AN: I haven't written anything without a lemon in a long time, but I hope you enjoy this. This is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Please do not ask me to continue this o/s!
Disclaimer: I know very little about ballet, but this came to me and I couldn't not write it.
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"One...Two...Three...One...Two...Three...," I chanted, my hands clapping in time as I watched the dancers arc and twist along to the tune emanating from the piano. "Isabella, tighten your form," I snapped impatiently. She stumbled, crashing into her partner's chest before tripping over and landing on her ass. A bright blush high-lighted her cheeks as she bit down on her lip, her face contorting in embarrassment as she looked down at her lap.
"Stop!" I bellowed, yanking my glasses off my face and quickly dry-washing it as I counted to ten to calm my nerves. The whole day had been one disaster after another. First, the lighting had been faulty, flickering on and off all the way through rehearsals.
Then, the lead dancer, Angela, had come down with the flu, making it impossible for her to preform for the opening night, which incidentally was tomorrow night. Isabella, her understudy, had to step in quickly to re-acclimate herself with the part which she had prepared for, which also meant that the costumes had to be altered to fit her properly.
What had started as a small production of the Nutcracker for Christmas Eve, had spiraled into the disaster that lay before me. While Isabella was a talented dancer, she lacked the focus needed to confidently embrace her character. She struggled to place her mind in the right set to block out everything other than her partner, to let the music to take her feet.
She over-thought each movement when what she needed was to shut her brain off and let her body do the talking.
"Take twenty," I sighed, the exhaustion of the day starting to catch up with me. I tugged my collar away from neck, suddenly feeling stifled in the auditorium. I strode down the main aisle, heading for the small, cramped place I called my office.
I shut the door behind me, maneuvered through the small space until I could slump happily into the old, stuffed chair behind my desk. I leaned back, closing my eyes as I thought back to the days when I had been the one preforming on stage, my hands flying across the keys of the piano as the harsh lights warmed my body until sweat formed on my brow.
My thoughts were interrupted by my phone ringing insistently, and I reluctantly opened my eyes, pulling my phone from my pocket and answered it without checking who it was.
"Edward?" The small, meek voice that greeted my ear caused a dull throb to expand through my chest. The days when her voice, even her name, had almost brought me to my knees were long gone.
It seemed that time, along with a healthy amount of whiskey and distraction, did heal all wounds, at least until they became bearable.
"Why are you calling, Alice?" I asked, keeping all emotion out of my voice.
"I-your mother misses you. She wants you to come home for Christmas," she said, her tone begging.
"You know that isn't an option, Alice. The moment my family chose you over me in the divorce settlement was the day my mother no longer had a right to want anything from me."
"Edward, I understand how you're feeli-"
"Do you?" I asked, interrupting. "Because last time I checked, I was the poor bastard whose wife cheated on me and was then shunned by my family because I couldn't find it in me to forgive you for your indiscretion. You all made your beds, now enjoy lying in them."
I didn't even bother waiting for an reply before I ended the call, frustration radiating through me.
Three years and they were still trying to pretend that it all had never happened. My family had never believed in divorce, preferring to stay miserable than to try and start again, but that wasn't me. I wanted a clean break, a second chance to try again. They had picked their side and now they had to live with their choice. I wanted at least an apology before I even began to contemplate going back there.
My thoughts were, once again, interrupted, but this time it was by a knock on my door.
"Come in," I grunted, unbuttoning the top three buttons of my shirt as I relaxed back in my chair.
Isabella stepped in, her eyes downcast as she shuffled into the chair across from me. Her face was a picture of acute pain as she looked up at me.
"I-I-I can't do it, Mr. Cullen," she stammered.
I raised an eyebrow. "Do what, Isabella?" I asked as calmly as I was able.
"I can't play the role of Clara. My formation is sloppy, my jumps are weak, and my mind is all over the place." She was practically in tears by the end of her tirade, and I felt a stab of sympathy go through me.
"Give yourself a little more credit, Isabella. You just need to get your head in the right mindset," I soothed.
She shook her head frantically, her hands fiddling with the hem of the hoodie she had thrown on over her dance clothes. "I can't. Even just thinking about being on stage with everyone staring at me, judging me, makes me nauseous," she admitted.
I let out a long breath, trying to quell the panic rising inside of me. I didn't have time to find a new dancer that knew the act as well as she did. The only thing I could do was change her mind. I knew already knew that the rest of the dancers hadn't stuck around for their break, giving me the space I needed to put my plan into action.
"Come with me," I ordered, giving her no room for disagreement. I could tell she was reluctant as I guided her back onto the empty stage, motioning for her to stand center stage before I retreated to the piano.
"I'm going to play you something, and I want you to imagine that an audience is watching you as you dance in whatever way you please," I instructed. She took a deep breath, nibbling on her bottom lip before closing her eyes.
My fingers moved effortlessly over the keys, a tune being birthed under my fingertips as she started moving. Her posture was too stiff as she moved, her body arching and twisting, making her movements robotic.
My fingers jerked to a stop as I pushed the bench back, standing up abruptly, unable to watch her any longer. Everything she needed was at the tip of her fingers, yet she seemed unable to grasp onto it. I shrugged out of my shirt, leaving me in an white undershirt and grey slacks. I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my socks before approaching her.
Her shoulders slumped as she opened her eyes, looking defeated. Before she could even attempt to flee, I moved in behind her, one hand grasping onto her hip, the other trailing down the length of her arm before threading through her fingers and raising her arm above her head in an arc.
She was pulled flush against me in this position, and I wasn't blind to how intimate our embrace seemed. I may have been hitting thirty-seven, which to her twenty-five years seemed almost senior, but I knew that Isabella was a beautiful girl.
Her dark, chestnut fell in waves around her heart-shaped face, the lighting hitting her in a direction that made the little red highlights glint. Her pink, bow lips and small, button nose were proportioned perfectly with the rest of her face, and her small, petite body seemed to fit well against mine.
"En pointe," I grunted out in an effort to distract myself.
She gracefully raised herself up onto the tips of her toes, holding the position well as my hand slid from her hip to her lower abdomen, applying pressure steadily to it as she breathed out a shaky breath.
"Can you feel that?" I asked her, my mouth close to her ear. She nodded, her eyelids fluttering shut as she relaxed further into me.
"The problem isn't your dancing," I told her softly. "Each jump and formation is done precisely, but the problem is that I can't feel you in it. You're using my mind to lead you through the act, but dance is not based on the mind. Dance is like magic, it surprises and amazes. It sends sparks and tingles through your body. Logic has no place in dance, and until you learn that it is your heart and soul that guides you, not your mind, your dancing cannot improve," I told her.
"You need passion, emotion, and you need to communicate your need through your actions. It isn't something you can over think, you have to let your body go," I continued.
"I don't know how," she whispered, settling back on her feet.
"Follow my lead," I directed her, shifting my body backward. While I was not well-versed in ballet, I knew enough to get by decently, and I had watched the scene I was re-enacting enough to not make a fool of myself.
My body sunk into an plié, and she followed graciously as my arm wrapped fully around her waist. I rose, keeping my back straight, and my arms tight by my body as I guided her across the stage, releasing my hold on her as she glided across the stage, her feet rising to en pointe as she twisted, her body preforming an pirouette.
Her arms bent in front of her, almost touching one another as she twirled.
I was by her side, clutching her waist as she rested back on her feet before gracefully sliding into an arabesque, my hands supporting her as she tilted her upper body forward, one leg extending behind her, rising higher and higher until her leg had risen 90 degrees.
I could feel her body shaking slightly from the exertion, but she handled it like a professional, never faltering as she breathed through her nose, honing in her concentration.
Our pace quickened to an allegro, the jumps and twists coming fluidly and easily as we moved across the stage, unaware of anything other than each other.
I could feel the raw, unhampered emotion exuding from us as we bent, our bodies contorting as we let our bodies conduct each step we took. The tension was thick and sizzling beneath the surface of my skin as I shifted, preparing myself as she jumped into a Grand jeté.
I braced myself, carrying her weight as her legs split, each toe pointing in the opposite direction as I twirled her around before bringing her back down onto the stage.
She was breathless and sweaty by the time we were done, slumping against me as she tried to catch her breath.
Our bubble was quickly burst by the round of applause from the front seats. I twirled round to see that the rest of the dancer's had returned, and had most likely been watching for awhile.
I cleared my throat, embarrassed as I stepped away from Isabella.
"I never knew you could dance," she said, traces of awe laced int her tone as she sat down on the stage, carefully stretching her feet.
"It isn't a widely known fact," I admitted. "My mother and grandmother were ballerinas, so it was natural for me to take in interest, but I prefer the musical aspects of ballet rather than the dancing."
"You were really great Mr. C!" Ben, Isabella's partner called out, a grin plastered on his face.
I rolled my eyes, shrugging back into my shirt and pulling my shoes and socks back on. "Enough hovering, you lot, if we want this to be perfect before tomorrow then you need to be the one's on stage, not me," I told them sternly.
My eyes met Isabella's as I glanced over at her, and she smiled shyly before letting her eyes drop to the ground. I shook my head slightly, forcing myself to concentrate on getting everything done, not on the way she had felt pressed up against my body. I would never happen. I just had to remember that.
...
Ballet Glossary:
En pointe="on the tip." To stand on the very tips of your feet.
Plie="bent." A smooth and continuous bending of the knees.
pirouette ="whirl" is a controlled turn on one leg, starting with one or both legs in plié and rising onto demi-pointe (usually for men) or pointe (usually for women).
arabesque="spiral" is the position of the body supported on one leg, with the other leg extended behind the body with the knee straight.
Allegro= brisk, lively.
Grand jeté=long horizontal jump, starting from one leg and landing on the other. Known as a split in the air. It is most often done forward and usually involves doing full leg splits in mid-air. I