Arabesque: A Wings Companion

Chapter Eighteen

After what felt like hours—an impressive feat for what had in actuality been precisely twenty-eight minutes—the time arrived. Good wishes were whispered as they slipped through the door, and Rowen took several deep breaths and stretched her arms back and forth as she rosined up her pointes in the shallow box just offstage.

"You're going to be incredible," Mitchell whispered, smacking her cheek with a loud kiss.

"You too," she said, though without the same gusto. It struck her that, despite years of experience in Avalon, this was a first—the first time she was going to dance before a human audience, in the human world. She was surprised to discover that fact did make her a little nervous.

But then her name was called and Mitchell was escorting her to the middle of the stage. They bowed to the judges, then held very still in their opening pose, and Rowen was surprised to feel the warm sensation of sunlight on her arms. It took her no time at all to realize that it must be the electric stage lights—but even so, it grounded her. Performances in Avalon were usually held during the daylight hours, and in an amphitheatre that opened to the sky. She'd braced herself for this performance to feel much more like dancing in the stifled, enclosed studios, and the refreshing illusion of being back in Avalon bolstered her confidence.

When the music began, hours of practice took over. For now, there was only the dance. She almost could have performed the entire piece with her eyes closed; part of her wanted to do it. Ten seconds later, most of her wished she had. As she came under Mitchell's arm near the end of the pas de deux, her eyelids rose and she was bent at just the right angle to see one face, even in the dim auditorium.

Shawn's.

He was smiling—beaming, really—with a smoldering appreciation in his eyes for more than just her dancing. It struck her that this was a boy who could appreciate her on many levels. That she wanted him to appreciate her on many, many levels.

It was only when Mitchell pushed her into a turn she should have spun herself into that she realized she'd frozen at the sight of him. How long had it been? It couldn't have been even a full second—they were right back in synch with the music. Rowen smiled at the judges and lifted high on her toes for her next pirouette, wondering if they'd even noticed.

Regardless, Mitchell had—and good thing, too, as he'd managed to cover for her. She knew he'd never mention it, never evoke the guilt she was already feeling, but he knew. He'd had to push her back into action and she was furious with herself.

She refused to let her eyes wander in Shawn's direction again for the final minute of the dance, determined to make it up to her partner, drawing on years of experience pushing herself past her limits to reach farther, spin faster, smile wider. When she stepped into their final lift, she knew she'd done well.

But only when the bows were finished and the applause from their test audience rolled in did she let her eyes stray back to Shawn. He was sitting beside a man and a woman who looked remarkably like Meghan, clapping enthusiastically—though the man and woman weren't clapping at all. A strange twist squeezed Rowen's middle, but there was no time to consider it. Mitchell took her hand and they ran off the stage.

On their way out they passed Meghan and Thomas; Mitchell paused to give his boyfriend a good luck kiss, releasing Rowen.

She drifted away from him like a boat untethered from a dock. It had been years since she'd frozen in a performance. She glanced back as Meghan and Thomas disappeared behind the curtains, a terrible doubt curling within her as she forced herself to relive that awful, wonderful moment of meeting Shawn's eyes. That smile. No, not a smile, a grin. Perhaps even a smirk.