and the glistening fountains, on the narrow, cobbled
streets, and in the bustling piazza squares, I found a new truth. Bold. Passionate. Irresistible.
His name was Raphael.
He blazed into my life, bright as a comet, a
brilliant supernova that blotted out the sun and sent my careful
plans shattering into mere darkness. I burned for him the way I’d
never known before; for the first time, I understood what it was to
be alive. To dance for joy, not habit; to move with someone, and
feel our souls expressed with every movement, with every
heartbeat.
He was a truth I couldn’t deny. But what about
my first love, dance? Could I ever choose between them? And if I
chose wrong, would I ever be the same again?
Because that’s the dangerous thing about the
truth: once you grasp it, it cannot be un-learned. And once you
feel love, real love, you can never forget the taste of those
kisses, the sun-drenched mornings, the secret pleasures of the
gasping, restless nights.
Raphael was my truth, but would he be my
destiny?
***
I’m in a gorgeous square in the middle of
Rome, staring at the most beautiful fountain I’ve ever seen, when
it hits me: I think I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my
life.
All around me, the rest of my dance troupe are
happily snapping photos of the view, but all I see when I look into
the water is the impossible task ahead of me. Two months to dance
like I’ve never danced before. Two months to save my career before
it’s over for good.
Maybe I should just go home.
No . I stop that thought
dead. There’s no way I can ever go home.
It was a last-minute, out-of-the-blue thing. I
came home to find my mom dragging my suitcases out of storage, a
determined look on her face. “Someone dropped out of the touring
company,” she announced. “I pulled some strings and got you the
spot. You leave for Rome tomorrow.”
Rome?
I stared at her, gaping. “I don’t
understand.”
“I was dancing solos at your age.” Mom paused to
give me a look, the familiar mix of disappointment and impatience
that makes my heart clench with guilt in my chest. “ The Black Swan , Coppelia … But
you’re still in the corps de ballet ,” she
said, referring to the lowest rung of the company, the nameless,
faceless group who dance behind the major stars, out of the
spotlight.
There’s no shame to the position, it’s where all
dancers start. I remember being thrilled the day the letter
arrived: I’d been accepted into the American Ballet Company, the
most prestigious dance company in New York—and the world. All of my
hard work, the years of training and sacrifice, had paid off. I
could finally make Mom proud.
But the shimmer of membership quickly faded.
Soon, just being one of the company wasn’t enough. It was about
moving up, getting noticed, winning solos and larger roles. The
training got harder, the competition more fierce. For the past
year, I’d felt like I was running on a treadmill that only went
faster: pushing myself harder and harder, just to stay in the same
place.
“I’m trying, Mom,” I explained quietly. “You’ve
seen how hard I’ve worked.”
“I know.” She gave a brusque nod. “It’s the
director. He’ll never give you a break, not as long as you’re my
daughter.”
I shifted uncomfortably. My mother’s legacy is
inescapable. As one of the best prima
ballerinas of her age, she has a legion of fans—and a long
list of people she trampled on her way to the top. “He’s not
holding that against me,” I murmur.
“He is, which is why you’re going to Rome. All
the top dancers are staying here for the fall season,” Mom added.
“This is your chance to win a solo, get noticed. The other girls
will be out partying, messing around. You can beat them. That is,
if you’re ready.” She paused, giving me a searching look. “Are you
ready, Annalise?”
I paused. The truth is, I wasn’t so certain
anymore, but I knew only one answer would do. “I’m ready,” I
streets, and in the bustling piazza squares, I found a new truth. Bold. Passionate. Irresistible.
His name was Raphael.
He blazed into my life, bright as a comet, a
brilliant supernova that blotted out the sun and sent my careful
plans shattering into mere darkness. I burned for him the way I’d
never known before; for the first time, I understood what it was to
be alive. To dance for joy, not habit; to move with someone, and
feel our souls expressed with every movement, with every
heartbeat.
He was a truth I couldn’t deny. But what about
my first love, dance? Could I ever choose between them? And if I
chose wrong, would I ever be the same again?
Because that’s the dangerous thing about the
truth: once you grasp it, it cannot be un-learned. And once you
feel love, real love, you can never forget the taste of those
kisses, the sun-drenched mornings, the secret pleasures of the
gasping, restless nights.
Raphael was my truth, but would he be my
destiny?
***
I’m in a gorgeous square in the middle of
Rome, staring at the most beautiful fountain I’ve ever seen, when
it hits me: I think I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my
life.
All around me, the rest of my dance troupe are
happily snapping photos of the view, but all I see when I look into
the water is the impossible task ahead of me. Two months to dance
like I’ve never danced before. Two months to save my career before
it’s over for good.
Maybe I should just go home.
No . I stop that thought
dead. There’s no way I can ever go home.
It was a last-minute, out-of-the-blue thing. I
came home to find my mom dragging my suitcases out of storage, a
determined look on her face. “Someone dropped out of the touring
company,” she announced. “I pulled some strings and got you the
spot. You leave for Rome tomorrow.”
Rome?
I stared at her, gaping. “I don’t
understand.”
“I was dancing solos at your age.” Mom paused to
give me a look, the familiar mix of disappointment and impatience
that makes my heart clench with guilt in my chest. “ The Black Swan , Coppelia … But
you’re still in the corps de ballet ,” she
said, referring to the lowest rung of the company, the nameless,
faceless group who dance behind the major stars, out of the
spotlight.
There’s no shame to the position, it’s where all
dancers start. I remember being thrilled the day the letter
arrived: I’d been accepted into the American Ballet Company, the
most prestigious dance company in New York—and the world. All of my
hard work, the years of training and sacrifice, had paid off. I
could finally make Mom proud.
But the shimmer of membership quickly faded.
Soon, just being one of the company wasn’t enough. It was about
moving up, getting noticed, winning solos and larger roles. The
training got harder, the competition more fierce. For the past
year, I’d felt like I was running on a treadmill that only went
faster: pushing myself harder and harder, just to stay in the same
place.
“I’m trying, Mom,” I explained quietly. “You’ve
seen how hard I’ve worked.”
“I know.” She gave a brusque nod. “It’s the
director. He’ll never give you a break, not as long as you’re my
daughter.”
I shifted uncomfortably. My mother’s legacy is
inescapable. As one of the best prima
ballerinas of her age, she has a legion of fans—and a long
list of people she trampled on her way to the top. “He’s not
holding that against me,” I murmur.
“He is, which is why you’re going to Rome. All
the top dancers are staying here for the fall season,” Mom added.
“This is your chance to win a solo, get noticed. The other girls
will be out partying, messing around. You can beat them. That is,
if you’re ready.” She paused, giving me a searching look. “Are you
ready, Annalise?”
I paused. The truth is, I wasn’t so certain
anymore, but I knew only one answer would do. “I’m ready,” I
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