Fever Dream (27 page)

Petra stared at him, blinking, trying to process his words. “He’s gone? Paulsen’s gone?”

“According to my people, he’s flying over the Atlantic Ocean right now.”

“You’re sure?” Ruby craned his neck to read Liam’s phone. “You’re sure he left?”

“My guys saw him get on the plane. He’s gone.” His smile widened. “Congrats, Petra. And Merry Christmas.”

“Oh my God,” Petra burst out. “Oh my God. Oh my God!” She hugged Liam and Ruby at the same time, in one big, jubilant embrace. “Oh my God. Thank you so much, Liam. This is all thanks to you, to your hard work.”

“Yes, thanks,” Rubio echoed with a huge smile. “Now we can sleep easier.”

Petra turned into Ruby’s arms and hugged him tight. No matter how panicked she felt about their increasing closeness, she still cared for him deeply. “I was so worried for you,” she said. “I was so afraid he’d hurt you. I couldn’t have lived with the guilt.”

“Baby girl,” he whispered. He grabbed a handful of her hair and breathed it in, nuzzling against her neck. “You don’t have to worry anymore. The fucker’s on an airplane. He’s gone.”

She felt high with happiness and relief, all her exhaustion fallen away into euphoria. “I can hardly believe it.”

“Believe it,” he said, tracing her silver collar. He leaned to kiss her, a deep, hard, kiss that reclaimed her as his own.

Paulsen was gone. No more slipping into cars after work or looking over her shoulder to be sure she wasn’t followed. No more waking up at night, frightened she’d heard a sound in the dark. No more nightmares, hopefully.

Paulsen hadn’t given up, of course not. Liam warned that her stalker would probably grow angrier, but he could be angry an ocean away from her. Thanks to Liam’s efforts he wasn’t allowed back in the UK, and Petra had no immediate plans to leave London, so everything was okay.

A couple days after Christmas, she moved back into her old place, even though Rubio asked her to move in with him. “We’ve been living together for weeks,” he said when she balked. But sleeping beside him in Ash and Liam’s forest bed was different, less threatening. It was like sleeping together at a hotel. Moving into his loft was a completely different thing.

So she waffled. She said she’d consider it later, after the New Years Gala. She threw herself into rehearsals, pushing Rubio to practice the balcony
pas de deux
over and over, even though, by now, the scene had become their calling card. “We done this one million times,” he groused, but she insisted they keep rehearsing. Avoidance? Probably. Sometimes in practice he stared at her neck, and she knew what he was thinking. But Juliet didn’t wear a collar in the balcony scene, so Petra left it at Rubio’s place, where she still seemed to end up every night.

Gala night arrived in a flash, a mere week after their sexy Christmas Eve foursome. It was a big, annual fundraising party for City Ballet, and Petra and Rubio were a huge part of it. It was their responsibility to impress the donors and help Yves raise money. Liam and Ash were there too, dressed to the nines. Try as she might, Petra still couldn’t meet Liam’s gaze without a flush spreading across her cheeks.

Fortunately, there wasn’t any drama or jealousy after the fact. Petra and Ashleigh were closer than ever. They circulated arm in arm at the gala, talking to people they knew, smiling and laughing. Ashleigh pulled her over to some chairs after a while. With the pregnancy, she was getting heavy on her feet.

“I heard you and Rubio are starting rehearsals for
Waking Kiss
,” she said as she eased her shoes off.

Waking Kiss
was the first ballet Rubio had choreographed, and it had been inspired by Ashleigh. To this day, only Ash and Rubio had performed it at City Ballet. Petra wrinkled her nose at her friend. “Is it going to feel weird that I’m doing it? You know? Your ballet?”

“It’s not my ballet, hon. It’s Rubio’s. And no, it won’t feel weird. You two will be beautiful in it, even more beautiful than—” She cut off mid-sentence, stopping Petra with a jerk. “Don’t look. I mean, don’t turn around or anything. Your dad is here.”

Petra almost turned, but then she didn’t.
If he sees me here, he’ll leave.
But he had to assume she’d be here. She was the star principal of London City Ballet. Her face was on all the signage and invitations for the event. She looked furtively in the direction Ashleigh indicated. Her father stood in the midst of a group of theater heavy-hitters. Everyone paid court to him, including Yves Thibault. Petr Grigolyuk looked the same as always. Tall, handsome, aristocratic in his tuxedo. He looked so much like her. It was humiliating that he wouldn’t cop to being her dad.

The same old feelings of shame and worthlessness washed over her.
He’d want to be your dad if you were a cooler person. If you were prettier, more interesting, more talented.
“I hate him,” she said under her breath. But she kept watching, reluctantly fascinated. She hadn’t been in the same room with him in years now, and certainly not for this long.

“I hate him too,” said Ashleigh in solidarity. “He’s starting to lose his hair.”

Petr looked up then, right at her. Immediately his eyes flicked to Ashleigh at her side. He smiled at Ash and turned away. Her friend scowled at the back of his head. “Fuckwad. Total dick. You should walk over there and throw a drink in his face.”

“No. Yves would probably fire me. Anyway, if he can’t stoop to acknowledge my existence, I won’t acknowledge his.”

“It’s going to be hard not to acknowledge your existence when you and Rubio take the stage in ten minutes or so.”

“He won’t watch,” said Petra, even though she felt a pang of nervousness. What if her father did watch? Would he admire her dancing? Would he feel proud? Maybe if she danced well enough, he’d come over and say,
I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I don’t know why I ignored you all these years.

She screwed her eyes shut, fighting the fantasy. She hated that she still clung to that hope after all this time, after all the heartbreak and rejection. Grigolyuk didn’t care about her. He would never love her. She didn’t have a father and that had to be okay.

Ash touched her arm. “How about if I go throw a drink at him on your behalf? Yves can’t fire me anymore.”

“Where’s Rubio?” Petra whispered through a numbing haze of pain. She needed Rubio. She needed to get ready to dance. “Here Ash, take this for me?” She shoved her wine glass into her friend’s hand just as Liam came to join them.

“You okay?” He patted her shoulder in sympathy. “Yves didn’t know he’d be here. He sent me to be sure you’re all right.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Petra said with more spirit than she felt.

Ash made a face. “If that pompous ass crashed this party, they should kick him out. I’ll happily assist the effort.”

“I don’t think Yves can kick him out,” he said. “Ballet royalty is ballet royalty. Just remember,” he said, pointing at Petra, “he’s not the only legend here.”

He gave her a smile meant to encourage, to fortify. She loved both her friends for their unwavering support. Liam was right—Grigolyuk wasn’t the only one here with talent and power. She was going to dance the hell out of the balcony
pas de deux
with Rubio, and her father could choke on it, or walk out if he wanted. She refused to give a fuck anymore.

“I better head backstage,” she said, lifting her chin.

“
Merde
, hon.” Ashleigh gave her a hug, being careful with her makeup and her delicate, flowing costume. “Have fun. You two do
Romeo and Juliet
better than anyone.”

God, Petra hoped so. This had to be their very best performance, even if it was just a showcase event. She found Rubio in his dressing room, still doing his makeup. “Where were you?” she asked. “I’ve been out there all by myself.”

He turned at her sharp tone. “You need my help to walk around and drink champagne? You didn’t have to go out there before the show.”

“And you didn’t have to hide back here. You’re the lead principal. You should have been out there working the room.”

He put on a few finishing swipes of shading and straightened, adjusting his gray satin tunic. “And you should watch the way you snap at me, or I’ll spank your naughty ass when we go back to my place.”

She turned away from him, irritated that he’d try to play with her at a time like this. “I’m not in the mood for that crap right now. We’re supposed to go dance.”

He blinked at her, once, twice. “What happened to you? What’s wrong? Is Paulsen back?”

“No. How would he be back?”

“What then?”

“It’s my dad. He’s out there.”

As soon as she spit out the words, a little of her agitation bled away. Rubio unruffled too, his pinched features transforming into an expression of understanding. “Oh, no. What did he say to you?” he asked, taking her hand. “If he talked bad to you, I’ll punch him in the face.”

“He didn’t talk bad to me. He wouldn’t even look at me. I don’t care though. I’m just annoyed that he’s here.” Ruby tilted her chin until he caught her gaze, but she pulled away from him. She didn’t want his soul-searching, not tonight. She looked pointedly at the clock. “We’re supposed to go on at ten-thirty. Are you ready?”

“Do I look ready?” He bent to brush a whisper of a kiss across her lips. He was ever mindful of her makeup, ever mindful of everything. He really was the world’s best partner and she shouldn’t have taken her irritation out on him.

“I’m sorry,” she said against his cheek. “I’m sorry I was snappy with you.”

“You can make it up to me later. You come sleep over tonight, yes?”

Petra didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure. Seeing her father had brought up a bunch of prickly, angsty feelings, and for some reason they were transferring to Rubio. She was annoyed with his confidence and sexual innuendos, his assumption she’d be there in his bed wearing his pretty silver pet collar whenever he wanted. As she stood at the balcony as Juliet, watching for Romeo’s entrance, she imagined a future gala, where Rubio stood like a king, like her father, worshipped and revered in his fancy tuxedo.

Where would she be? At his side? Or at home, aging and forgotten, bitterly reminiscing about her ephemeral career?

She ran down to throw herself into Romeo’s arms. She had to concentrate and stop obsessing about her commitment issues. The ballet came first. The first few moments of the
pas de deux
were okay, if tense. But then things started to go wrong.

“Stop,” Rubio hissed through his smile. “Don’t think of him.” He held her gaze as he swung her around in a lift. “Dance with me.”

She tried to push her dad out of her mind, but the more she did, the more she imagined him out in the audience, scrutinizing her every step. Her body fought the movements so she lagged behind the music. She was heavy for Ruby to lift because she wasn’t working with him the way she was supposed to. He made a warning sound after one excruciating sequence.

“Do it,” he said under his breath. “Dance, damn you.”

Petra tried…but everything was fucking up. To the audience, their performance probably looked normal, if not stellar. She wasn’t tripping or forgetting steps, she was just out of tune with her body and out of tune with him. Ruby tried to compensate. He stopped sniping at her and put all his efforts into making her look better than she did.

She was furious with herself but she couldn’t snap out of her tailspin. The music flowed on, nightmarish to her ears. She wanted this
pas de deux
to end. She wanted to take off her costume and makeup and go home to hide under the covers until tomorrow.

But she couldn’t. She was Petra Hewitt and this was her job. Rubio put his arms around her as Romeo, gazing into her eyes. She was supposed to love him. She was supposed to be transported by her love for him, so what had gone wrong? Juliet could love, so why couldn’t she?

What the fuck was wrong with her?

The moment she and Ruby moved into the next series of lifts, she knew something had gone terminally bad, so bad it wasn’t fixable. His hand slipped and she flopped onto his shoulder. He grabbed a handful of her dress and righted her, but it was too late to make it look good. They’d totally botched the lift. All the patrons would assume he was drunk, or she was on drugs, and gossip about it behind their crystal champagne flutes. Her face burned and her ankles wobbled through the last humiliating steps. Finally, it was over.

She would have fled the stage if Ruby hadn’t grabbed her hand in an iron grasp. “
Reverence
,” he said. “Do it.”

She was losing it. She bowed her head and sank into a curtsy, not wanting anyone to see her face. She couldn’t look out at the audience. She didn’t want to know if her father had stayed to watch, if he’d seen her egregious mistake—because it was her mistake, not Ruby’s, that made him fumble that lift. Anyone who was a dancer would have known it.

After a painfully polite bout of applause, they swept off the stage. “Happy now?” she asked, pulling away from him just inside the wings. “You dropped me in front of everyone.”

“Be quiet. They’ll hear you.” He tugged her arm, guiding her back into the deeper recesses of the stage. “What
was
that?” he asked when they were alone. “Did that make you proud, that performance? Proud for your dad?”

She burst into tears. “No, it didn’t make me proud. It sucked. I told you we had to practice more, but you didn’t want to—”

“Oh, no,” he said, cutting her off. “Don’t put this on me. None of that was my fault.”

“I was nervous. You weren’t out there with me earlier, when I saw my father. You should have been with me.” Even as she said the words, she recognized her hypocrisy. She constantly held him at arm’s length, but then lit into him when he wasn’t there.

He took her arm and held her against him, and wiped at her tears. “Okay, is enough now. Pull yourself together. We have to go out there, you know, even if you just danced Juliet like a fucking mess. Your father will not say nothing. If he does—”

“He won’t,” she yelled. “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t talk to me, he doesn’t give a fuck about me. He never will.”