Page 98 of The Unraveling

“That’s correct,” I practically whisper. Then, “Hi.” I hold out my hand. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”

I force myself to let my eyes meet Clementine’s. God, she is so strikingly beautiful.

“Wonderful to finally meet you, Jocelyn. I’ve come to see your rehearsal. I hope that’s okay.” She smiles. “From what my husband tells me, you are very talented.”

My husband. My husband. The words feel like a slap. I practically want to snap back with, I know he’s your husband, why do you keep reminding me?

Oh my god, does she know? Did he go home and say I made a move on him? Oh my god. Oh my god.

“That’s so great,” I say, overcompensating. “I’m so thankful to you—and um, and to your husband both for supporting me. I only just started learning the role.” I’m getting even more nervous. “So, I hope the rehearsal isn’t going to be too boring for you.”

“Oh, no, I love it.”

Clementine has an effortless cool to her. A strong, clear voice with a slightly Americanized English accent. A relaxed posture. A comfort in her own skin that I only have when I’m dancing.

“Well, lead the way,” says Mary, when I stand there a few seconds too long in stunned silence.

“Right, of course, yes, follow me,” I say.

I have no idea how I do it, but once we start rehearsing again, I manage to block out Clementine, and all thoughts of her husband.

I focus only on Luca and Isabella. We move on to the bedroom pas de deux.

I do a pretty good job of ignoring them until the door opens and Alistair comes in. Mary waves him over.

I stumble at the sight of him.

“Fuck, sorry,” I say.

Luca has caught me, and now he says, “My fault. Let’s go again.”

I regain my composure. I could dance in my sleep. It shouldn’t bother me that he’s here. It’s fine. It’s fine. But right now, I feel like the world’s worst person having slept with a married man. I hate myself.

But I’m a little off my game. No matter how hard I try to concentrate, I can’t do it. I keep slipping. I’m not hitting my marks.

Luca makes it look good, making up for my lack, just like he’d do onstage if something happened. Of course, Isabella’s job is to be hyperobservant, and she notices.

She keeps stopping us and saying, Focus, you two, let’s try that bit again. Which is generous, because I think we all know it’s me, not Luca.

At the end of rehearsal, Isabella dismisses Luca, who gives me a commiserative look before leaving.

Isabella lowers her voice so the Cavendishes and Mary Simon can’t hear.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I hadn’t danced in a while, and it’s just…personal stuff.”

She scans my eyes. “You’re extremely talented, Jocelyn. But you have to get it together. Whatever’s going on, you have to find a way to leave it outside the studio. I have empathy for your situation, I understand you just lost your mother and things are tough. Unfortunately—”

“I know,” I say. “I know, it won’t happen again. I know.”

“That was so fun,” says Clementine, standing from her seat, Mary and Alistair following suit.

My heart in my throat, I smile as she approaches.

“No wonder my husband can’t stop talking about you. You’re fantastic.”

My eyes flit to him and I smile politely as he avoids my gaze. “Thank you.”

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