She ran down to throw herself into Romeo’s arms. She had to concentrate and stop obsessing about her commitment issues. The ballet came first. The first few moments of the pas de deux were okay, if tense. But then things started to go wrong.
“Stop,” Rubio hissed through his smile. “Don’t think of him.” He held her gaze as he swung her around in a lift. “Dance with me.”
She tried to push her dad out of her mind, but the more she did, the more she imagined him out in the audience, scrutinizing her every step. Her body fought the movements so she lagged behind the music. She was heavy for Ruby to lift because she wasn’t working with him the way she was supposed to. He made a warning sound after one excruciating sequence.
“Do it,” he said under his breath. “Dance, damn you.”
Petra tried…but everything was fucking up. To the audience, their performance probably looked normal, if not stellar. She wasn’t tripping or forgetting steps, she was just out of tune with her body and out of tune with him. Ruby tried to compensate. He stopped sniping at her and put all his efforts into making her look better than she did.
She was furious with herself but she couldn’t snap out of her tailspin. The music flowed on, nightmarish to her ears. She wanted this pas de deux to end. She wanted to take off her costume and makeup and go home to hide under the covers until tomorrow.
But she couldn’t. She was Petra Hewitt and this was her job. Rubio put his arms around her as Romeo, gazing into her eyes. She was supposed to love him. She was supposed to be transported by her love for him, so what had gone wrong? Juliet could love, so why couldn’t she?
What the fuck was wrong with her?
The moment she and Ruby moved into the next series of lifts, she knew something had gone terminally bad, so bad it wasn’t fixable. His hand slipped and she flopped onto his shoulder. He grabbed a handful of her dress and righted her, but it was too late to make it look good. They’d totally botched the lift. All the patrons would assume he was drunk, or she was on drugs, and gossip about it behind their crystal champagne flutes. Her face burned and her ankles wobbled through the last humiliating steps. Finally, it was over.
She would have fled the stage if Ruby hadn’t grabbed her hand in an iron grasp. “Reverence,” he said. “Do it.”
She was losing it. She bowed her head and sank into a curtsy, not wanting anyone to see her face. She couldn’t look out at the audience. She didn’t want to know if her father had stayed to watch, if he’d seen her egregious mistake—because it was her mistake, not Ruby’s, that made him fumble that lift. Anyone who was a dancer would have known it.
After a painfully polite bout of applause, they swept off the stage. “Happy now?” she asked, pulling away from him just inside the wings. “You dropped me in front of everyone.”
“Be quiet. They’ll hear you.” He tugged her arm, guiding her back into the deeper recesses of the stage. “What was that?” he asked when they were alone. “Did that make you proud, that performance? Proud for your dad?”
She burst into tears. “No, it didn’t make me proud. It sucked. I told you we had to practice more, but you didn’t want to—”
“Oh, no,” he said, cutting her off. “Don’t put this on me. None of that was my fault.”
“I was nervous. You weren’t out there with me earlier, when I saw my father. You should have been with me.” Even as she said the words, she recognized her hypocrisy. She constantly held him at arm’s length, but then lit into him when he wasn’t there.
He took her arm and held her against him, and wiped at her tears. “Okay, is enough now. Pull yourself together. We have to go out there, you know, even if you just danced Juliet like a fucking mess. Your father will not say nothing. If he does—”
“He won’t,” she yelled. “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t talk to me, he doesn’t give a fuck about me. He never will.”
“Then why are you so upset?” he yelled back. “Why do you care? What is going on in your crazy head? Why did you dance so bad, and embarrass both of us?”
“I didn’t mean to.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, hating this moment, hating this blow-up between them. Hating herself for being the one to blame. “I suck, okay? I guess that’s the problem. I’m a total fuck up and I can’t do this anymore.”
“You don’t suck,” he said. “Calm down, okay? You had a bad night. It happens.”
“No, I mean, I can’t do this thing...with you...and dance... I can’t handle it all anymore.”
He sobered, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean?” She said it meanly, spitefully, so she wouldn’t start crying again. “I mean that I just want to dance. I just want...” She put her hands to her head, rubbing her temples. “I need some space, okay? Ever since you gave me that stupid necklace or collar or whatever—”
“Stupid? Oh, very nice. You call my gift stupid?”
“I’m not a dog! I’m not your pet. I’m a dancer. I’m Petra Hewitt. I don’t belong to you, okay?”
He took her arm and backed her against the concrete wall. She could feel his groin tightening against the front of her. “What are you talking about?” he said against her ear. When she struggled, he held her tighter, pinning her with his chest and hips. “Does not matter who belongs to who. You want me, I want you. That’s all that matters.”
“No.”
“No? It doesn’t matter?”
“No, I don’t want you. Not anymore. I told you, I just want to dance. I need a break.”
“You don’t take a break from desire, Petra.” She flinched as he forced a kiss on her, taking bold possession of her lips. She pushed him back and moved to leave, but he caught her from behind, pulling her against his chest. “I don’t understand this,” he whispered. “You don’t like me anymore? You don’t want me? That’s not what you screamed last night while you were coming.”
“Yes, you make me come. So what? I can buy a fucking vibrator to do the same thing.” Now that was a lie. There was no vibrator on the planet that would live up to Rubio’s lovemaking, but at least a vibrator wouldn’t distract her and torment her, and drop her onstage in front of her father.
“You’re angry right now,” he said with a sigh. The more she struggled, the more his arms tightened around her. “I understand you’re angry. You’re embarrassed, whatever. If you want space, you can have it for a while. I’ll be here. We’ll still dance together, yes?”
She nodded slowly after a moment. “Of course. We’re partners. That’s all I want, to dance.”
“Okay. We’ll dance.” He finally let her go. She ducked away from him, brushing the wrinkles out of her costume. He looked shell-shocked, sucker-punched, which ripped at her heart. This would be the hardest part, re-establishing the boundaries between them, but it had to be done.
“Are you angry?” she asked. “Do you hate me?”
He gave a short, bitter laugh. “I don’t hate you, no. But stop crying. We have to go out and work. You have to hold your head high and show your father what a beautiful, strong person you are. Everyone will forget the lift. Half are too drunk to notice anyway,” he added, waving a hand.
There was no way Petra could walk back out into that theater and face everyone. Face her father. It wasn’t physically possible for her tonight. “You go ahead,” she said. “I have to fix my makeup. I’ll be out soon.”
He watched her a long moment, and then he nodded. “Okay.” He sighed, one of his long, dramatic sighs, and slipped past her, back toward the stage. As he passed he caressed her arm, a soft, light touch. It felt like a goodbye, even though she knew she’d see him tomorrow in rehearsal.
In her heart, it was a goodbye.
*** *** ***
Petra asked him for space, and he gave it to her. Now Rubio had so much space in his life he was going crazy. Space in his bed, space in his heart. Space in his loft with his goddamn window looking out on the goddamn city that held no attraction for him anymore.
> He could leave if he wanted, negotiate a contract with some other company. He would miss Liam and Ashleigh, but he’d been in London forever, practically his entire career. He could leave and explore some other city, some other vistas. But no matter how far he went, he’d still be the same Fernando Rubio, a rough-edged asshole from the slums. He thought he was getting better with Petra, that he was maturing and becoming a better person, a lovable person, but she didn’t want to make a life with him, so he must have been wrong.
Still, he wouldn’t leave. In his heart of hearts, he knew that, just as he knew he’d never throw away her collar, even though he’d flung it in the trash can a hundred times. He wouldn’t leave London if Petra was here, because she might need him. If she went back to New York, he’d go too. If she went to Moscow, Hong Kong, Timbuktu, it didn’t matter. As long as Paulsen continued with his threats and harassing letters, Rubio would stick around. She’d gained another stalker—him.
Liam kept him updated about Paulsen, even though Ruby and Petra were no longer in a relationship, or sleeping together, or even talking together most days. They said only as much as they had to in order to work out the subtleties of Waking Kiss, the piece they were rehearsing as part of a love-themed collection of ballets.
Ironic.
Going along with the romance-oriented theme, the show was scheduled to premiere next week, on Valentine’s Day. It grated to play lovers with Petra when she’d thrown his love back in his face. She was a heartless, cold, career-obsessed woman. He’d known that when he first met her. He knew it before he met her, for God’s sake, and he’d pursued her anyway. He’d been a fool.
But heartless or not, he’d make her do justice to his ballet. He pushed her and challenged her and demanded one hundred percent of her, even in practices. She glared at him now, after his twentieth correction, her hands on her hips.
“Let me dance it,” she said. “Let me interpret it my way. It’s my role.”