Page 75 of Mended Hearts

She didn’t need to know Carly was a dumpster fire in haute couture.

She just needed to believe that we believed in her more than Carly ever could.

I was shaking, so I skipped a few steps ahead and flung open the door to her designated suite, stepping into pure chaos and a familiar cloud of glitter and hairspray. The backstage room was packed—kids on tiptoe, stretching, giggling, pirouetting into each other. Chaos. Beautiful, jittery chaos.

Like we’d choreographed it, Alice marched ahead, clearing a path to the corner where the other snowflakes were warming up. A few blushed, others beamed. Some were definitely one wrong twirl from vomiting in a satin slipper. The energy in the room buzzed under my skin, matching the tremble still working through my hands.

Alice turned sharply, blocking Tillie’s view of the rest of the room as I crouched down beside her.

“Okay, my badass ballerina.”

That earned me a tiny, wobbly giggle. Good. Still reachable.

“Look at me,” I said gently, tilting her chin up with two fingers. “Can I tell you the truth? Like, real truth?”

Her lashes fluttered, and for a second I thought she might shut down again. But then she nodded, soft and shy.

I grinned, aware that Alice was doing the same behind me.

“You, Matilda freaking Hart, are a legend. That stage out there? It belongs to you. I have five sisters, so I don’t say this lightly—but you were made for this. That floor, those lights, the glitter rain? They’re lucky to have you stomping your sparkly little feet all over them.”

I tapped her nose. Her throat bobbed, but she was still with me. Still listening.

“No wonder your heart hides sometimes. You’ve been trying to grow in the shadow of a woman who couldn’t spot gold if it slapped her across the face. But you? You’re gold. Pure and bright and strong.”

I swallowed, forcing my rage into something useful.

“You’ve earned this, Mattie. Every practice, every blister, every night you dragged your little self home anddidit againthe next day. You didn’t get here because your last name is Hart. You got here because you worked your cute little ass?—”

“Leighton,” Alice hissed behind me.

“—behind,” I corrected, because I was nothing if not respectful of the peanut gallery. “You worked yourbehindoff. So when you walk on that stage tonight, you hold your chin high and remind them exactly why they picked you.”

Her lip wobbled, and I swear to God, I was gonna rip Carly’s extensions out by the root and donate them to a charity that deserved them.

“What if I mess up?” she whispered.

“Then you keep on dancing,” Alice said, joining me in the crouch.

“You know why?” I leaned in, conspiratorial, my voice low and fierce.

“Why?” Her smile flickered at the edges.

“Confidence makeseverythinglook intentional.”

“What?”

“No, seriously,” Alice added. “I faked my way through my entire first year working for your daddy and Uncle Grey.”

“You could freestyle the Macarena mid-snowflake number and as long as you owned it? The audience wouldlosetheir minds.”

“Only the other ballerinas would know, and even the very best of them would be so stinking proud of you for staying in the moment and catching up once you could.”

“We are all rooting for you,” I promised. “They’re not watching for mistakes, sweet pea. They’re watching to be dazzled.”

“They’re watchingyou,” Alice added, booping her nose.

“They want magic,” I said. “And lucky for them, you’remadeof it.”

---