His bow dipped down as he looked surprised. “Why?”
“Because the judges never need more than two minutes to make a decision.” I’d worked with some directors who only needed thirty seconds.
Less if there was a pirouette in the routine.
I shoved the thought away. Time was precious, and I wasn’t going to waste it on negative shit.
“Hit it, maestro,” I joked.
His phone was laying on top of his cello case, and he leaned over, tapping the screen. Piano music tinkled from the speakers.
“What—”
“When I did it for the wedding,” he said over the song, “it was a duet. I have a recording of the piano I practiced with.”
The intro was beautiful, but it didn’t hold a candle to when he began to play. His cello created the melody, the piano the perfect accompaniment. The rich sound flooded the studio, blanketing everything from the floor to the rafters.
My eyes wanted to watch him play, to follow the gentle seesaw of his bow over the strings, but my heart and body needed to dance. I turned away from the mirror so I wouldn’t watch or judge my movements, and let his music carry me through the steps as if they had already been written.
Before this session, I’d created a general guide to work from. I knew what leaps I wanted to perform and where to place them. I had several ideas for level changes, but listening to the music helped me transition from one phrase to the next.
Grant played the same two minutes over again, and each time he started anew, I was in awe. It sounded better than the last. He didn’t tire of playing it or ask me if I wanted to do it again. He just knew. I danced until I was breathless, my heart racing and soaring.
And every time I caught his gaze in the mirror, he was fixated on me.
“What’s this piece for?” a female voice rang out when the music ceased. I glanced over at Elena, who must have come out of her office at some point to watch.
I wiped the beads of sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “Uh . . . so, I was thinking about auditioning for Dance Dreams.”
Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t say anything.
“Do you think it’s a bad idea?” I asked. God, was I being stupid?
“No, no, not at all.” Her eyebrows pulled together, making her look deep in thought. “But tell me about Hot Cello Guy.”
Grant smirked, amused.
“I was going to audition with live music.”
She’d been looking at him, but her focus snapped to me. “Will they let you do that?”
I shrugged indifferently, but it was an act. I didn’t know for certain if they’d let Grant up on stage. “There’s nothing about it in the rules.”
He looked less amused now. “You don’t know if live music is allowed?”
Her attention yo-yoed back to him and his accent. “Where are you from?”
“New Jersey,” I said, refusing to shrink under his withering stare. “I told you it was a long shot. What’s the worst that could happen? They say no, and I dance with recorded music.”
“And I’ve wasted my day.”
“That might happen, yeah.” My voice was soft. “But I’ll pay for your time, and even just having you there in support would be a huge help.” After so many failed auditions, I’d begun to struggle with pre-performance anxiety. “I think they’ll say yes, though. Who wouldn’t to Hot Cello Guy?” I flashed a hopeful smile. “If they do say no, you could always go rogue and play it from the auditorium seats.”
He considered my suggestion for a moment, and then his shoulders relaxed. “Guerrilla style cello.”
I laughed. “Yes.”
Elena folded her arms over her chest. “Assuming they let him perform with you, you’ve got another problem, then. Hot Cello Guy is distracting. I’m thinking about it from a judge’s perspective. They spend all day watching dance solos, and suddenly there’s this gorgeous motherfucker with his cello. Their eyes are going to that.”