Page 36 of Slow Burn
‘Not in the slightest,’ I said.
I wasn’t one to get emotional in front of other people, preferring to use my dancing as a way to express how I was feeling. But even if Ihadbeen that way inclined, I was pretty sure that opening up to Gabriele Riccitelli would be the last thing I’d consider. There were several reasons for that, the most pressing being that it felt important to keep him at a professional distance. Our working relationship already felt fragile and precarious. If I suddenly started blubbing to him about my personal life, who knew what might follow?
I jumped up, brushed myself off and excused myself to go to the bathroom where I hoped I could compose myself, and as quickly as possible.
‘Back in a second,’ I called to Gabriele, rushing into the inner echelons of the studio, glad to be away from his sweetly worried face.
The James Jive bathroom was a spotless, calming space with large full-length mirrors – a necessity for any dancer – and nice toiletries that I’d persuaded Dad to spend a bit extra on because they gave the studio’s facilities an elevated feel.
I ran the cold water and put my wrists under the tap, cooling myself down. Then I splashed my face with water, hoping to flush away any sign of tears.
I wasn’t sure what I was crying about, anyway – my family’s reaction had been just as I’d expected. Perhaps, though, somewhere deep down, I’d hoped that they would prove me wrong.
CHAPTER FOURTEENGabriele
Lira and I walked together from the tube to the theatre. She was her usual chatty self and seemed to have recovered from whatever had upset her earlier; her eyes definitely looked far less bloodshot than they had been an hour ago. If she wanted to talk about it, I would listen, but she had assured me that she wanted to focus on the show, and I respected her decision, and would have made the same one myself.
Except for Carlos, I did not think anyone felt quite as invested in tonight’s success as the two of us, although of course, the entire cast and crew hoped thatSlow Burnwould get amazing press coverage. Theatre critics were notoriously hard to please – sometimes it felt as though they weretryingto tear you down, purposely looking to find things wrong with the production: sloppy directing, a running time toolong for its own good, over-indulgent routines and so on. But if the reviews weregood, we could expect a huge surge in ticket sales for the remainder of the run, and I hoped that this would likely translate across to our European tour, too.
‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Lira, as we navigated the backstreets behind Leicester Square.
‘You really want to know?’ I asked.
‘Course I do,’ she said. ‘I can practically see your brain ticking over. It’s good to talk, you know.’
I gave her a look. ‘Really? Only I thought we didn’t do that?’
When I’d found her crying earlier, I had been genuinely concerned. I still had no idea what had prompted it; it could have been anything from a relationship break-up – I had not heard her mention a boyfriend, but that did not mean she did not have one – to family problems, to fears about tonight. In my fantasy, she had never found anyone special, either, after our night together in Paris. Although, of course, I really had no idea. And there had been that kiss the other night – she had not kissed me like she had a boyfriend, but I could not rule out the possibility completely.
‘I appreciated you asking if I wanted to talk earlier,’ she said, a little guarded. ‘But I don’t find sharing my problems helpful. Particularly with the show on my mind. I had this feeling that if I started talking about it, the tears would just come flooding out and then I’d be exhausted and puffy-eyed for what should be one of the most exciting nights of my life.’
I nodded, completely understanding. It was always easier, in my opinion, to bury things rather than deal with them. One day, when I had time, I would go and sit on a beach somewhere – Bali, maybe, or some remote Caribbean island – and I would let myself think about my life and what I’d achieved, what had gone wrong and what had gone right. But it suited me much better not to address anything much at the moment because I was scared of what might happen if I did.
‘Anyway, we were talking about you,’ she insisted.
I laughed. ‘Fine. It was nothing huge. I was worrying that my name is not enough of a pull for people in the U.K. In Italy it is different.’
‘You’re a celebrity there,’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘A little. I get recognized in the street, I can get tables at the best restaurants. Here in London, I could be anybody. Carlos is probably more well known than I am.’
‘So the two of you together is the appeal,’ she said. ‘And the five-star reviews we’ll get tonight, obviously.’
She grinned at me.
‘You think?’ I asked.
‘I’m manifesting.’
I frowned playfully. ‘Manifesting? What is that?’
‘I really don’t think you’d be into it.’
We reached the theatre and I held the backstage door open for her. ‘Do you profess to know everything I am into, Lira?’
As she brushed past me through the door, somethingsparked between us; a feeling I could only describe as a gut-punch, but in a good way. I was suddenly acutely aware that she knewsomeof the things I was into – in bed, it had been as though we knew exactly what to do to please each other.
Every night lately, when I went to bed, I fantasized about Lira up on stage in that red, ruffled dress she had worn when I had first noticed her across the hotel bar in Paris. But older now, wiser, and more sure of herself than she had been then. I was desperate to explore every inch of her body all over again, but that was typical of me – I always wanted what I could not have. And Carlos would kill me if we complicated things by getting romantically involved.
