Page 43 of Teach Me to Fly

“Good,” Reign says after a beat. “Again.”

Lando groans. “No praise? No gold star? No break?”

Reign raises a brow. “Do you want praise or perfection?”

Lando mimes shooting himself in the head and slumps dramatically onto the floor. “You sound just like dad. I knew you were always the favourite.”

Reign smirks. “No, you were just louder. And you know how much he hated that.”

Despite myself, I laugh. It’s brief, barely more than a breath, but it surprises me. I catch my reflection in the mirror, noticing how my skin is flushed and how my chest rises and falls. And in that moment, surrounded by the quiet thrum of music and breath and effort, something in me eases. This space, this process—it’s feeling like mine again. Like maybe I belong here, even after everything.

After another run through and an almost perfect lift, Lando disappears to grab water, muttering something about needing to‘hydrate before he dies’, and he leaves me alone with Reign. The silence stretches heavily between us in the way it always is with him—like there’s more being said between the quiet than the words we ever manage out loud. I turn toward the mirror, wiping the sweat from my neck with a towel.

“You’re different today,” he says. “More relaxed.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m just trying harder not to disappoint you.”

His brow lifts just slightly. “I don’t want that from you.”

I turn around, facing him now. “Then what do you want?”

“I want you to dance like you did before the world broke you. Like you still believe this is your dream.”

My chest tightens, the way it always does when someone gets too close to the truth. “I’m trying,” I whisper.

“I know.”

I look down at my feet, then back up at him, and the air shifts again as his eyes drop for a split second, to the skin of my collarbone, still damp from sweat, and then up to my lips. He doesn’t let his gaze linger for long, but I catch it.

Is it possible that Reign Harrington still wants me as much as I want him?

“I should…” I gesture vaguely toward the bench, the water, anywhere else. My throat feels dry all over again.

He steps back just enough to break the moment. “Same time tomorrow.”

I nod, but don’t turn away yet. “Reign?”

He glances at me. “Yeah?”

“Thanks again for letting Lando step in, and for not pushing too hard.”

His eyes soften just a little before he nods in acknowledgement. I grab my bag and turn to leave, feeling his eyes on me again as I leave the studio. But this time, I don’t feel exposed; this time, I feel seen.

Lando is sittingon the low stone wall just outside the studio, his head tipped back as he chugs from a giant water bottle like he’s been stranded in a desert. When he spots me, he lowers it with a dramatic gasp.

“Oh, thank God,” he wheezes. “I thought he murdered you and buried your body underthe floor.”

I huff a laugh and walk toward him, brushing my damp hair off my neck. “He was… restrained.”

“Terrifying,” Lando nods, standing. “Reign restrained is honestly even more intense than him yelling. He’s like a tiger on a leash—very quiet, very golden-eyed, and just waiting to rip someone's throat out.”

I roll my eyes. “Charming.”

We fall into step, walking the gravel path back toward the guesthouse. The morning air is warming now, sunlight stretching across the garden in lazy slants. My legs ache in that satisfying way ballet always leaves behind, but it’s not just the rehearsal that’s left me rattled. It’s Reign. The way he looked at me. The way it felt to have his attention on me—like I was something he was trying to figure out. I loved every second.

“So," Lando says after a beat, dragging out the word.

I glance at him and see that he’s grinning knowingly. “So?” I narrow my eyes.

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