Page 3 of Teach Me to Fly

She exhales sharply through her nose, composed even in disgust. "We can't be reckless about this, okay? We need to protect what we've built. Think about your future, and your name. You don’t need something as shameful as this following you around for the rest of your life."

The bile rises in my throat, burning the back of my mouth as I stare at her, stunned.

“Shameful?” I repeat. “Am I the one that did something wrong?”

She doesn’t answer, but I can tell by her expression that I’m beginning to get on her nerves.

“Are you…are you asking me to keep this quiet?” My voice breaks at the idea. “You want me…to protect him? To protect some sort of company image?”

“I want you to be smart,” she snaps. “Think about the bigger picture. You're a dancer, Angelique. You've trained your entire life to get into a company as prestigious as this and become a principal dancer. Are you willing to throw it all away over one misunderstanding?”

“Misunderstanding?” I whisper.

She falters, just for a moment, then pivots, eyes darting toward her schedule. “Take some time away. Maybe it's best if you go back to England for a while. Stay with the Harrington's. You've always said you loved it there,” she says, returning to her typing. “I’ll find a way to give you a respectable exit from the company.”

Her words land like a blow to the chest. That's it. No rage, no tears, noI believe you. And it's in that moment—sitting in her cold, sterile office, aching in every part of my body—that I know she doesn't believe me. Or worse…she does, and she just doesn't care.

“You’re letting me go? But what about the production?” I ask, feeling my hands go cold from the lack of oxygen. It’s hard to breathe when your heart feels like it’s ripping out of your chest.

“We’ll make do with your understudy,” she says with a shrug.

I keep staring at her, waiting for something to shift. For a sign of the woman who used to braid my hair and sneak me hot chocolate before rehearsals. But there's nothing behind her eyes except cold calculation and ambition.

And that's the moment it all breaks. Everything. My faith, my trust, and the last tiny piece of love I held for her. Without a word, I rise and walk out of her office, my footsteps echoing in the quiet halls, and I don't look back as I push my way out the front doors.

By the time I'm in a cab and heading to my small apartment, the numbness in me cracks. My heart is shattered, my body bruised, and my soul? It feels scraped raw. I make a silent promise to myself in that moment that I'm never dancing professionally again.

Chapter 2

Angelique

ONE MONTH LATER

When I step out of the arrivals terminal at Heathrow, the sun has dipped low enough to create long shadows that stretch across the tarmac. Lavender clouds stain the sky, tinged with burnt orange, and the air smells faintly like jet fuel and impending rain.

Almost immediately, I spot my best friend, Lando. He leans against his sleek black Audi like a cover model. Gold-rimmed sunglasses perch on his head despite the fading light, and his loosely knotted designer scarf flutters just enough to make it seem intentional.

He wears tailored linen pants and a form-fitting beige sweater that somehow looks both impossibly cozy and undeniably couture. His blond curls are tied back in a half-bun, and his entire posture oozes a casual glamor I've never been able to pull off.

He waves excitedly the moment he sees me, then breaks into a jog, but the second he gets close enough to get a good look at me, his smile falters and he comes to a full stop.

“Jesus, bestie," he whispers, stepping forward, hisvoice cracking with concern. "You look like roadkill. Beautiful, slightly tragic roadkill, but roadkill nonetheless.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out broken. Thankfully, he doesn't push for an actual smile. He just reaches out and wraps me in his arms, but the second he touches me, I flinch, and he freezes.

“Sorry,” I murmur, shrinking away from his touch. “I…I'm just...”

“It's okay,” he says quietly, pulling back and taking my suitcase from my hand. “I'll follow your lead.”

It takes everything I have not to break apart right then and there. The softness in his voice nearly undoes me, but I nod, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, and follow him to his car.

“Thanks again for buying my ticket to come here,” I say as we get into the car. “I would’ve bought it myself, but I haven’t been working for a few weeks, and I guess I never expected New York to eat up my years of savings within a single month.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I promise as soon as I get my shit together, I’ll get my own place and pay you ba?—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Angelique,” he interrupts, shooting me a look. “You can stay for as long as you’d like, you know that my family adores you. And you are not paying me back.”

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