be fair, Angelique in that oversized T-shirt came damn close. I always figured she was the type to wear matching pyjama sets. Button-down silk with little piping details and probably monogrammed. Maybe because she’s best friends with Lando, and that man wouldn't be caught dead in anything less than coordinated sleepwear, but that’s not what I saw last night.

She crossed the hallway barefoot; curls still damp and frizzing slightly from her shower, the hem of her T-shirt grazing the tops of her thighs like it didn’t know it was flirting with indecency.

The fabric clung to her just enough to make me wonder what it would look like tangled in my hands.

Her skin was flushed from the heat, her eyes wide when she saw me bare-chested, water still dripping down my skin, towel hanging low.

The look in her eyes—like she didn’t know whether to run or step closer—lit something in me I thought I’d buried years ago. It satisfied a darker part of me, the part that wants her to remember what it feels like to want me. The part that wonders if she ever stopped.

I lay awake most of the night replaying it, imagining that look again, trying to talk myself out of wanting to provoke it; out of craving it.

Wondering if I should start walking through the halls shirtless just to see if I can break her composure again and see if the idea of me still lives under her skin the way she still lives under mine.

It’s not about feelings. I don’t do those, not anymore.

But deep down, I know that’s a lie, because before she left for New York, Angelique and I weren’t just friends.

For that one, impossible summer, we were something else.

Something secret and urgent and entirely too real.

I wasn’t supposed to fall for her, but I did, or at least I was about to.

And just when it felt like I’d finally found something solid to hold on to again, she was gone.

She’d reached out after she left, and at first it was constant, like she needed to keep a tether between us. But then it faded, turning into every few days, then once a week, then once a month, until eventually it stopped. But that wasn’t on her, that was on me, because I never answered. Not once.

I knew that if I heard her voice again, I’d tell her everything I wasn’t supposed to feel.

That I missed her, and that I wanted her to come back.

I was afraid she’d never look at me the same way again if she stayed out there long enough.

But I knew if I said any of that, she would have come back for me, and I couldn’t let that happen.

She had a real shot at everything she’d worked for, and I didn’t want to be the thing that made her hesitate.

I didn’t want her to resent me for it one day.

So, I made the choice for both of us, and I let her go.

I let her believe I didn’t care, and now, somehow, she’s back.

Not the girl I remember, though, she’s harder around the edges now, more timid, and a lot quieter.

She left the house early this morning, probably thinking she could avoid the tension, or avoid me. But we both know she can’t. Not here and not at Imperium. Not when the past still lingers in the space between us, and not when I still ache with every step she takes away from me.

Layla paces the studio, correcting the arms and posture of other dancers before she claps her hands and announces she wants everyone to partner up. Wendy latches onto my arm immediately, her claws digging in like she owns a piece of me, and Angelique gravitates to Lando.

No surprise there.

“Let’s have our leads partnered together for this one,” Layla calls, gesturing toward me and Angelique.

Wendy releases my arm with a huff, storming toward Lando like she’s ready to rip Angelique’s hair out on the way.

As Angelique steps toward me, I lean in and murmur, “Early morning today?”

“I didn’t sleep all that well,” she replies, and I catch the slight tremor in her voice.

“Are you cold?” I ask, frowning as I notice her hands are shaking too.

“No,” she answers too quickly.

Layla claps her hands again, looking at Angelique and me. “Front and centre, please.”

We make our way to the front of the room, Angelique keeping her eyes pointed downward the whole way.

Is this just rehearsal nerves ?

I watch as her gaze lifts slowly, and she locks eyes with Lando through the mirror. He’s staring back at her, his brows tight and arms crossed over his chest. His attention doesn’t waver, not even when Wendy talks to him.

What am I missing?

“Alright, let’s start with some basic partnering moves.”

Angelique slips one of her hands in mine, her back facing me, but when I reach for her waist with my other hand, her body jerks beneath my fingers

“You okay?” I murmur, barely moving my lips.

She doesn’t answer, instead lifting her chin and staring at her own reflection in the mirror, but her expression is terrified. I try to ignore it as we move through sequences, but I can feel her resisting me and, by the look on Layla’s face, she’s noticed it too.

“Do you two want to try a lift?” Layla asks, approaching with her arms crossed.

“No,” Angelique answers.

What the hell?

Is she mad at me for what happened last night? No, there’s no way she’s bringing that into the studio, not when she knows Layla is watching her.

Layla studies her but doesn’t argue, instead calling for a break and waiting for the others to disperse into smaller groups to stretch or chat while sipping water from their bottles. She comes closer to where Angelique and I stand, hand on her hip.

“Is everything alright with you two?”

Angelique struggles to keep eye contact with Layla as she nods. “I’m just not ready to do lifts yet.”

A principal dancer from The Big Apple Ballet not ready to do a simple lift? Or is it that she’s not ready to do a lift with me?

Layla’s expression shifts because she’s not buying it either. “We need to work on lifts today. I get that you two are new partners, but nerves won’t help you come performance day. I’ll schedule a session with the new Chemistry Coordinator for later today.”

Angelique opens her mouth to object, but I cut in before she can speak.

“That’s a great idea,” I say, voice clipped. “Please schedule it.”

Angelique looks up at me with wide wounded eyes, but I force myself to look away pretending not to notice.

“Great,” Layla says, her expression calm. “He’ll meet you both in Studio A.”