“What do you mean?”
“I want you to return to the troupe. I shall make you principal dancer. A star.”
“I don’t know if that’s what I want.” My voice was shaky.
He huffed a haughty breath as a waitress, lugging a loaded tray, scurried by us. “Puh-lease. Is this the pathetic life you want? Wearing a dirty apron and serving peons?”
“I respect waitresses.” I really did. They were honest, hard-working human beings.
He laughed. “You’re only fooling yourself, Willow. You were born to dance and you know that. Did you see any of the reviews?”
“I saw the one in the New York Times,” I said hesitantly.
“They’re all like that. You’re all over the Internet and the Twitter world can’t stop buzzing about you.”
Shock coursed through me. I had no idea.
“I need you to return to the company. With Mira’s injury, I have no one who can dance the White Swan.”
I registered his words. The White Swan in Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake? He wanted me to perform that role? The coveted role every ballerina in the world dreamed of dancing.
“We shall be touring the world, starting in France at L’Opéra de Paris.”
His words whirled around in my head while my heart pounded in my chest. I’d always dreamt of dancing in Paris at the grand L’Opéra. Oh my God. And to dance the role of the White Swan there?
“My oiseau, you will become an international star of mega-proportions. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Words were trapped in my throat. I was speechless.
“Do you want to spend your life here in this eggshell or do you want to set the world on fire with your dancing? Think about it, my little bird, and let me know in twenty-four hours. We depart tomorrow afternoon.”
And with that, he grabbed his cane and walked out of the restaurant, leaving my emotions in a tempest.