Page 126 of All Twerk, No Play

“I’m not ordinary.” The words, which had always seemed like a compliment, tightened my throat like a noose.

“You’re extraordinary, Princess,” he said gently, using the voice he’d used to calm me when I panicked before an exam. “It should have been your mother, we both know that. She always wanted you to follow in her footsteps.”

My lungs felt like they were collapsing under the weight of her dream transferring to my shoulders. “I’ve bought you as much time as I could away from the Den of Vipers.”

I’m a cobra, not a viper, I wanted to tell him.

But he wouldn’t understand. Nobody would understand.

As hard as I tried to hold them back, the tears formed anyway.

I held out my hand, and he shook it with a frown.

“I’ll have your room in the Tribeca condo prepared for your arrival,” he said, walking out. Before he stepped into the town car idling in front of our building, he turned back to look at me, face full of pride and regret.

Then he was gone.

I stepped into the stairwell to collect myself and lock away the part of me that dreamed of a different future, one with a sweet man who made me breakfast and kissed me goodnight. I’d missed the chance to say goodbye to my grandfather, so caught up in my life with him.

But there would be no more time in my life for push-up competitions and concerts.

Billy Joel lyrics echoed in my mind about not allowing myself to imagine that my dreams could come true …

I set a phone timer for a three-minute pity party. I made a mental list of everything I needed to do before I walked back into that Manhattan skyscraper for the first time in 13 years.

I’d left a disgraced 23-year-old, running from heartbreak. I would return victorious to claim my rightful place, my heels crushing anyone standing in my way.

"One Last Time," Ariana Grande

Cruz

“Almostdone,let’sfinishstrong. One last working song before cooldown.” I said, checking everybody’s lunges as the summer breeze cooled my sweat. The synthesized beats pounded as I sang along with Ariana Grande, encouraging my clients to push through one last set before promising to let them go.

Tori’s Audi pulled into the parking lot. I assumed she’d walk to meet me after work … but maybe she was picking me up so I could shower before an early dinner reservation.

Or maybe we’d skip dinner and stay in to finish what we’d started before work.

She’d seemed different this morning—so open and honest, like there was nothing between us. And when she’d giggled? Jesus, it took all my willpower not to drag her back home, to keep her in bed all day instead of going to work.

A car door slammed. With a giant smile on my face, I turned for a glimpse of my girl.

And my heart stuttered.

She wasn’t the same woman from this morning. My Tori had been radiant in her casual sundress, hair loose around her shoulders, kissing me goodbye before breezing into her office.

This Victoria was a hollow replica: hair in a severe bun, wearing a conservative dress and sky-high heels, leaning against her trunk with arms crossed.

Shit.

Instinctively, I moved towards her. Emotion flashed in her eyes before reverting to a cool gray. She calmly held up her palm to stop my advance, then flicked her wrist to indicate I should finish up first. The distance pulsed between us, heavy and uncomfortable.

I returned to my students, forcing cheer. “One more minute, don’t quit until the end!” I yelled, pushing through the fear in my chest. I shortened the cooldown, shoved all my equipment into my bag, and rushed over, heart pumping from more than squats. I tried to act normal, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Hey baby, I wanted to shower before dinner. I thought we were meeting at home.”

She winced at the word ‘home,’ and my heart slammed into my ribs.

“Tori?” I asked, drumming on my leg. “What’s going on?”

“I—” her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, eyelids dropping shut. “Richard died.”

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