Page 7

Angelique

“ Y ou said what ?!”

Lando’s voice echoes across the guesthouse, practically shaking the French press in his hands. I wince, tugging the sleeves of my sweater over my palms as I sit curled in the armchair, trying—and failing—not to feel like a total idiot.

“I didn’t know what to say,” I mutter, staring into my coffee like it might have the answer. “I panicked.”

“Angelique.” Lando plants both hands on the kitchen counter and leans forward. “My father ambushed you in the studio and asked you to star in Swan Lake and you just… agreed? No questions asked?”

I groan and press my fingers to my temples. “I didn’t agree agree.”

He blinks. “What is ‘didn’t agree agree’ supposed to mean?”

“It means I didn’t want to say yes, but I didn’t exactly say no either. It all happened so fast and—God—he made it sound like I owed it to him just for staying in his guesthouse. ”

Lando rolls his eyes. “Classic Charlie Harrington. Emotional manipulation but make it classy.”

“I should’ve said no.”

“Damn right you should have.”

“I froze, okay?” I look up at him, voice cracking. “Even Reign looked surprised.”

Lando softens, moving toward me with a sigh. “I’m sorry, love. That wasn’t fair. To you or Reign.”

My throat tightens. “Yeah, well ... Reign wasn’t exactly thrilled that I agreed.”

“Oh no. What’d he say?”

I force out a bitter laugh. “ ‘You should’ve said no’ , and then he left.”

“Oof.” Lando winces. “That’s … very Reign of him.”

I nod slowly, sinking back into the chair. My legs feel heavy, like all that unspoken tension is dragging me down. “Now I’ll be dancing with a partner that doesn’t even want to do this.”

“Well,” Lando sighs, plopping down on the armrest beside me and nudging my shoulder with his. “Maybe it’s time we figure out what you want. Screw my dad’s schemes, and screw Reign’s broody dramatics. What do you want?”

I go quiet because that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out since moving back to Marlow, isn’t it? I used to want everything. The spotlight, a future…a stage to make magic on. But now? All I want is to feel whole again, to breathe without guilt, and to dance for myself.

“I don’t know yet,” I whisper. “But I think… maybe this is how I’ll find out?”

Lando shifts beside me, his knee bouncing slightly, which only happens when he’s holding something back.

“What?” I ask.

He hesitates, then exhales through his nose. “If you’re going to do this… I mean really do this—Swan Lake, with Reign—you need to put your whole damn soul into it.”

I blink at him. “Gee, thanks for the pep talk?”

“I’m serious.” His tone sharpens. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on mine. “Reign isn’t easy to dance with. He’s intense, demanding, and ruthless when it comes to the work. You’ve seen what he’s like on stage—he gives everything. And he expects the same in return.”

“I know how he dances,” I say, bristling. “We grew up watching each other dance.”

“Watching each other is different from being partnered with him.” His voice softens, but the warning stays.

“He’s broken dancers almost every single time he’s done a pas de deux.

He pushes hard, and if you go in half-present, trying to protect yourself, or trying not to feel too much—he’ll break you too. ”

My chest tightens. “You think I can’t handle doing this?”

“I think you can.” He places a hand over mine. “But only if you’re doing it because you want to. Not because Charlie cornered you and not because you think you owe anyone something. You’ve already survived too much to be torn down by someone else’s version of perfection.”

I stare at our hands, his rings cold against my skin. “What if I fall apart in front of everyone?” I whisper.

Lando squeezes my hand. “Then you fall, and I’ll be right there, hauling your ass off the floor and feeding you chocolate ice cream until you’re human again.”

I laugh, watery and weak.

“But if you give it your all,” he continues. “You might not fall; You might fly.”

I close my eyes, breathing in the weight of his words as my chest tightens.

It’s not just what he said, it’s how he said it.

The same cadence, the same softness that made those words feel like a promise instead of a risk.

My father used to say that to me before every big performance, every leap into something terrifying and new.

‘ You might not fall; You might fly’. It was his way of telling me I was braver than I believed, stronger than I felt.

Hearing Lando say it now, with everything cracked wide open between me and the life I left behind, it unravels me a little. Like a thread pulled loose. It’s a reminder of who I used to be, of the man I loved more than anything, and of how far I’ve fallen since he died.

I swallow hard and open my eyes, blinking fast to chase the burn behind them.

“Don’t say things like that,” I whisper, not trusting my voice. “It makes it harder to pretend I’ve let it all go.”

Lando’s expression softens, and he reaches over, gently squeezing my hand. “Maybe you don’t have to let it go. Maybe you just need to find your own way back to it.”

Even though I want to fight him on it and pretend I can keep one foot in and one foot out—keep dancing without really committing to it again—I know deep down that he's right. That kind of half-heartedness won’t survive on an actual stage, especially not partnered with someone like Reign.

If I do this, I need to let the dance take me. All the way in, no matter how much it scares me. Because anything less… and I really will fall. And the worst part? I’m not sure I’d be able to get back up again this time.

“I just…” I sigh, sinking deeper into the chair. “I wish I could dance with you instead.”

Lando doesn’t respond at first. His fingers go still over the edge of his mug and his jaw works, like he’s trying to decide if it’s worth saying what’s on his mind .

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”

I look over at him, startled by the quiet ache in his voice. He gives me a soft, crooked smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ve always been my favourite partner,” I admit. “You made everything feel easy and safe.”

Lando lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, well…” He leans back, stretching out his legs with a sigh. “Doesn’t matter much when your own father won’t even consider casting you in a lead role because he thinks your queerness makes it impossible for you to connect with a woman.”

My stomach drops. “What? I didn’t know he…” My words die off.

“He never says it outright.” Lando waves a hand. “He just conveniently forgets I exist when it’s time to cast Prince Whatever in whatever classic they’re putting on, and says things like, ‘You’re a strong corps dancer, Lando,’ or ‘ Leave the leads to the ones who understand the story.’ ”

I reach over and take his hand again, threading my fingers through his.

“But you do understand the story,” I say, fierce now. “More than half the straight guys in tights I’ve danced with ever did.”

He chuckles, but there’s no joy in it. “I can’t help who I love, darling. But to him, that makes me less than. Like I’m incapable of portraying desire, or longing, or heartbreak unless it’s aimed at a man. As if art must match real life exactly for it to be real . ”

“That’s bullshit.”

He looks at me, his gaze heavy. “Try telling him that.”

“I will.”

We sit like that for a moment, hands clasped. Then he bumps my shoulder gently with his again. “Hey. ”

“Yeah?”

“If you really are stuck dancing with my emotionally inept brother,” he smirks, “just remember who taught you how to nail a perfect arabesque.”

I smile, for real this time. “You.”

“Damn right.” He grins. “Now go be brilliant, and if Reign gives you a hard time, tell me so I can key his car.”

I laugh, leaning my head on his shoulder. For a second, the world feels almost right again.

The estate studio is filled with golden light this morning, and the windows are foggy from my heavy breathing.

I sit on the floor with my legs outstretched, folding into a deep stretch, breathing through the satisfying pull in my hamstrings.

My heartbeat is just beginning to settle from my warm-up, a quiet pulse in my ears, when I hear something behind me.

I jolt upright, nearly slipping on the smooth floor, my head snapping toward the sound.

Reign is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

His dark shirt clings to his body in a way that feels offensive this early in the morning, and his blond hair, slightly damp, curls at the nape of his neck.

He looks like sin personified, and I hate how easily that thought comes to me.

God, why is he so attractive?

I swallow hard, dragging my eyes away before I do something reckless. Like stare longer. Or drool.

“Ready to talk business?” he asks, voice low and steady.

I nod, trying not to look as flustered as I feel. He pushes himself off the wall and strolls over to the piano in the corner, lowering himself onto the bench .

“You’ll be dancing both Odette and Odile,” he says matter-of-factly.

My brow furrows. “Why isn’t there another dancer for Odile?”

He lifts a brow like the answer is obvious. “Because I want you to do both.”

The air shifts, and suddenly the studio doesn’t feel as warm as it did a moment ago. My pulse stutters, and I try to cover it with a casual toss of my hair over my shoulder.

So, this is what Lando meant.

I narrow my eyes. “To be honest, I didn’t think you wanted me dancing at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yesterday,” I say pointedly. “You told me I should’ve said no to your father.”

His brow lifts higher, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I did.”

“So, what is this? Did he guilt trip you too?”

“No,” he says simply. “I do want to dance with you.”

The words knock the breath out of me. I blink, heat creeping up my neck as I silently curse whatever part of me still reacts to him like this.