Brutal Obsession (121)

A mistake. We’re all being judged.

She finishes in a flourish, posing with her arms uplifted, her knee bent, her head thrown back. A wide smile on her face.

“Thank you,” the ballet master says to her.

We don’t immediately proceed into that, though. There’s still more to come. Leaping, turning. We line up and cross the room, showing our lines and movement, our turnout. We pair up and show how we do with partner work.

I get lucky and end up with a dancer who already belongs to the company. He and I have danced together for a few years, and he winks when he steps up beside me.

Finally, we break. We’ll do the audition solo one at a time—those who want it anyway. Mia, Shawn, and the ballet master have already further whittled our numbers down.

Annabelle dances again. Then another principal dancer, and another. I swallow.

“Lydia Parker,” the girl beside me introduces, offering her hand.

I shake it. “Violet Reece.”

“I was a principal dancer in Arizona. The heat was killer.” She leans in. “Are you familiar with Mia?”

“A bit.” I glance at her. She’s a few inches shorter than me, with dark hair wrapped in a neat bun. Minimal makeup. Pretty, though. Ideal casting. “Why?”

“I’ve just heard rumors, is all. That she’s a good person to dance for.”

I nod. “I’ve heard that, too.”

“Violet,” Mia calls.

I smile at Lydia and step forward. The music starts. Even though it’s a little different, it feels the same. I let myself radiate the joy of a birthday party—that’s what the dance is about anyway. Aurora arrives at her sixteenth birthday party. The solo ends before she meets the four suitors, and before she pricks her finger on the spindle. But this part is freedom. Happiness.

My smile only widens during the more difficult bits of choreography, and I end in the same pose as Annabelle.

There’s a smattering of applause, and I make eye contact with Shawn Meridian. His brow is furrowed, confusion etched across his face.

I don’t know what to make of it, so I back away and rejoin the girls against the wall. Lydia goes next. And another, another, another. I sit and stretch and try to keep nimble in case something else is needed, but by the end, it’s almost two o’clock.

“Thank you, ladies,” Mia says. “We will be contacting those we are offering contracts, and then the cast list will be posted on our website later this month.”

We collect our things. My leg is sore, a phantom pain tracing up my thigh and into my hip. I try not to let it worry me. Just more water therapy, more strength training… and maybe I’ll have to live with it forever.

It’s not too heavy of a price to pay to dance again.

“Violet.”

I’ve made it to the hallway, but I turn back to see the choreographer coming toward me. I’m surprised he remembers my name, and I try to hide it. He stops in front of me, then glances over his shoulder.

We’re alone.

I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and wait.

“I’ll admit, I’m confused to see you here.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“Um…” He shifts. “Sorry. Do you not want to talk about this here?”

What the hell is going on? “I just think you might have the wrong person,” I say slowly.

He motions for me to follow him. Against my better judgment, I do. Even knowing I have a stalker, my curiosity is greater than my fear. He leads me into an empty office and closes the door.

His gaze drops to my leg, and he winces. “Do you remember what happened the day of your accident?”

I hate the word accident. For the longest time, it didn’t feel like it was an accident. It was more than that. But then I register his expression, and his question, and a chill creeps up my spine.

“Have we met? In the last few years?” I take an involuntary step backward. There’s no way a man like him would recall a teenager giving him an audition tape. I was in high school, and he was a big hotshot choreographer. This feels like more than that.

Shawn frowns. “That answers that question.”

Oh my god. Is Shawn my stalker? Did he have something to do with that day—and everything that happened after?

Maybe he finally revealed himself. He’s muscular. Tall. He could be the same build as the person who broke into my apartment.

“I’m leaving,” I say quietly. I head toward the door, but he blocks my path.

“Just wait, please.”

I skid to a halt. “Get out of my way.”

He raises his hands. “Two minutes. That’s all I ask.”

He’s not threatening to kill me… yet. That’s a good sign, right? If I can get him talking, then maybe he’ll just let me go. Or I can figure out a way to get him away from the door… I look around the room and circle behind the desk, putting it between us. I drop my bag on it and press my back against the wall.

“You and I met that day in Rose Hill,” he says. “It was out of the blue, yes, but you drove down. You seemed excited about it.”

“Why?” I demand.

“Because I was trying to recruit you.”

I rear back. “For what?”

He gives me a look. One that says: you should know. But even if I have a theory—and one is beginning to form—I don’t trust him. I don’t believe him.