One wants her forever. The other wants to kill her.
Nineteen-year-old, Elle King, wants more than anything to escape the life that was chosen for her. Excited to leave the world of ballet behind and go to college in California with her boyfriend, E...
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Pirouetting, Elle spun around her dance partner laying on the stage. The orchestra's music swelled. Her jeté was perfect, completed amidst the crescendo of the instruments. Gracefully falling beside him, she reached out for the fake dagger next to him.
Her poor, dead Romeo.
Having done this scene at least forty times, excluding the many grueling rehearsals, Elle knew what was coming next like the back of her hand. With a suppressed sigh, she pretended to stab herself in the heart before falling over Paul's chest that rumbled with laughter. Not that you would think it looking at his face. He was better at concealing it than she was.
"Heard that," he said quietly as the music faded. Fighting a smile of her own, Elle tried to stay in character despite her exhaustion. Finally, the crowd clapped, and Elle instantly flooded with relief. The season's final show was done, and she couldn't be happier. And for her, it was the last show for good.
Before the curtain dropped, she lifted her head from Paul's chest and smiled out at the faceless crowd before they were gone from sight. Wrapping his arms around her, Paul pulled her off the floor. "We fucking did it!"
The grin on his face was contagious and made Elle think back to when they were fifteen and first became dance partners. Four years later, they'd achieved everything they said they would. Winning every competition they entered and professionally performing three years in a row at the Grand Central Theatre as the leading couple.
They'd been unstoppable, but now Elle wanted to stop. She was ready to stop.
She was about to turn twenty, and although she had years left in her dancing career and a bright future ahead of her, she made the decision to walk away from it instead. Go to college in California and do something else. Something that wasn't chosen for her when she was too young to know better. This was her last time dancing, her final show with Paul, who would take on a new partner for next season.
"Elle?"
Glancing at him, Paul was no longer smiling, and Elle already knew what was coming. They'd argued about it enough. "Don't, Paul."
Don't ruin it.
The decision hadn't been easy—Elle loved dancing ballet. But if she didn't try other things, how would she know if she was good at anything else?
"Please?" he begged her like he did the moment she told him she was leaving the company. "Listen to them out there. They're cheering for you, not me. You're world-class and too talented to quit."
Again, Elle sighed. He sounded like her parents. The only one not against her decision was her boyfriend, Stan, who Paul was blaming. She understood, but why couldn't anyone see how much this life was slowly killing her? "Look, it's my decision to go to Stanford. You'll find a new partner."
His forehead creased, turning into a frown. "What if I don't want a new partner?"
But that's not my problem, she wanted to say to him but didn't. When it came to Paul, Elle had a hard ever time voicing her real thoughts. She didn't want to hurt him. He was her best friend. "I said I'd give you the season, and I have. I held up my end, so you hold up yours."
