The Ballerina's Secret

“You’re off. Count.” Madame Daria ticked off her fingers. “Five, six, seven, eight.”

Beyond her gesturing hands, her mouth moved. A fuzzy, indecipherable sound came out of it. Tessa had to read the woman’s lips, just she as always did.

She nodded and wiped the sweat from her brow. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got it.”

This was getting weirder by the minute. She could hear, but nothing sounded right. Everything was too loud, too confusing. Too much.

She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears. Instead, she readied herself to begin again at the next eight count, but Madame Daria’s hands abruptly clapped together, and suddenly the music stopped. Tessa’s ears rang with melodic echoes.

Thank God. She needed a minute to regroup. She tried inhaling a few deep yoga breaths, and thankfully, everything grew quiet once again. With any luck, it would stay that way.

Still. Silent. Normal.

The other dancers paced or bent over with their hands on their knees, catching their breath, eyes flitting to the studio door in anticipation. Tessa’s heart skittered, and she pressed the heel of her hand against her breastbone. This was it. The moment they’d all been waiting for. The arrival of the great Ivanov, the man who could—and often did—make or break a dancer’s career on a whim.

And Tessa had just fallen out of a simple piqué turn.

Plus, she was suddenly hearing things. Marvelous.

The dancers rearranged themselves—company members near the front, and those who were auditioning crammed in the back of the room. It was less than ideal for Tessa, more difficult to read lips from a distance. She could have asked to move closer to the front, but she didn’t dare. She’d never once asked for special treatment, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

She fell in line with the others and leaned against the barre beside Violet.

“Are you okay?” Violet pinned back a wisp of hair that had escaped from her ballerina bun.

Tessa shrugged and did her best to feign nonchalance. “Just a little off today. I’ll get it together.”

“Good.” Violet gave her a firm nod, designed, no doubt, to remind her of the importance of the occasion. As if Tessa could forget.

For a moment, she thought about confiding in Violet. But what could she possibly say? She wasn’t even sure what was happening herself.

Besides, there was no time. If things didn’t go back to normal, she could always talk to Violet after the audition. Then she would make a beeline to her doctor’s office.

For now, Tessa scanned the mirrored walls, searching for the best possible angle. She’d become an expert at using the mirrors to her advantage. Out of necessity, of course.

She’d learned to rely almost solely on her sight. As her gaze swept the room, she tried to remember every detail about the space. Until her gaze snagged on the vaguely familiar, scowling man sitting at the piano in the corner.

Him.

She blinked a few times, just in case she’d started seeing things in addition to hearing them. But it was most definitely him—the rude man from the subway station—and he was sitting at the company piano.

Tessa frowned. How had she failed to notice the rehearsal pianist? Particularly this rehearsal pianist?

Maybe because you were distracted by the full-scale orchestra in your head?

She stared at the piano player and wondered if he could possibly have something to do with what was happening to her. It was an absurd notion. She was experiencing some kind of medical phenomenon, and the pianist was nothing to her. No one.

He was handsome, though. Quite handsome, actually, with that strong chiseled jaw and those piercing blue eyes that seemed bluer than ever in contrast to his dark hair. And then there was the rather intriguing scar that she’d noticed before by the corner of his lips...it drew her gaze straight to his mouth. His perfectly shaped, perfectly scowling mouth. Why did he seem so annoyed all the time?

Tessa forced her gaze away from his mouth and found him watching her. He lifted a single, accusatory brow, which probably meant he recognized her as the horrible ballerina who’d dared to dance off beat with his playing. Tessa promptly looked away.

She needed to pay attention to the ballet mistress, not the rehearsal pianist.

“Dancers, your attention, please.” Madam Daria clasped her hands in front of her as her gaze swept the room. The front of the room, technically. The ones who mattered most.

Even the company members were being forced to audition for Ivanov, though. Technically, no one was safe. The auditioning dancers weren’t stars, though. Not like the company members. But that was fine. Tessa was lucky she could still dance at all. And maybe, just maybe, since she was a nobody, the ballet mistress had already forgotten she’d fallen out of her turn.

There were advantages to being invisible.

Daria gestured to the man standing beside her. “Please join me in welcoming Alexei Ivanov. As all of you know, we’re honored to have him as the guest choreographer for the Manhattan Ballet’s opening program this season. He’s agreed to make a new ballet especially for us, which you will begin learning today. Three days from now, twenty of you will be cast in this ballet...if you’re lucky.”

Tessa clapped along with the rest of the dancers. She didn’t realize her gaze had drifted back to the rehearsal pianist until she found him glaring at her. Again. Maybe she wasn’t so invisible after all.

Her face grew hot.

Pay attention.

Could this day get any worse? Or more strange, for that matter?

“Everyone take a break. Get a drink of water, but stay warmed up. Be back in your places, ready to go, in exactly ten minutes.”

So the great Ivanov didn’t plan on deigning to speak a word to them? Fine. Tessa actually preferred it that way. The less talking, the better.

“Auditioning dancers will be up first.” Daria’s gaze zeroed in on Tessa. Great. Her mistake hadn’t been forgotten after all. “The new ballet begins with a large group number, and it’s very intricate. You all need to be on your A-game. Let’s not waste Mr. Ivanov’s time.”

Tessa swallowed around the lump in her throat, and like clockwork, her mother’s voice echoed in her consciousness.

You’re a great teacher, Tessa. The children love you, and the Wilde School of Dance is your home. There will always be a place for you here. It’s easier this way.

Tessa didn’t want to take the easy way out. She didn’t want to be a ballet teacher for the rest of her life. Teaching would mean giving up. Teaching would mean the accident had stolen the one thing she’d loved most. Ballet.

She wanted to dance. Not teach.

Dance.

Dance was all she had left. It was all she’d ever wanted, and she’d worked too hard, for too long, to mess everything up now.

She’d do better. She just had to figure out a way to ignore the racket in her head.

She sneaked another glance at the piano player, and sure enough, the noise she heard matched the movement of his elegant hands as they moved across the keys in a series of warm-up scales. He had such lovely hands. They danced across the piano keys with a grace that made her chest ache.

Or maybe that ache was just the realization that this strange man’s music had been the first thing she’d heard in over a year.

* * *

Don’t ogle the dancers.

It had been the main rule Julian had been given when Chance passed along the job offer. The only rule, in fact. And therefore, the most important.