Page 182 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“Come on,” I said softly, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She was shaking for the entire drive back to the penthouse—adrenaline and residual fear still raging inside her.

Once in our place, I carried Anastasia into the bathroom. With one hand, I started a warm bath, the steam filling the room. Then I set her down and helped her undress, my movements gentle and careful. She slipped into the water, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as the warmth enveloped her.

I quickly stripped and slid in behind her, tucking her against me as she laid her head back against my shoulder. I traced her features obsessively as her eyes fluttered closed

“Thank you, Camden. You’re like my own personal superhero,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

We stayed like that until the water turned cool, the silence between us filled with a newfound peace. When we finally climbed out, I wrapped her in a towel and led her to the bedroom, tucking her into the soft, warm sheets.

Laying down beside her, I pulled her close. Her breathing slowed, her body relaxing against mine. As she drifted off to sleep, I stared at the ceiling, the events of the night replaying in my mind.

Michael was out of the picture, and for the first time, it felt like Anastasia could truly heal.

CHAPTER 38

ANASTASIA

ONE MONTH LATER

The lights dimmed, and the hush of the audience settled over the theater. I took a deep breath, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline. Rudolf stood beside me, his presence steady and reassuring.

Considering we’d had such a short time to practice together, I’d never been more confident in one of my partners.

I’d also never been more confident in myself.

The music began, soft and haunting, and we moved as one, our bodies perfectly in sync.

As the first notes filled the theater, I felt the music seep into my bones, guiding my every movement. Rudolf and I began with a series of graceful, sweeping steps, our feet gliding effortlessly across the stage. The connection between us was electric, every glance and touch filled with the story of Giselle and Albrecht.

Rudolf’s hand found mine, and he spun me out, our fingertips brushing as we separated. I twirled, my tutu fluttering around me like petals in the wind. As I came back to him, he lifted me high into the air, the spotlight catching the sparkles in my costume. For a moment, I felt like I was flying, weightless and free, suspended above the stage.

“Beautiful, Anastasia,” Rudolf whispered as he lowered me back to the ground, his voice filled with admiration.

Our bodies intertwined in a series of intricate lifts and turns. I could feel the energy of the audience, their rapt attention adding to the magic of the performance. Rudolf’s hands were strong and sure, guiding me through each lift with ease. The chemistry between us was undeniable, so different from how it had been with Dallon. Every movement was perfectly timed, every expression mirroring the emotions of our characters.

As the music swelled, Rudolf lifted me into a grand arabesque, my leg extending behind me as I balanced on his hand. The world outside the stage faded away, and all that existed was the dance. The emotions of Giselle poured through me—love, betrayal, forgiveness—each one expressed through the precise, elegant movements.

The final sequence was an arrangement of delicate, flowing steps that brought us closer together. Rudolf’s eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a surge of emotion. This was the essence of ballet—the silent communication, the unspoken connection that transcended words. My heart pounded in time with the music, every beat resonating in my chest.

When the final notes played, I struck the last pose, holding my breath, waiting for the audience’s response. No matter if Camden was the only one who clapped for me, I knew it was the best I had ever danced.

There was a beat of silence, and then the theater erupted into applause, the sound washing over me like a flood of warm water. I looked out into the crowd, searching for the one face that meant everything to me.

And then I found him.

Camden’s eyes were shining with pride, his smile wide, our friends seated all around him. He jumped to his feet, leading the standing ovation, and my heart felt like it might burst.

I hadn’t known it was possible to be this happy.

I turned to Rudolf, and he gave me a knowing nod. “You nailed it,” he said, grinning as he pushed his sweaty, dark-black hair out of his face.

As we took our bows, the applause grew even louder. The spotlight was blinding, but I soaked it in, the thrill of the performance still coursing through me. I felt amazing, alive, and utterly triumphant.

The curtain closed, and Rudolf and I left the stage so the crew could clear the props for the next Showcase performance.

“If you aren’t a principal in the next couple of months, that lady needs her head checked,” Rudolf muttered as Madame Leclerc gave us a nod that was as good as a “Bravo” coming from her.

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