Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
She doesn't say anything, and I'm a little afraid to face her, so I just don't.
"I mean, I don't want to quit ballet. I love ballet," I hurry to say. "I just…I think I need to do it somewhere else. I think…I think…"
"You've had enough," she whispers.
I nod miserably. "I realized today that I'm not supposed to feel like this, Mom. I'm supposed to feel like I did this weekend. I used to be able to block it out and just focus on the parts I loved, but…"
"The other stuff has gotten louder," she says.
"Yeah."
She pushes to her feet, padding toward me on silent feet. "I wondered how long it'd take you to figure it out," she says, pulling me into a tight hug. "I told your dad this was coming after you hit that little snake."
"You did?" I blink at her.
Her lips quirk. "I told you that I know you, Sophie Elizabeth. You've been restless and unsettled since you hit him. You have this look in your eyes that you've only ever had once before, back when you were a teenager and left your first studio. It's like you know you aren't where you're supposed to be anymore, and you won't be able to relax again until you move on."
"What…" I pause, licking my lips. "What if my place is a person and not a company?"
Her gaze flickers across my face. "You mean Harlan."
"Yes," I whisper. "I…um…I met him right after I hit Greg. I think he's part of the reason I've felt like this just isn't working for me anymore. It's not just all the crap I feel when I'm at the company, it's all the crap I don't feel when I'm with him. I feel…" I trail off, not even sure how to explain it without sounding like I've lost it.
"Happy," she whispers.
"Yeah." I swallow hard. "I feel happy. And terrified. And safe. And a million other things. But I just…I think I want to be where he is, Mom. I'm not giving up on dancing. I'm just choosing me, I guess."
"Oh, Sophie." She cups my cheeks, tears in her eyes. "You can have both, sweet girl. We'll find a place in Los Angeles for you. They'd be crazy not to take you."
"You think so?"
She makes this sound that's part disgust, part disbelief, like I just said something completely ridiculous. "Are you kidding me? You have one of the biggest fan bases in the dance world, baby girl. People love you because you're everything they say a ballerina shouldn't be. You're loud and bold and strong. You don't take shit, and you know what you deserve. People root for you because they've been told no a million times, too. But you were brave enough to keep pushing anyway. You taught people to dream big. The world didn't know your name when you started, but they'll never forget it now. Believe me, Soph, you'll find a company."
I cling to her, my throat tight. "I'm scared," I whisper.
"Do it anyway," she whispers back. "Do it for you and do it for the man who put that look on your face."
"I…" I inhale a deep breath and then exhale. "Okay. Let's do it."
Chapter Eleven
Harlan
By the time I'm out of practice on Wednesday, I'm ready to hit something. I don't even have a full twenty-four hours left until I see Sophie again, but I'm a fucking wreck.
Two days without her in my bed is two days too many. I'm losing my mind. We're on the phone as often as possible, but trying to find five minutes when we're both free is damn near impossible. Either she's busy with her shit, or I'm busy with mine.
I know it's fucking with her as much as it is me. I hear it in her voice when I talk to her. There's this distance there, like she's keeping something from me. It worries the fuck out of me. But she keeps swearing that everything is fine.
After she misses our planned call on my way home, I finally have enough and call Briggs. He's in Chicago. If there's something going on, if she's running again, he can find out for me.
"What's up, fucker?" he asks on the second ring.
"I need a favor," I growl, pacing around my living room. He owes me. He leaked the damn photos of me in that leotard and tutu. I've been catching nine kinds of hell at practice all week. I'm pretty sure the photo he took has been plastered all over the gossip sites all week, too.
My publicist, Emelia, is ready to kill me. She's working overtime, trying to dodge everyone who wants to know what kind of bet I had with Sophie and if the two of us are together. I'm ready to tell them all that I'm marrying her…but I'm trying to make sure I've got my ring on her finger first. Just to make sure she doesn't kill me for telling the world before I've even told her.