Dance with the Billionaire (27 page)

Three Months Later ...

“Julia, are you ready?”

The voice makes me jump, and I turn around startled to see Madame Lyon standing there in the doorway to my dressing room. I gulp.
I don’t know if I am
.

“How long until curtain?” I say.

“Five minutes.”

I turn back to the mirror, just to give myself one final look over. I’m dressed in black leggings and a black leotard, my hair pulled back into a simple bun. My make up seems thick on my face; I’ve never properly worn stage makeup before and it feels like I’m plastered in it, but they’ve promised me that from the audience you can hardly even tell I’m wearing any. My gaze travels from my own reflection across to the huge bunch of roses and lilies, the open card reading:
I’m so proud of you. D x,
and I swallow back my nerves and push myself to my feet.

“Julia,” Madame Lyon says softly, halting me in the doorway by gently placing her hands on both my shoulders and looking me square in the eye. “There’s no need to be nervous. I wouldn’t have chosen you to dance the lead if I didn’t think you could do it, you know.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling my heart flush with pride despite the nerves that are still crackling like sparks all through my body.

And then I turn and follow Madame Lyon through the maze-like corridors of the theatre, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I feel a hand grab me by the shoulder and spin me around.

To my shock, I’m face to face with Maurice Ryman, and since I last saw him, he’s really gone downhill: sweaty and unshaven, with dark circles underneath his eyes, his clothes rumpled. The whole look suggests that he’s been sleeping in his car.

“Julia,” he says, grabbing my other shoulder too, the sharp smell of alcohol on his breath, making me wince, as he holds me firmly in place. “I’m so glad I caught you. This whole thing’s been a dreadful misunderstanding. You know that, right?”

I’m too shocked to speak, but it doesn’t matter. He continues babbling manically.

“You’ll speak to Madame Lyon, won’t you? Tell her this whole thing was a silly mistake, just crossed wires, all in your head. Right?” 

How fucking dare he.

I can’t believe the nerve of this man. All in my head?!

“You’re right,” I spit back. “There
has
been a mistake. I made a massive mistake when I didn’t realize from the get go just what a total slimeball you really are. And you are
never
,” I pull his left hand away from my shoulder, “
ever
,” I pull his right hand away, too, “touching me again.”

He nods. And now
he’s
the one who’s been stunned into silence.

“And what are you even doing here, Maurice?” I add. “Last I heard, you were dismissed.”

Just then I hear Madame Lyon’s voice. “That’s right. He
has
been dismissed.”

She must have heard the commotion. I look behind me and there she is, standing, arms crossed, a steely expression fixed on her face, glaring at Maurice as if he’s no better than the dirt on her shoe.

Then her eyes meet mine and she smiles. “And don’t worry, Julia, he’ll be leaving, right this moment, before I call security.”

She takes me gently by the arm, and begins to lead me back down the corridor.

“Good work,” she says quietly. “I was worried that you might have let him get to you.”

“No way,” I reply. “He’s not worth it. And anyway, I’ve got a really great teacher who taught me to believe in myself. And if she says I’m good enough to be here, then who am I to argue?”

She pulls me in for a hug, but then a moment later lets go, checking her watch, her eyes widening.

“Come on, there isn’t time!” she gasps.  “A dancer must always be punctual, and
you
are going to be late!”

We run past the other dancers, all warming up, past the costume girls and the lighting technicians, until we’re there in the wings, right by the very side of the stage.

“Ready?” a stagehand asks and I give him a nod, then step out onto the large empty stage. The huge red curtain is still down, shielding me from the audience, but I can hear them, murmuring, waiting for the performance to begin.

Just then, the stage lights dim to blackness, and the first long low note sounds from the orchestra, plunging the whole room into silence; the only sound now is the beating of my heart.

The curtain raises, and from my position, there in the center of the stage, I can just about make out the audience. It looks like
hundreds
of people. And it must be. After all, tonight’s recital has completely sold out.

I’m so proud of you.

I can hear him speaking the words. And I just know he must out there, somewhere in the audience, rooting for me.

A spotlight flashes on, illuminating me, and I stay fixed in position, waiting, my heart drumming.

Another long, low notes sounds, and I remain completely frozen, waiting for my cue. And then it strikes – the first beat of the drums.

A moment’s pause.

And then I begin to dance.

§

“Julia, that was absolutely incredible,” Dylan says, bursting into my dressing room.

I’m still sweaty and flushed after the performance, and I haven’t even had time to change or remove my makeup yet, but I don’t care. I jump up and throw myself into his arms, kissing him madly, happiness and excitement and relief all mixed into one incredible rush of feeling, so intense it’s almost like a drug.

“You
really
liked it?” I say, my head still spinning, the whole thing feeling so unreal.

It actually went okay! I really, really did it, didn’t I?

“I
loved
it,” he says just as excitedly. “You were born to do this.”

“Thank you so much for coming,” I say between kisses, still so glad that he was there to see my very first performance.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“Hey,” I say, “give me a moment to get changed and then there’s so many people I want you to meet ...”

“Of course,” he says, his face changing, growing serious for some reason. “But first, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Okay ...” I say, uneasily, pierced by a stab of worry.

This doesn’t sound good ...

He turns to close the door to my dressing room, shutting out the excited after-show chatter spilling in from the corridor.

“You’d better take a seat,” he says, still in that same serious tone.

This really doesn’t sound good ...

I drop unsteadily into my chair by the mirror and Dylan drags up another chair so that he’s facing me. He takes my hand gently in his and looks me in the eyes. I can’t take much more of this. I just want him to
say it
, whatever it is.

And then he does. And it’s not at all
what I was expecting.

“I want you to come to London with me.”

At first I feel a rush of excitement, but then a moment later I’m crashing back down to Earth.

“When?” I ask. “For how long?”

“I’m leaving in a couple of weeks. I’m setting up the London office. It’s really happening. I’d be there for a year, at least. And I want you there with me, too. I know this is your big night, and I don’t want to take any of the focus away from that. But I’ve been warned that there’s going to be a big announcement about the deal in tomorrow’s papers, and the last thing I’d want is for you to find out second hand. So? What do you say?”

“Oh Dylan,” I say, feeling my heart begin to pound.

Am I really about to say this?

Because I know this decision is about to break my heart. After all, we’ve only just found each other, and found out what we can
be
to each other when we stand together as equals. But if I follow him halfway across the world? We
won’t
be equals, will we? I’ll just be some trophy girlfriend, maxing out his credit card on Bond Street, staving off my boredom with designer clothes and fancy facials.

I’ve learnt what love is. But I’ve also learnt who
I
am, too. And I know the only way that this will work is if I stay true to myself and to my dream.

I feel broken inside, as I know just what I have to say next:

“Dylan, I can’t.”

There’s this dreadful silence that feels like it lasts forever, and then he just nods, like he knew that that was what I was going to say all along.

“The school,” I explain sadly, fighting back the tears, squeezing his fingers so tight, trying to make him understand just how important this all is to me. “I’ve still got another
two years
left here. And I just can’t throw that all in now. I’m so sorry. I wish I could but ...”

And then the strangest thing happens, throwing me once more into silence and confusion. Because he
smiles
, his eyes flashing with a mischievous glee.

“Why the hell are you
smiling
?” I say, feeling tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “You’re moving to London. It’s over. We’re breaking up. What is there to
smile
about?”

“I’m smiling because I thought that’s what you might say,” he replies, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and drawing out a cream colored envelope.

He hands it to me.

“What’s this?” I say, my head spinning.

“Why don’t you open it and see.”

I tear open the envelope with shaky fingers. Inside are three sheets of folded paper. It looks like some kind of official business document, some kind of ...

“It’s a contract,” he explains, his smile growing even wider. “Read it.”

I start to read, my eyes scanning quickly down the page. He’s right. It’s a contract, kind of like the one he first drew up for me. Only as I read, I realize that this contract isn’t about what
I
have to do. This is a contract for him.

A few lines in particular jump out:

The undersigned agrees to call Julia Tate every single day on the phone.

The undersigned agrees to ensure that his private jet is on standby at
all times
so that Julia Tate may visit him in London, England whenever she wishes.

Both parties agree that they shall see each other every weekend, either in London or New York.

“Oh my God, Dylan,” I say, totally taken aback.

I leaf through to the final page, where he has already signed his name. And below that there’s another dotted line, waiting for my own signature.

“Well?” he says. And now
he’s
the one looking nervous, as he waits for my reply.

I let him stew for a moment, just to give him a taste of his own medicine. Then I say it.

“It’s a deal.”

 
 
Dear Reader,

 
Thank you 
so much
 for reading my latest novel. I do hope you enjoyed it and I’d love to hear your thoughts, especially if you were kind enough to take the time out to write a quick review on 
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Charlotte

xx