Page 16 of Teach Me to Fly

“Yes, it is,” he replies without hesitation. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”

I don’t know whether to be flattered or terrified.

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “We’ll run rehearsals at Imperium during the day, like any other company. And we can put in extra time after hours until you feel like you’ve mastered your version of Odile.”

My stomach drops. “After hours?” I ask, and I hate how my voice shakes.

His head tilts, just slightly, eyes scanning my face with quiet focus.

“As in, just us two?” I ask again.

“If you’d prefer someone else present,” he says slowly, “we can make that happen. If that makes you more comfortable.”

“That’d be great,” I say, but the words trip over themselves in their hurry to get out, and I instantly regret how desperate they sound.

He nods once but says nothing as his eyes continuestudying me, like he’s cataloguing every buried fear I’m trying so hard to keep hidden. I shift, finishing my stretch and folding my legs in front of me, palms flat against the floor for something to ground me.

“What about our understudies?” I ask, mostly to fill the silence.

He raises a brow. “Are you planning to break a leg or something?”

I don’t smile. “I want Lando to be yours.”

Reign stills, his brow knitting as he blinks once. “Lando?”

I nod.

“Does he even want to dance the part?”

“He does,” I say firmly, meeting his eyes.

He runs a hand through his hair, visibly thrown by the suggestion. “I thought he didn’t enjoy leading roles.”

“He’s never been given the chance to find out if he does.”

Reign studies me for a long moment, before he finally nods. “Alright. He can be my understudy.”

Relief rushes through me like a sudden breeze, momentary but real.

“But we’ll hold auditions at Imperium for your understudy,” he adds.

I nod again, then wrap my arms around my knees, pulling them to my chest. The room feels colder now, and the weight of what I’ve just agreed to settles deep into my bones.

“We start Monday,” he says, standing up and making his way toward the door.

“Wait,” I call out.

He pauses, turning just enough to glance over his shoulder at me.

I sit up straighter. “We haven’t talked about how much I’ll be paid.”

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth—infuriating and undeniably attractive. “I was wondering when you’d ask,” he says. “I’ll have a hiring agreement emailed over by the end of the night.”

I narrow my eyes slightly. “Do you even have my email?”

He begins walking again, his voice casual as it floats back to me. “I’ll text you for it later.”

I blink. “You have my number?”

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