Page 19 of Stuck With the Best Man

“You’re so rich that I wouldn’t be surprised if you bleed gold. If you really think that means you don’t have the power to bend the entire company to your whim, then you’re more of a threat than I realized.”

Athreat? To her career? Does she truly think I would purposefully stand in her way like that?

“Ruby, you’re a wonderful dancer. A unique talent, honestly—”

“Save it,” she snaps. “I’ll dance whatever you tell me to, because at the end of the day, I have no real choice in the matter. Even if I auditioned for the ABT or another company, we both know that my best shot at being promoted to principal is staying right where I am. I’m stuck. You have all the power. Congratulations. Whatever.”

She turns on her heel and stomps away from me. Again.

I’m too confused and frustrated to follow her. I don’t think I would know what to say, even if I did catch up with her again.

I don’t know what to think. I still believe that cuttingGisellewas the right decision to make. I feel bad that I unknowingly ruined an incredible opportunity for Ruby in doing so, but it’s not the end of the world. She’s extremely talented. She’ll get another chance. She still has about a decade left of her career too.

She’s just… too hard on herself. Too stubborn. Too unwilling to relinquish even the slightest bit of control.

I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to give up this position on the board just because one ballerina thinks I’m a careless fool. I take this new responsibility of mine very seriously. Once I find a way to prove that to Ruby, I’m sure she’ll see my side of things.

Then she won’t hate me anymore. Problem solved.

I just need more chances to earn her trust.

Left alone in the gardens—save for the couples who have broken off from the reception inside to engage in midnight trysts among the flowers—I find myself staring out across the cliffs toward the starry horizon. It’s getting late, which means that Sebastien and Eva will be jetting off to start their honeymoon in just a couple of hours, but I still have a little bit of time before we send them off.

I start walking. Not further into the gardens, but out toward the edge of the cliffside. The sounds of the party drift away into the background, overtaken by the roaring crash of the frigid waves against the jagged rocks below. There’s a horrible sort of beauty to it. It’s deadly and fascinating. If I take a wrong step, I might plunge to my death. It’s a decent metaphor for ballet.

Ruby thinks I don’t understand her, or that I have no true appreciation for her art form, but she’s wrong.

I notice a narrow path leading down the perimeter of the cliff toward the large boulders clustered in a small cove below. It’s a bit treacherous, but the moon is bright enough to light the way as I make the conscious decision to ruin my Italian leather shoes and step onto the sandy path.

Even if that conversation with Ruby was anything but pleasant, it made me admire her even more. She’s not afraid to fight for something she wants. Not even if it entails snarling in the face of someone on the board of the company. A lesser man might seek to punish her for being so bold, but I wouldn’t dare. Ruby is too good to lose.

For thecompanyto lose, that is.

As I pick my way down the path, I notice a lone figure standing down on the rocks. It’s a willowy, feminine shadow, clad in loose layers of flowing fabric that dance in the ocean breeze.

I pause on the path, not wanting to spook the stranger and cause them to lose their footing. If they fell into the rocky, churning sea, I’m not confident I’d be able to pull them out. I’m a strong swimmer when it comes to doing laps in designated pools. Add riptides and currents to the equation, and I’m easily reduced to useless.

The figure seems to know that I’m there, though, and smoothly turns away from the sea to look up at me.

“Hello!” I call out, somewhat stupidly. “Are you alright?”

The woman has long silver hair. She’s wearing so much jewelry that it makes her joints gleam in the moonlight. I glance up toward the top of the cliff, feeling inexplicably nervous.

The mystical, shadowy creature says nothing at all. She merely waves, the delicate tinkle of silver bangles audible even over the growling surf, and then turns away from me once again. I watch as she crouches down on the rock and then sits comfortably, her long legs tucked under her. Her face is turned down to the surface of the water as if she’s talking to something within.

I shake my head, wondering if I’m seeing things. I don’t believe in ghosts, but it would certainly make a good tourist attraction if these shores were haunted. What was it that one of the bridesmaids said at the rehearsal dinner? That this town is guarded by sirens, and that’s why it’s called Mermaid Shores?

Silly, of course. Absolutely ridiculous.

Yet, I decide it’s in my best interest to leave the mystical woman alone and climb back up the cliffside. I tuck my hands into my pockets and discover not just a stray white ribbon from one of the wedding favors, but also a small stone. Another stone… and I have no idea where this one came from either. I left the pink one—rose quartz, apparently—and the raw ruby on the bedside table of my hotel room.

From what I can tell from the silvery light overhead, the stone is pure black. It’s oddly shaped, as if chipped away from a larger chunk, but I can’t see any scratches or accidental imperfections on the surface. It must be a fairly hard stone, then. Maybe tourmaline, if I can recall what I gleaned from the brief internet search I conducted when I was trying to figure out what the pink one was.

Rose quartz. Raw ruby. Black tourmaline.

What sort of message is this?

I stare down at the stone in my palm as I crest the cliffside once more.

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