Page 94 of You're the Reason

Strange. She slipped her shoes into her bag then pulled the convertible tights over her toes before sliding on her Crocs. Her phone vibrated with a text.

MARGRET

Seth has been released and cleared of all charges. Thought you’d want to know.

Grace sank against the wall as tears burned her eyes. A weight that had been pressing against her since she’d first seen the video lifted, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh, or cry, or do a little dance.

She tapped his name on her phone and let it ring several times before going to voicemail. She tried again. Nothing.

“Madame Laurent wants to see you in her office,” Alec said, emerging from a door.

Grace eyed her phone again, then slipped it into her bag and hurried down the hall. She stopped in front of the large ornate door and knocked.

“Enter.” The thick French accent was a welcome sound.

Grace pushed the door open and took in the grandeur of the room. The dark paneling combined with the sconces that mimicked candlelight transported her back to when this nineteenth century theatre had opened. But it also made it hard to see. Grace blinked several times, letting her eyes adjust before they landed on Madame Laurent.

It wasn’t her office since they were at the Auditorium Theatre rather than their studio, but she sat behind the stately dark oak desk with a straight back and tight bun like she owned the place. Without even a hint of a smile, she pointed to a chair opposite the desk. “Sit.”

Grace offered a polite smile as she circled the antique Empire chair and sat on the deep red velvet, taking care not to sink back no matter how much her body was sagging with relief right now after the news of Seth.

“What was that?” Madame Laurent’s French accent was thicker than usual and laced with an icy tone that was punctuated by the woman slapping her desk.

Grace sat up a bit straighter. “I hit every turn, every mark, every?—”

“Your knee is healed. Anyone can see that.” She dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand. “But that was not a performance. That was rote memorization. You may have healed your knee, but in that process you have lost your heart.”

Lost her heart? Madame Laurent no doubt meant her heart for dance, but Grace’s mind went to Seth.

“No one will take a role on my stage who doesn’t love the piece. It shows.”

“I can do better.”

Madam Laurent leaned forward on her elbows, her eyes narrowing as she seemed to be trying to look into Grace’s very soul. “I don’t think you can. I have seen you dance for five years and that was the worst performance you have ever given. Maybe not technically, but where it counts. I’m putting you in the chorus.”

The woman sat up, slipped on a pair of dark-rimmed glasses, and began making notes on the paper in front of her.

“The chorus?” She didn’t disguise the horror in her tone. It wasn’t even a secondary role. She hadn’t been in the chorus since her first year with the company.

Madame Laurent paused her writing and sent Grace an icy stare above her glasses. “Would you rather have nothing?”

When Grace didn’t immediately answer, Madame Laurent leaned forward again, this time her arms crossing on the desk in front of her. “I will give one hour to decide. That’s when the chorus will take the stage to review their dances. I assume you know the part.”

Grace nodded. She’d never danced the chorus, but Madame Laurent had always been adamant about every dancer knowing every part just in case she needed to move someone around at the last minute.

“You may go.”

She stood—numb—and turned toward the door.

Where is your heart?

She had no doubt where her heart was.

In Heritage. Maybe this was a message that it was time to wrap up her time on the stage.

She walked out to the hall and dropped back on the bench. She pulled out her phone and checked it again. She had to talk to him. She tapped Seth’s name and waited to leave a voicemail, but on the third ring, he answered. “What do you need, Grace?”

The detached tone gutted her. “I heard you’re out.”

---