Page 8 of Lessons in Sin

I barrel through the doors of the studio, sucking in precious gasps of air, my nerves making it harder and harder to breathe, and come to a stop. An older woman sitting in the waiting area sends me a withering glare, her lined mouth tightening in distaste, as she holds a lifetime magazine in her perfectly manicured hands. Yea lady, I’m well aware that I look like a hot mess, no need to remind me.

Straightening my shoulders, I ignore her and walk over to the reception desk. A young wide-eyed girl looks up with a smile on her face. ‘Hi, how can I help you?’

‘Hi, I have a meeting booked with Andre Williams?’

Before she can answer, someone does it for her.

‘You’re late.’ A deep voice drawls from behind me, sounding bored and slightly indifferent.

I turn swiftly and come face to face with Andre Williams - a ballet legend.

I almost gasp at the sight of him. After meeting Tristan last night, I didn’t think anyone could hold a candle to him, but this man could give him a run for his money.

Whilst Tristan was all sharp lines and rugged features, Andre was a man carved from marble. Every line, every angle, every dip seemed to have a purpose as if a sculptor had meticulously sculpted each part of his face to reveal perfection.

He was perfect, and he was looking down at me as if I were a bug he’d stepped on - an inconvenient bug.

I go to answer, but he stops me with a hand. ‘Miss nelson I presume?’ He moves without waiting for confirmation. ‘Come this way.’

‘Nice to meet you too.’ I grumble under my breath but follow him, nonetheless.

He leads us into an office, his name engraved onto the door in gold as if anyone in his office wouldn’t know he was important enough already. He gestures for me to sit on one of the two navy chairs facing a large mahogany desk. Sitting, I go to speak, to apologise, to beg for forgiveness but he stops me with a quick wave of his hand, a challenge in his eyes.

Make me wait for you and I’ll make you wait right back. His eyes seemed to say.

Ignoring him, I look around the room. Picture frames line the walls, numerous playbills of different ballet performances held within them with a single photo of the dancers - Andre holding the lead role in each and every one, even when he was younger. He was good - that much I had known - but seeing the sheer number of lead roles he’d had was awe-inspiring. He was a professional dancer in every sense of the world - the professional that I one day wish to be … if my parents ever let go of their own aspirations for me that is.

Shifting in his seat, he picks up a stack of papers. His honey brown eyes bright against his dark skin, connect with mine. ‘So, Miss Nelson, what may I do for you?’

‘Please, call me Scarlett.’ I shift in my seat, nervous tremors making it hard to sit still. ‘I’ve followed your work for years, and it would be such an honour to work under you.’ I blush as my words bring back memories of the night before - his pelvis against mine, hard against soft, the rush of pleasure … fuck, snap out of it Scarlett! I shake my head and continue. ‘I want to be a household name one day, and I think you’re the one who can help me make that happen.’

It’s a variation of the same sentence I’ve muttered since I put on my first pair of ballet shoes when I was five declaring to anyone who would listen that I was going to be the best ballet dancer in the world.

If only my parents would get on board.

Andre leans back in his chair, crossing his ankle over his thigh. ‘If your passion is dance, Scarlett, then why are you not enrolled in a dance school? You’re at LAU, are you not? A college that doesn’t have any form of dance course?’

Embarrassment colours my cheeks as I look down into my lap. ‘It’s … complicated.’

Standing abruptly, he walks to the door and opens it. Holding his arm out, he sends me a pointed look. ‘Goodbye Miss Nelson. I teach the best of the best, and although you have talent - as is evident in your application video - I do not waste my time on people who, not only turn up late, but also refuse to answer my questions.’

I stand, anger bubbling to the surface - anger at my parents, at their disapproving frowns and ultimatums, anger at this arrogant dancer and his judgement, however deserved. Anger at this whole goddamn, unfair world. Maybe in another life, I would have been on time, I would have had my parents’ approval and I wouldn’t need to explain or justify my actions.

But here we are.

Taking a breath, I let go of the anger and sit back down, my body deflated.

‘I’m not at a dance school,’ I begin, and he closes the door but doesn’t move away from it, ‘because the only way I could get my parents to allow me to leave the small town I grew up in was by studying subjects that would get me to law school. To become the lawyer, they want me to be. There’s a reason I chose a university in LA rather than any other state. The best of the best is here, and I want to be a part of the best.’ I don’t even know what I’ll do if he throws me out. Having Andre as my instructor opens a whole load of doors in the dance world - I need that, I need this.

Andre moves away from the door, his every movement graceful and poised, that dancer’s elegance shining through, and puts his hands behind his back. ‘Okay then, we start your lessons tomorrow.’

Chapter 6

The alarm slices through my dreams as it echoes off the walls of my dorm room, making both me and Katie grumble in distress. I haven’t seen Katie since she ditched me to go to that jock’s frat party at the club - she was gone when I returned from my meeting with Andre and went MIA all of Sunday.

I’d spent most of my Sunday swapping texts with Tristan, time that really should have been used to get to grips with the class materials for my first semester at LAU. But it’s Monday now and there’s no point in pretending that I would have done that even if I wasn’t distracted by Tristan.

Even in text form, I can feel his humour, his teasing, his … presence. Sometimes it feels as though I could tug at this connection between us and he’d feel it.

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