Page 27 of The Unraveling

“Jocelyn,” he says, centering on me. “It is so lovely to meet you. I’ve heard phenomenal things about you in the last few days. Forgive me for only getting a chance to sit in for a bit today, but I’ve seen you dance quite a few times in New York.”

“Oh, thank you so much. I’m honored. It’s wonderful to meet you as well.”

The fact that he’s seen me dance in New York gives me a huge surge of relief. I was afraid that the classes wouldn’t show my talent enough.

“I have good news and bad news,” he says.

My brief moment of relief is squashed by plummeting fear. Already, my mind is whirring with questions. Where to go from here, what connections do I have? Do I call my old director? If I leave London, am I going to lose Jordan for good? Have I already?

“Okay,” I say, calmly, as if my mind isn’t on its own miserable roller coaster.

“I know you’re coming from a principal position at the NAB, but I don’t have that position available. Also, it’s clear you’ve had a bit of a time-off, and you’ll need to work to get back into performance shape.”

His face is just as pleasant as ever, as he is seemingly unaware that he’s delivering news that is making me queasy.

“However, that being said,” he goes on, “I would like to offer you a soloist position, starting immediately.”

My insides run cool as the roller coaster comes to a screeching halt. Is this really happening?

“Really?” I ask, breathless.

“Absolutely. We’re down quite a few dancers and we start Swan Lake in two weeks, so you’ll jump right in. At the same time, we’ll begin rehearsals for the run of Manon in the spring. And hopefully we’ll have a donor arranged for you by then. Will that work for you?”

“Yes!” I burst out. “Thank you so much!”

The mention of a donor rings a small alarm bell in the back of my mind. I resist asking more about it and think of Mimi. I need a donor. I need to get back on my feet. I need to get more than on my feet. I need a good donor.

“Great, well, welcome to the team,” he says, standing. It’s the international in-office gesture of We’re done here.

He sends me to meet with the company manager and sign a contract. I get the usual rundown of company life. Then I’m free to go—leaving today as a soloist with the Royal National Ballet.

I can hardly contain my excitement. I can hardly breathe. Talk about being in the right place at the right time! I decide to skip the elevator, too excited to meet up with Arabella, and head for the stairwell.

Rushing down the stairs two at a time, I run smack into Luca. Like a hero in a Marvel movie, he grabs me as I fall backward, nearly hitting my head.

“Careful, bella,” he says, in a gorgeous Italian accent.

“Thanks.” I smile, blushing at him and righting myself.

He winks, I die a little at how incredibly fucking hot he is, and then I resume existing on planet Earth.

I burst outside and see Arabella across the narrow street having an Aperol Spritz and reading Feel Free by Zadie Smith. Girl has untold depths.

“Let me guess—soloist?” she asks, as soon as I sit down.

“Yes! God, you’re good.”

“I make it my business to have an understanding of what’s going on at all times. It makes the most sense. Charlie’s brilliant. He couldn’t possibly turn you away. You’re Jocelyn Fucking Banks.”

A server comes over with a spritz for me. “Thank you,” I say to him. Then to her, I point at the drink. “How?”

“I told him to bring one over as soon as you joined me. Come on, darling, child’s play. Cheers!”

I clink glasses with her and take a deep sip of the bright, icy cold drink. It tastes better than anything I can remember.

“I have him make it with Dom Pérignon and Campari,” she says.

“God, really? No wonder it’s so good.”

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