THIRTY-ONE
Willow
Pop wasn’t feeling well the next morning and I urged him to stay in bed. Trudging down to the basement last night and then back up two flights of stairs to our apartment must have taken a toll on him. I felt guilty that I’d woken him up. Despite a protest, he agreed to rest upstairs while I minded the store with the help of his loyal crew.
As always, Saturday business was brisk. People came in early to pick up lox and bagels for Sunday morning brunch, and throughout the day, families frequented the restaurant for our special weekend lunch. I was playing hostess, taking care of the long line of regulars waiting to get seated.
Despite how busy I was, I couldn’t get last night out of my mind. My encounter with Gustave haunted me as much as my need to dance. I couldn’t get The Firebird music out of my head. It was in my bloodstream, in my bones, and in every cell of my being. And in my heart and in my soul. Breathing and reliving it. While I plastered a smile on my face as I greeted customers, inside my guts were twisting. And that wasn’t the only thing that had my stomach in knots.
It was late afternoon, and I hadn’t heard from Ryan. Admittedly, last night ended badly. To be honest, it was a disaster. I owed him an explanation. I had to let him know how my unexpected encounter with Gustave affected me and assure him that there was nothing between us. That my heart belonged only to one man—to him. Ryan Madewell. With business calming down a little until the dinner crowd came in, I decided to call him. No answer. It went straight to his voicemail. Rather than leaving a message, I ended the call and texted him instead.
Are you okay? I need to see you. xo
As I typed the letters, a chill swept over me. Maybe he didn’t want to see me anymore. That whatever we had was over. Then, my back to the front door, a familiar tap, tap, tap, tap resounded in my ears, each tap getting closer and louder.
“Oiseau…”
Almost dropping my cell phone, I whipped around. Gustave! My mouth formed an “O” and my eyes widened. He was wearing pleated black wool slacks, a tight black pullover, and expensive black leather loafers with no socks—his uniform. The one he always wore at practices and rehearsals. The manic look in his eyes frightened me and I inwardly shuddered.
“G-Gustave. What are you doing here?”
Without warning, he pulled me into him, squeezing my shoulders. His hot breath licked my cheeks like flames. “I need you back…”
“Gustave, let go of me.” He tightened his grip, relentless desire darkening his eyes.
“I need you to dance.”
Oh, God. He wanted me back. My heart hammering, I turned my face away from him. With a pinch of my jaw, he jerked my head forward.
“P-please, Gustave. I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’m ready. I need more time.”
His fiery gaze burnt a hole in mine, holding me captive. “There is no time. I need you to dance for me…tonight at Lincoln Center.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mira sprained her ankle during the rehearsal. She can’t perform.”
“W-what about Frederica or Odette?”
“Frederica is playing the part of the lead princess.” Then, he snorted. “And Odette dances like a pathetic sparrow.”
My emotions in a whirlwind, I didn’t know what to say. I chewed my lip. I was torn, fractured. Part of me wanted to scream out yes while the other part of me wanted to run as far away as possible. The push and pull was excruciating.
He gripped me tighter; his gaze grew fiercer. “Only you, my petite oiseau, can dance the part. Only you can be The Firebird.”
He impatiently tapped his cane, the taps synchronizing with my rapid heartbeats. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. I stood as still as a statue, paralyzed, afraid to move or say a word. My heartbeat accelerated as he moved in closer to me, his lips a breath away.
“Willow, you must do it for me. The company is facing bankruptcy. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in funding are contingent on tonight’s performance. It’s the only thing that will save us. I shall not leave until you say yes.”
And then, he began to nibble my neck. His wet kisses sent a shiver down my spine.
My muscles clenching, I squeezed my eyes shut. “Please, Gustave. Don’t taunt me like this.”
He ignored my plea. He flicked the area behind my ear before sucking the lobe.
“You belong on the stage, my oiseau, not here.”
“Please, Gustave. Let me think about it.” Maybe I could reason with him, though any form of rational thinking was flying out the door. Fiddling with the ballet slipper charm around my neck, I felt myself giving in to the magical power Gustave had over me. Submitting to him. What I’d always done.
“There is no time to think about it.” Anger rose in his voice. “I am giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. To dance in front of New York’s elite. Tomorrow morning, you will wake up and you will be a star. My star. Pack your bag and grab a gown. My driver is waiting for us.”
I didn’t move.
He leaned into me. “Will this convince you?”
I quickly jerked my head away, avoiding a kiss. “Don’t do that, Gustave.” I swallowed a deep breath. I’d made up my mind.
He eyed me lustfully. “I shall not take no for an answer.”
“I will dance tonight. Not for you, but for the company.”
Five minutes later, I met Gustave back in the restaurant, my dance bag with my necessities slung over my shoulder and a garment bag with a cocktail dress and heels folded over my arm. With a victorious smirk, he snatched my free arm, hooking his through mine, and whisked me to the front door. On the way out, I told my father’s staff that I’d be back later, not telling them where I was going or what I was doing. They looked at me quizzically as I asked them to tell my father that I’d call him later. I didn’t want my father to know what I was up to. It would upset him. Worse, kill him.
A shudder shimmied through me. I was having second thoughts, but I told myself it was just a one-night thing. A good thing. Fingers crossed I could help save The Royal Latvia Ballet from going under. Save the careers of the dancers who had become my family. Well, except for one. Fucking Mira.
With these positive thoughts in my head, Gustave swung open the front door. I stopped dead in my tracks. A gorgeous man, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, stood before me.
“Ryan!” I gasped, my eyes wide.
His eyes, as wide as mine, ping-ponged from me to Gustave and then back me. “Willow, where the hell are you going?”
“I-I’m…”
Gustave finished my sentence. “She’s going with me.”
“What!?” A cloud of shock, rage, and confusion fell over Ryan. With my heart in my throat, I watched as Gustave shoved him out of the way.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Ryan snapped.
“Then get lost, peon. Willow’s going where she belongs. On the stage.”
“What!?” Ryan repeated.
My heart stuttering, I filled him in. “Ryan, Gustave has an emergency. His lead dancer injured herself, and he needs me to fill in at tonight’s performance of The Firebird at Lincoln Center.”
As Ryan processed my words, Gustave, to my horror, whacked Ryan’s shin with his cane.
“Jesus Christ,” he cried out in pain.
“Oh my God, Ryan! Are you okay?”
Grimacing, he bent down to rub his sore leg, but before I could join him, Gustave grabbed my elbow.
“Gustave, what are you doing?”
“Let’s go. We cannot waste time.”
On my next heartbeat, he hauled me away to the waiting limousine and shoved me inside. Looking out the tinted window, I watched as Ryan hobbled to the car, trying desperately to yank open the locked passenger door. Tears burned my eyes as a sharp pang of guilt shot through me.
“Fuck,” Ryan shouted, still clinging to the door as we pulled off the curb. “Open up, Willow. Don’t go.”
It was too late. On my next painful breath, the limo sped off and we were heading uptown.