Page 27

Reign

T he drive to Imperium takes longer than usual.

I keep the speed low, letting the world blur past us because there’s something sacred about being together in the quiet with Angelique, like we’re both trying to memorize this feeling before it slips away again.

In a perfect world, that wouldn’t be something we’d have to worry about.

But in this world, we’ve both hurt each other enough to create some scars and doubt.

Terry is sitting on the stone steps outside when we pull in, with a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He grins when he sees us, flicking the butt to the ground, and gives me a knowing wink before tipping his head to Angelique.

“I want to try one of the duet scenes today,” he says when we reach the steps, standing and dusting off his jeans. “There’s a turn in the middle section that isn’t flowing right, so I’ll need to see it on you two before Volkov rips me a new one tomorrow.”

Angelique lets out a dry laugh as we head toward the doors. “Don’t worry, Terry. If the pas de deux falls apart, I’m pretty sure I’ll be the one he tears into first. ”

Over my dead body.

“You’d be surprised,” he mutters, holding the door open with a mock bow. “That man lives to be disappointed.”

The studio is quiet when we step inside, except for the dull hum of the overhead lights and the echo of our footsteps on the polished floor.

The curtains are drawn back, exposing the stage.

Terry beelines to the soundboard, perching himself on the stool and twisting a cable between his fingers, and Angelique walks ahead of me, her curls bouncing slightly with each step.

I trail behind slowly, my eyes never leaving her.

We both climb onto the stage, changing out of our sweats, and begin stretching.

My eyes catch on the slope of her back, the soft fabric of her leotard clinging to her like second skin, the way the thin straps dig into her shoulders, the arch of her spine as she folds over her legs, the curve of her hip pressing into the floor.

My body reacts before my brain can shame it into obedience, blood rushing low, heat curling deep in my gut.

I glance away, jaw tightening.

Focus, Reign. It’s a rehearsal, not foreplay.

But it doesn't help that she glances up right then, brushing her curls back with a flick of her wrist, and it makes me want to cross the stage, drag her into my arms, and make us both forget why we’re here.

Instead, I turn my face toward the stage wings, blow out a slow breath, and adjust myself discreetly.

"You alright?" she asks, unaware of the war she’s started in my head.

“I’m fine,” I lie, and drop into a deep lunge, hoping the stretch will hurt enough to ground me.

Terry doesn’t notice, or if he does, he’s pretending not to. He fiddles with his laptop for a few more minutes before he pulls up the rehearsal track for the pas de deux. The first few bars spill through the speakers and Terry claps his hands once.

“Alright, children. Ready?”

I nod. “Let’s do it.”

We move to centre and Angelique steps into position just as the music begins.

My hands find her waist, lifting her easily as she extends into an arabesque.

We move together like breath and shadow, her body anticipating mine, and mine steadying hers.

I circle her slowly, hand outstretched, and she places her palm in mine.

We hit each mark fluidly and when I lower her to the floor, she doesn’t break eye contact. Her lips are parted slightly, chest rising and falling. I wonder if she feels it too—that tether between us pulling tighter.

Terry’s voice cuts in after a few seconds. “That turn is still looking sticky. Try shifting your weight a little earlier, Angelique.” He stands, brushing off his joggers. “Actually, let me try. I want to see if it’s your spacing or Reign’s timing.”

He starts walking toward her. “No.” The word comes out before I think it through.

Terry raises a brow, blinking innocently. “You sure? Sometimes a second body helps.”

“I said no,” I say, my voice flat.

I don’t want anyone else touching her. I don’t care if it’s for the sake of the choreography or a goddamn Nobel Peace Prize.

She’s mine.

He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, Harrington. Keep your tutu on.”

He turns back to the soundboard, restarting the track before taking a seat and gesturing for us to try again, but I spot the grin he’s trying to hide and when he winks, I realize he’s poking at me, and he knows it’s working.

The rehearsal with Terry runs until just before dinnertime.

Angelique and I are both exhausted when we finish, but we also feel more confident with our onstage connection, especially once we perfect the turn issue Terry was struggling with.

It’s improved enough that Volkov might just lay off the bullshit tomorrow.

“Lando just texted me,” Angelique announces as we finish packing up our things to leave. “He’s inviting us all to a new lounge that opened in town. You too, Terry.”

Terry looks up from his laptop, surprised. “Sure. If Reign’s going, I’ll tag along too.”

Do I want to go to a lounge? Not really. But if Angelique is going, then so am I, because I can’t risk a repeat of what happened in the alley yesterday.

“Sure, let’s just stop off at the house first so we can shower and change.”

She nods in agreement.

“I’ll follow your car,” Terry says, holding the door open for us again as we leave.

“Whatever,” I mutter, intentionally bumping his shoulder hard as I pass him, and I hear his playful chuckle in response.

“So, you’re telling me you two have been living together all this time?” Terry asks from the backseat of my car. “And you never told me?”

We’d stopped off at the guesthouse to shower and change, and I let Terry come in because Angelique felt bad about him waiting for us outside. Somehow that turned into him leaving his car behind and hitching a ride with us into town, all in the name of easier parking.

“It was part of my hiring agreement with Reign,” Angelique says, tossing me a pointed look as I steer us toward the lounge.

Terry lets out a low whistle, then leans forward until his chin nearly rests on my shoulder, eyes wide with mock shock. “Reign. You sick motherfucker.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, eyes fixed on the road. “I did it so that we could speed up the chemistry bonding.”

“Oh, sure,” Terry says, sitting back and grinning at me through the rearview mirror. “Whatever you say.”

Angelique’s laugh bubbles out of her, and I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips.

I sneak a look before I can stop myself and she’s looking out the window, the corner of her mouth still lifted, shifting something inside my chest. I’ve heard that laugh before, back when things were easier, but now…

now it hits differently. I keep my eyes on the road, jaw tight, heart doing something I don’t want to admit to.

It’s not love. I can’t call it that and I don’t deserve to.

But it’s something that sits in my chest and aches when she smiles at someone else.

It’s something that calms when she looks at me like I’m still worth something.

It’s wanting her to find herself again—even if I’m not part of the ending.

It’s staying close enough to catch her if she falls, but far enough to pretend I’m not already falling too.

And fuck me—I think I am.

When we reach the inner town, I park the car on the side of the road just outside of the lounge and we get out. It doesn’t take long for us to find Lando inside, along with three others—Willow, Alfie, and Max.

Lando stands up quickly when he spots us, and I watch as he rushes to Angelique and apologizes for the things he said in the morning when he found us in bed together. But I don’t get the same apology from him. Instead, he shoots me an angry frown before guiding Angelique to the seat next to him.

“What the fuck was that about?” Terry whispers next to me.

“Long story,” I say under my breath, taking a seat at the head of the rectangular table.

The table is scattered with small plates—crispy duck bao, tuna tartare, rosemary fries, and olives soaking in oil and garlic.

Angelique reaches for a shrimp skewer, and I watch the way her lips part slightly as she takes a bite.

Lando leans in to say something to her, and she nods, expression soft.

The table conversation turns to Swan Lake once the food settles in as Max brings up lighting cues.

Willow rants about quick changes, and Alfie throws in a joke about someone nearly getting kicked in the face at the last techniques class.

Angelique laughs again, and I can’t help noticing that she’s glowing here.

She’s looser around these people, like she’s finally remembering how to breathe again.

I don’t realize I’m watching her until Terry leans in and says, “You gonna eat that, or just stare at her the rest of the night?”

I flick a piece of bread at him.

“Alright,” Alfie announces, pushing his plate away. “I’m bored with being well-behaved. I vote we play a game.”

“No,” Lando groans.

“Yes,” Willow says at the same time.

“Truth or Dare,” Alfie says, grinning like a devil. “But with house rules. If you pick truth, you still take a shot, and none of that pass bullshit. If you’re in, you’re all in. ”

Angelique tilts her head, smirking. “And dare?”

“No shot,” Alfie shrugs. “But if you back out, you do two shots and answer a truth anyway.”

“I like it,” Terry says, flagging down a server. “Let’s get a couple of rounds of tequila.”

“Tequila?” I echo, raising a brow.

“You scared, Harrington?” he teases.

I glance toward Angelique, who’s already holding up two fingers for the server—ordering for both of us. She catches my look, her mouth curving up. Dangerous and beautiful.

Shit.

“Not in the slightest.”