Page 80 of Butterfly

REHASH IS PROBABLY a big word for what I’m doing this afternoon. Trying desperately to learn the lyrics of two songs and avoid the dancers prancing on the stage while panicking and wishing to make a run for the door is more like it. Thank goodness that I don’t have to dance, but only swing right and left without doing as much as a pirouette.

Besides, my shoulder hurts.

Despite the fact that the show is going to take place at the local theatre, the stage isn’t wide enough for the eleven dancers to spread out enough. While I sing in the middle of the small group of singers, the dancers spin around me, nearly kicking my leg in the process. I adjust the pitch, straining my vocal cords that, until a moment ago, were the only part of my body that didn’t hurt. I shouldn’t be doing this.

“You’re doing great.” Seemingly reading my mind, Dylan—the actor I met at Martin’s a while ago—hands me a bottle of water. “You have a good voice.”

As the principal dancer, he has a lean, strong body and powerful legs that allow him to jump higher than anyone. His pirouettes are perfect. His coordination is stellar. But his attitude is overwhelmingly sweet, or maybe it’s my usual mistrust that makes me dislike him. When I met him, he wasn’t particularly friendly. Sheesh, I don’t trust my own opinion of people.

“You’re too kind.” I take a sip as the dancers sit on the floorboards and stretch. “I feel like a shrieking eagle.”

He laughs, flashing his white teeth. “Nah, you’ll get everyone’s attention.”

“Yeah, that’s what worries me.”

He laughs again. “Don’t worry.”

I rub my throat. “Do you enjoy being a professional dancer?”

He nods, his dark hair falling over his face. “I dance with several companies, including the Royal Ballet.”

I lower my bottle. “Wow. Freelancer?”

He nods. “Gives me more freedom. I like new challenges and changes. I like trying different things.” His gaze lingers on me for a moment. “I’m glad you’ve joined us. The choir needed one more singer.”

I take another sip of water, suppressing a comment about how the choir would do fine even without me. But then again, trusting people and opening up and all that.

My attention shifts towards backstage where Alex is watching me with predatory attention. The moment our gazes collide, a heated flush runs through me, leaving a trail of energy and desire behind. My body hums, remembering how he felt inside me, how I felt when his mouth was kissing me.

“So, you and Knightley, uh?” Dylan angles towards me.

“Yes.” I’m dizzy with happiness.

“I was D’Artagnan before your boyfriend was…chosen,” Dylan says in a tone that sounds forcibly neutral.

“What happened?” I ask, although I know the answer.

“He charmed the director.” There’s no hesitation in his words, and no mention of the tantrum he threw on set that cost him the role. He shakes his head. “Alex Knightley always gets what he wants. One way or another.”

Blimey. His bitterness is souring my mouth. Although something happened between Rebecca and Alex, something he didn’t tell me about. “He’s a talented actor.”

“Yeah, I know.” He frowns.

For an actor, he isn’t good at hiding his thoughts. And I’m not good at this conversation.

I clear my throat. “Excuse me.”

Without glancing at him, I sidestep tired dancers and head to Alex. He takes me by the waist and drags me behind the curtains to a dark corner.

“How are things?” He kisses my neck, one hand on the small of my back.

“Great, now that you’re here.”

“What the hell is Dylan doing here?” He grazes my earlobe, getting a sigh from me, while his hand lowers to my hip.

“Dance for charity. Principal dancer. He’s a freelancer for the Royal Ballet now.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” He bites me a little harder. “He stares at you.”

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