We’re practicing pirouettes, whirling across the dance floor one after another. The trick is to fix your eyes on a spot ahead of you, and let that anchor you while the rest of your body spins.

I know how to do them; I’ve been dancing since I was four years old. But this afternoon, my concentration is shot. When it’s my turn, I only manage three turns before I lose my balance and my footing.

“Miss Smith.” Madame Ellis’s voice slices the room like a knife. “May I remind you that you are here on scholarship, and your continued attendance is contingent upon you demonstrating your worthiness. I advise you to do better.”

“Yes, Madame,” I mumble. I don’t look at the other girls, even Eden, as I get in line to try again. It’s humiliating enough to be so poor that I have to wear my best friend’s hand-me-down clothing if I don’t want to stand out like a sore thumb in the big city. Being called out in front of the school is even worse.

Madame Ellis is supportive, but she’s tough. She doesn’t hesitate to kick our asses when we need it, and I know I’m not measuring up right now.

Focus, Tori. No doubt every student here has distractions of one kind or another. The mark of a professional dancer is being able to shut it all out, whatever life throws at you, and lose yourself in the music, in the moment, in the discipline.

So that’s what I do. When it’s my turn, I execute a series of flawless pirouettes across the floor, my head snapping around at the last instant to find the spot I’m staring at once more. Madame Ellis doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her silent approval.

I get through the rest of my classes the same way. Ruthlessly blocking out my worries, I only let in the demands of technique. Leaping, bending, twirling, mincing en pointe across the floor, I throw myself into practicing as if my life depends on it.

Because it does.

This is all I’ve ever wanted. Since I was three years old, and my parents took me to a local production of The Nutcracker, this has been my dream. I’ve given up everything else to get here, and my parents have done everything they could to help me, never wavering in their support.

If I lose this, I have nothing. I am nothing. Letting myself down, letting my parents down … it’s unthinkable.

Usually this is my favorite place on earth, and the day goes by in a blink because I love what I’m doing so much. Today, I’m relieved when classes are finally over. As I follow Eden outside, the facts I’ve been avoiding all afternoon start tying my stomach in knots.

“This will be fun,” Eden says as we climb into the car. “We’ll be able to see each other whenever we want.”

I summon up a smile. “Because we don’t see each other all day long already,” I tease her.

“Yes, but then we’re working. This will be like an extended slumber party.”

I keep smiling, hoping it’s not too obviously fake. I’m grateful to Eden for asking if I could stay with her and her father. Without that, I’d be homeless tonight.

But part of me would rather sleep on the streets.

I don’t know what I’ve done to make Mr. Drake dislike me, but it was plain as day that he didn’t want to say yes. The whole time we were eating lunch, he kept watching me, with a brooding expression that set my nerves on edge.

Does he think I’m not good enough for Eden? I’m not, of course. Mr. Drake has his own high-powered law firm, tending to the rich and powerful people of the city. I have nothing to offer his daughter but loyalty.

I’ve never gotten that impression from him before, that he looks down on me. But there’s no denying that having me live with him is not exactly high on his list of things to do.

Shoving my dark thoughts away, I comfort myself as I often do, watching the city while the car makes its way through the traffic. Even after all this time in New York, I’m still dazzled by it.

I love my family, and I miss them. But in some ways, New York feels more like home than home ever has.

Soon, we arrive at the Drakes’ apartment building. “I’ll give you the passcodes,” Eden says. “You need to memorize them, though, not carry them around written down.”

“Right. Will do.” I follow her inside, still trying to figure out some way around this arrangement.

My parents are barely hanging on after an early frost damaged their crop, so they can’t help. If I tried to work an outside job, my dancing would suffer, which would defeat the whole purpose of being at the Institute.

I don’t see any way I can afford another place of my own, even if I found another roommate. And after my experience with Heidi, I’m not exactly eager to trust another stranger.

I’ll just have to make the best of it, and somehow persuade Mr. Drake that I won’t be a burden.

As we go into the apartment, I look at it with new eyes. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city, original art on the walls, rich upholstery fabrics, hand-woven rugs … this is how the other side lives. How I’ll be living, now.

The apartment doesn’t scream money; it whispers it, with the confidence that comes from not needing to flaunt anything. It’s huge, too. The tiny apartment that Heidi and I shared would fit into one small corner of the living room.

At least having this much room should make Mr. Drake easy to avoid. If I can stay out of his way, maybe he won’t resent my presence so much.

“I wonder what Carole left for dinner,” Eden says, and I trail her into the kitchen, where she opens the fridge and peeks inside a covered dish. “Mmm, chicken stir-fry.”

My stomach rumbles, and she laughs. “Let’s get this warmed up before you keel over.” I pull out the brown rice next to the stir-fry, and we put it all in the microwave.

Eating right is essential to peak performance, but it hasn’t been easy on my budget. I feel a flash of guilt that I’m looking forward to having delicious, healthy meals courtesy of the Drakes.

While the food warms, Eden and I set the table. “Will your father be joining us?” I ask.

“Oh, yes, I think so. He’s almost always here in time for dinner, and he lets me know if he gets tied up at work. I haven’t heard from him, so he should be home any minute.”

I don’t answer. My system is a jangle of nerves at the thought of facing Mr. Drake. It’s bad enough he doesn’t want me here.

It’s infinitely worse that I want him.

I’ve tried my best not to feel this way. He’s my best friend’s father – and even if he weren’t, he’s so much older, not to mention totally out of my league. But every time I’m around him, it’s the same.

My mouth gets dry. My heart starts to pound. And a warm pressure builds between my legs until I’m squirming.

Not that that’s all I feel. Mr. Drake is smart, and strong, and a good dad. The more I learn about him, the more it deepens my admiration – and my physical attraction.

Before I can shove my feelings into the deep, dark hole where I keep them locked away, he comes through the door. His eyes go straight to me, and my heart jolts. I fix a smile on my face while Eden greets him. “Hi, Dad. How was your day?”

As soon as his attention shifts to her, I drop my gaze and scurry around finishing the place settings, my pulse skittering.

Dammit.

A whole city full of men, and he’s the only one who gets my engine revving.

I risk a glance at him. He’s tall, his broad shoulders filling out his suit, his features almost classically handsome, but with a sensual air that’s given me endless late-night fantasies.

Between school and dance, I’ve never had time for relationships. Now that I’m at the Institute, the only guys I’m around are other dancers, and dating any of them doesn’t seem smart. Not that I even want to.

They’re boys. Talented, good-looking, even, but boys. Ashton is all man.

The thought of being with him that way fills me with a mixture of nerves and exhilaration.

He takes off his coat and hangs it in a closet while Eden gets our dinner from the microwave. His face seems drawn, as if he’s had a rough day. Without thinking about it, I move to the wet bar along one wall.

I notice everything about him, whether I want to or not, including what he likes to drink. Moments later, the glass is in my hand and I take it to him. “Scotch on the rocks, right?”

“Yes.” He takes it from me, but there’s a strange look on his face. “Thank you,” he adds belatedly.

Crap. Now I’ve made things even worse by presuming to take care of him. We sit down at the table, and I’m careful to choose the chair across from him, as far away as I can get.

“Hang on,” Eden says. “I’ll be right back.” She hurries off to her bedroom, and I busy myself with putting rice and stir-fry on my plate when Mr. Drake offers me the dishes, giving him a tight smile but no words.

Fortunately, she’s back in no time. “You can use my old phone,” she says, setting it next to my plate. “We just need to get it activated.”

The screen is cracked, but it’s still a lot newer and nicer than the one I had. Before I can thank her, Ashton says, “What happened to your phone?”

He’s frowning, no doubt irritated by how much of a bother I am. I look away. “The landlord locked her out of the apartment before she could get her stuff,” Eden explains. “She lost everything – all her clothes, family photos, her extra dance outfits, everything.”

A muscle moves in his jaw. He mutters something under his breath that I can’t catch and takes out his wallet. “Here.” He tosses a credit card on the table. “Buy whatever you need.”

I stare at the AmEx like it’s a snake. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

His eyes narrow. “It sounds like it is necessary.”

Eden’s giving him a weird look, but doesn’t say anything. It’s obvious he’s ready to make an issue of it, so I gingerly pick up the card. “Thank you,” I murmur, and set it by Eden’s phone.

I have no intention of using it; I just want to avoid an argument.

After dinner we clean up the kitchen, and then Eden shows me to my new bedroom. It’s big enough to contain my old apartment, with its own view of the city, a queen-sized four-poster bed, a walk-in closet, an attached bathroom complete with sunken tub, and a desk in one corner.

“We can share my laptop,” she says. “I’ll bring it in and you can email your parents, let them know what’s going on, and give them your new phone number.”

“Okay.” I touch her hand as she turns to go. “Thank you, Eden. For everything. Really.”

She gives me a hug. “I know you’d do the same for me. I’m just glad you don’t have to leave; I can’t imagine being at the Institute without you.”

I sink down on the bed to wait. The mattress is like a dream. The windows are thick enough to block out all the sounds of the city.

I almost miss the noise.