Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
She probably meant it as a statement, but I heard it as a warning.
“Which works out because Vasily doesn’t want you to,” I noted.
“He likes me focused—likes all of us focused.” She pointed ahead. “That’s our table, just beyond the one in the center. And now you’re ducking the question.”
“I realized something during that kiss.” We passed the center table. “Not the first, when you caught me off guard, but the second—”
“I know what kiss you’re talking about,” she interrupted.
“Good.” A grin crept across my face, and I spotted our place cards. “It hit me that it didn’t matter if the first one was fake, because that one was real. It doesn’t matter who had your first, or my first . . . anything.” We stopped behind our chairs, and I picked up my card. Alessandra Rousseau Guest. My chest tightened. The guest somehow bothered me more than the choreographer had. Vasily had given the direction, but Anne had still printed it as if she hadn’t believed Allie would actually bring me.
“Firsts are overrated,” Allie said, setting her clutch on her chair.
Guest. My chest burned like a struck match at the sudden awareness that I wanted my name on that card. I didn’t want to be some anonymous, fleeting, erasable guest in her life like the others who had come before me. I wanted to be engraved, etched, and carved so deeply into her soul that she’d never get me out.
She’d given me her fake summer, but I wanted it all, and my heart didn’t seem to care how unattainable that was. I was just going to have to find a way to make it possible.
“Glad we agree.” I nodded to myself, then set the card down and turned to Allie. “So while sure, it makes me jealous that there are a couple of guys here who have seen you naked, I actually feel sorry for them because they’ll never have you again.” I tugged her close and let the words fly like the revelation they were. “But I will. First means nothing. Last means everything.”
And that right there is why you get called reckless.
“You can’t say things like that to me.” Her fingers curled around the lapels of my jacket. “Even for show,” she whispered. “Keep to your part, Hudson.”
It wasn’t for show. That was the very complicated, very messy problem for which I had no solution. Yet.
“I thought we agreed not to lie.” I trailed my fingertips down her bare spine and her breath hitched as she shivered. My dick stirred in response, just like it always did when she showed the first sign of interest. “And as you reminded our niece, omission would be just that. I told you I want you. I’m done hiding from it. Public. Private. Don’t care. This is real for me. It’s about to get messy.” I held her gaze, watching her expression shift from surprise to confusion, then fiery annoyance as she stepped away.
There’s my girl.
It was the first slip in her mask I’d seen all night.
“Alessandra!” Her name was the only warning before we were engulfed.
There were at least half a dozen people reaching for Allie and pulling her into hugs and taking selfies. Not once did her mouth curve genuinely.
These were her people. Shouldn’t she be happy?
“We’ve missed you!” A woman with black hair and a kind smile clasped Allie’s shoulders, and my mind flickered through the pictures from the website. Reagan Huang, principal dancer, which equated to the same rank Allie was. “It’s not the same without you.”
“Yeah, there’s no one around to make us look bad.” That joke was offered up by a blonde with catlike eyes and a hard-to-read smile. Harlow Oren. Soloist. One rank below Allie.
“Please, like you need Alessandra showing you up to look bad.” A lanky guy with blond hair and a monochromatic tux pulled Allie into a hug. “Ugh. I’ve missed you. You don’t call. You don’t text. You don’t respond when I call and text.” He leaned down, setting his chin on her shoulder. “It’s bullshit, really.” Everett Carr. Principal. “I’ll only forgive you if you come back.”
“Stop hogging her, Ev.” A brunette in a black ballgown tugged Allie away from Everett and hugged her quickly before cupping her face. Candace Baron. Principal. “Tell me you’re taking care of yourself.”
“I am,” Allie promised with a nod, and I couldn’t tell if she was lying.
The last guy looked like he’d just stepped off a billboard. Black hair, blue eyes. Jacob Harvey. Soloist. He smirked and opened his arms. Allie walked right into them.
My gaze focused on his hands, which were well above her lower back. Probably not mystery ex number two, then.
“It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” a woman said to my right, pulling her long black hair over her shoulder. “Not knowing who’s genuine and who’s not. I’m Kenna, by the way.”