Page 30

Reign

I keep the car ride into town quiet on purpose, giving Angelique space to decompress from the shitshow that Wendy just caused at rehearsal, because I can tell she’s spiralling from everything that was said.

When we reach town, I park on the side of the street and we get out, quietly making our way toward the river.

Angelique wraps her arms around herself as we walk, still quiet, and I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves. She stops near the edge of the water, eyes fixed on the swans, as I step up beside her, careful not to get too close.

“You know why we’re here, right?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

She glances at me briefly, then looks back at the water. “More swan watching?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “Trust falls.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”

I shake my head again, a small smile tugging at my mouth. “Not joking.”

She side-eyes me, skeptical. “What does falling backwards into your arms have to do with ballet? ”

“Everything,” I say, turning to face her fully. “Trust is the foundation of every partnership. You might not flinch when I touch you anymore, but I still felt you bracing like you expected to be dropped.”

She’s quiet for a moment, looking back out at the swans. One dips its head beneath the surface, then emerges, droplets trailing down its long neck.

“So, you want me to fall into your arms repeatedly, until I fully trust that you’ll catch me?” she asks, a dry note in her voice.

“Yup.”

Her face scrunches like she wants to roll her eyes but doesn’t have the energy. “You’re serious?”

“I’m always serious,” I say, starting toward a levelled spot in the grass. I hear her sigh behind me, and then her footsteps follow.

I stop and gesture for her to stand with her back to me. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Arms loose at your sides.”

She stares ahead. “If you drop me?—”

“I won’t.”

She breathes out, her shoulders tense like she’s bracing for pain, and she begins to fall but doesn’t go far—barely leans, really—before catching herself and stepping forward.

She glances back. “I just—I thought I heard something.”

She looks like she’s ready to run, but I pretend like I don’t notice. “Try again.”

This time, she leans further, and I catch her easily. Her body is warm and soft in my arms for just a second before she pulls away, fast, and I let her go.

“What’s wrong? ”

She clears her throat. “I don’t know.” She rubs her palms down her thighs. “I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” I say. “In the pas de deux, you need to fall into me like that. Vulnerability isn’t just emotion, it’s physical, too. It lives in the way you move; in the tension you hold.”

Her gaze flicks to mine. “Is this your way of calling me a terrible partner?”

I hold her stare. “No. It’s my way of saying I want to be a better one. But I can’t do that if you don’t let me fully in.”

Her throat moves as she swallows, and her eyes drop to the grass, then back to the water again. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” I step forward, just enough that she can feel me there. “One more?”

She nods slowly before she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and falls. I catch her and hold on a little longer than I should, but she doesn’t pull away this time.

“Again?” I whisper, and she nods.

We do it over and over until her body stops locking up mid-fall. Until her breath doesn’t hitch every time I catch her. Until she lets her weight drop into mine without resistance. But the last time, when I hold her a second too long, she finally speaks.

“What did Wendy mean earlier?” Her voice is quiet. “When she called me your damage control project?”

I let out a slow breath, jaw tensing because I knew that line would stick with her. Of course it would.

I nod toward the nearby bench under the old willow tree. “Come sit.”

She follows without a word, and we settle into the quiet. She sits perched at the edge; her hands tucked under her thighs like she’s trying to ground herself. I stare out at the river as I try to find the right words.

“It was last year,” I say finally. “The last time I danced.”

She doesn’t move, but I feel her eyes on me.

“My partner, Elira—we were performing a piece from Manon when she slipped during a lift and tore her ACL in front of a full house.”

Angelique winces. “Oh my God, that’s horrible.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t my fault, technically, but the press didn’t care. They made it sound like I threw her across the stage.”

She’s silent for a beat. “Is she okay now?”

“She recovered physically, but she left the company and went back to Berlin. After that, people started walking out. Sponsors, a few long-time dancers, even stage crew. There were whispers about Imperium being unsafe. About nepotism and favouritism. All the shit people love to throw around when there’s blood in the water. ”

Angelique frowns. “So, your dad?—”

“Wants something different this season,” I finish for her. “Something that reminds people why we matter. And I get it, I do. But none of this,” — I motion between us — “none of this is damage control to me.”

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out.

“I didn’t agree to dance again for press, or ticket sales, or redemption. I came back because of you.” I pause, holding her gaze. “I saw you dancing the day my father offered you the part, and I couldn’t look away. You made something I wasn’t sure I enjoyed anymore feel like art.”

She blinks fast, and I watch the words land.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “So no, you’re not some PR stunt. You’re the only reason I want to be on that damn stage again. That’s why I refuse to dance without you.”

Faint colour rises to her cheeks, and she looks away.

I sit back, letting the moment settle because I don’t need her to say anything, if she understands.

But something’s still caught in my chest, a weight I’ve been dragging around for too long.

I glance at her—at the girl who’s spent every moment trying to pretend she’s fine even though she’s not, and I’m no better.

If I want her to trust me enough to let me in, maybe I need to start with the truth I haven’t told her.

I shift on the bench, pressing my palms together. “There’s something I should’ve said before now.”

I don’t look at her when I speak—I stare at the water, because it’s easier than watching her face fall.

“When you left for New York,” I begin, “I shut down. I didn’t reply to your calls. Your messages. All those late-night voicemails.”

Her breath hitches, but I keep going.

“I told myself it was better this way. That you needed space. That if I answered, I might’ve dragged you back into something you’d outgrown. I convinced myself I was protecting you.” My throat burns. “But that wasn’t the truth. Not really.”

The wind picks up, and a swan lifts its wings in the distance, arching slowly and gracefully. I watch it as I keep speaking.

“I didn’t answer because I thought you were just another person leaving me. And if you were going to go, I didn’t want to be the one left waiting.”

Her hands go still in her lap. “Reign?—”

I shake my head, because I’m not done. “I’ve been abandoned enough times to know what it feels like when someone’s already halfway gone.

So, I did what I always do—I cut the cord before it could snap.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less, and as much as I told myself it was for the best.. . I couldn’t stay away. ”

“And that’s when you flew to New York?” her voice is quiet and shaky.

I nod. “I flew to New York with Terry every few months, and I sat at the back of the theatre and watched you dance,” I admit, my voice low. “I missed you so fucking much. It made me sick.”

“I missed you too, Reign,” she whispers, eyes shining with unshed tears.

I shift toward her, barely brushing her knee with mine, but it’s enough to crack something wide open inside of me.

Fuck. I love her.

I don’t know why it took me this long to admit it. I fell in love with her before she ever got on that plane, maybe even before she knew what the pain of losing a parent felt like. And even now, knowing she doesn’t feel the same, I’d still choose this. Choose her .

I’d take every sharp edge, every fucking wound she carries and press them to my chest just to keep her close.

She could tear me apart, and I honestly think I’d thank her for it.

Because this love…it’s not soft or safe.

It’ll ruin me, I can see that coming, but I’m already in the wreckage, crawling toward her like I don’t know how to stop. Like I never wanted to.

“I’m in love with you, Angel.” The words hang in the air between us, too raw to take back when I realize I said them out loud.

Angelique recoils slightly, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “You’re delusional,” she breathes.

I huff a laugh, nodding. “Probably.”

She turns away, but I don’t let her get too far. I reach up and tuck a loose curl behind her ear, knuckles grazing her cheek.

“But I think you’re scared. ”

She whips her gaze back to mine. “Scared of what?”

“Of how I make you feel.”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, so I keep going.

“Because you don’t want to feel anything,” I murmur, my hand lingering near her face. “Because if you let yourself feel, you might not survive it.”