Page 19 of Ruthless Rebel

“Take care of yourself.”

“And you.”

I don’t need to walk away this time. He pushes to his feet, dips his head, then heads to the door. Just before he walks through, he glances over his shoulder.

At least he looked back this time, and I can replace our last goodbye with this one.

Goodbye, Jericho Grayson.

ChapterFive

River

“Keep your chest up and extend your leg as high as you can,” I instruct my students, watching them rise into an arabesque, perfectly in time with the music from the piano Bernard is playing.

The floor-to-ceiling mirrors running across the left wall of the studio hold a beautiful image of them any dance teacher would be proud of.

This is my last ballet class for the day. It’s also my favorite because I have ten eager-to-learn seventeen-year-old girls who have consistently reminded me of myself at their age. They have the same drive to learn and love for dancing that I’ve had all my life.

As they’re all absolutely amazing, I have no doubt that each of them has a fair shot at a career in ballet.

“Perfect,” I praise them with an approving nod. “Now finish the sequence.”

The girls continue dancing, flowing into each movement with the grace of swans as I watch them like a proud parent.

Bernard starts playing Debussy’sClair De Lune, one of our favorites. The light atmosphere in the room changes with the sentiment, and I feel the beauty behind the talent from all of us. The dancers, Bernard, and me, the teacher.

Bernard’s bushy gray brows lift, and his smoky eyes brighten with the same satisfaction I feel for the work we’ve accomplished here. I take that as a small win for the day.

He’s a concert pianist who’s been in the industry for over thirty years and worked at the school for ten years. It took some time for us to get used to each other because the teacher I replaced worked with him for longer than I’ve been dancing as a pro.

As the music plays and the dancers dance, I allow myself a moment of reprieve.

Teaching these classes here at the school is my only joy in life. They keep me in touch with myself, my hopes, and my dreams. Teaching reminds me that I once knew the taste of success and I still want it.

The plan is to continue teaching until my auditions in the fall. If the New York City Ballet accepts me, then I hope to be with them for many years to come. After that, I want to open my own dance school. That’s the dream I’m holding on to. After everything that’s happened, I’m glad that’s still part of me.

This job—courtesy of my best friend, Eden—feels like my anchor to the dreams I still want.

Eden is one of the music teachers here. We met at Juilliard and have remained friends all this time. Honestly, I don’t know what the hell I would have done without her.

She’s been my listening ear, my lifeline, and my support system throughout the duration of our friendship. We bonded on the first day of college because we both had mothers who died before we reached our teens, and we both had boyfriends who broke up with us weeks before college began.

When I got back to New York, she put in a good word for me to get this job.

The vacancy had luckily just come about. Even though the school wanted someone with more years of experience under their belt, they picked me because Eden really sold me to them, and the head of dance had actually seen me perform several times across Europe.

The job comes with the perk of working for a prestigious school linked to many Ivy League colleges and professional dance companies. And also, being able to use their beautiful dance studio whenever I want to practice.

The school itself is from the Victorian era so has that Gothic Revival architecture with curlicue trims and asymmetrical designs I’ve always loved about most of the buildings in Europe. The dance studio is no different.

I was here at four a.m. this morning, practicing for an hour before I went to the café. That was perhaps not the wisest choice given the fact that I got back from the club at two, but I couldn’t sleep.

Seeing Jericho had me thinking about him and the past more than I wanted to.

It’s been two days since he came to the café to see me. Although I knew that was goodbye, like an idiot, I found myself checking the VIP section at the club for him when I went back that night. I checked last night, too, felt silly when I didn’t see him, then I realized I’d probably never see him again.

I should be okay with that. It’s what I wanted, but I can’t shake the weird feeling of angst from my soul.

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