Flightless Bird || l.s. ✔︎

ACT II: CHAPTER ELEVEN

I kept waiting for Niall to say something that wasn't just a bunch of new age nonsense.

"Niall, aren't we just avoiding the truth that's staring us right in the face. Harry is a control freak! He wants to control every aspect of the ballet, from the choreography to the orchestra to casting, and we're letting him!"

"Harry's in good company. Tchaikovsky was the exact same way. He knew every instrument in the orchestra inside and out, knew what notes sounded best on each instrument. The best note on the oboe at that time was F sharp—that what gives Swan Lake's theme its poignancy."

"You're forgetting one thing. Harry is not Tchaikovsky!"

"Tchaikovsky's contemporaries didn't think he was a genius either. Swan Lake was a flop."

I got the point, but I still thought Harry was pulling the wool over our eyes. Moreover, Harry would never be the misunderstood genius to me. He would always be the scared kid who didn't know the difference between Nijinsky and Nureyev. When I met him he would be happy to make it through one ballet class without getting expelled, now he wasn't even content to be a principal dancer, he had to run the entire Royal Ballet!

***

In all my time with the company I had never seen a spectacle like the one they put on for Harry's party.

The atrium was transformed into Swan Lake's enchanted forest. Hundreds of willow trees were brought in, along with a ceiling of wisteria, beds of live moss, and fountains filled with lily pads and tea lights. The caterer for the royal family was hired, as was the full orchestra, lending an air of ceremony to the evening. I wasn't sure if I was at a party or a coronation.

Harry was wearing another one of his wildly inappropriate Gucci suits. The floral pattern blended seamlessly with the party's woodland decor. As soon as he entered the atrium the place went silent and he was guided to the center for a special presentation, a gift from the students of the Royal Ballet School.

Dozens of apple-cheeked little girls in white tutus lined up before him. Each girl carried a single white rose and one by one they curtseyed and placed a rose in Harry's hands. His face remained stony, unimpressed by this display of reverence. The very last girl held a black ribbon to tie all the flowers together into a bouquet. Her tiny hands shook as she approached Harry. Carefully, she looped the ribbon around the stems, but her hands were trembling so bad she was unable to tie a bow. Harry's expression softened. "Don't be frightened." He kneeled down and helped her.

They literally rolled out the red carpet for him. (I should know. I tripped on it twice.) Harry strolled down the carpet, greeting his esteemed guests with dutiful politeness. Liam guided him by the small of his back. "Who's next?" Harry would whisper, and Liam would point to the next socialite or cabinet member dying to shake his hand. After making his way through the throng of guests, Harry was escorted by Liam to the head of the verdant archway atop a riser with a small podium. He was about to make a speech.

Liam handed him a flute of champagne and a microphone.

I glided up to Zayn. He was in awe of everything. "This is unreal," he said, leaning on the bar, a cocktail in one hand and caviar in the other.

"Some might call it a bit much."

"Some might call you jealous."

I frowned.

Harry cleared his throat. I kept chatting with Zayn but stopped when I got dirty looks from the people around me who were trying to listen to Harry.

"I'd like to begin by thanking the man who brought me here, Kenneth O'Hare, our artistic director and fearless leader."

I sneered. Kenneth wasn't leading any of us. Harry had him under his thumb.