Page 46 of Dance for Me
It’s not that the tactic is flawed, it’s the uncertainty of the opponent that makes me wary. It feels like bringing a knife to a gun fight, unprepared for what the other side might be armed with and their backup power. The variables are too high, the target too unpredictable.
Or I just don’t like that Harper is the one putting herself in the line of fire.
It’s probably that one.
I think of the altercation between Ben and Fallon when I first started, the way he stepped closer to her with every foul word, a fuse that was quick to catch and fast to burn. I always wondered what that conversation looked like between Ben and Harper once she learned about his behavior, but when I ask her if that was the moment she suspected him, I realize the conversation never happened.
“When was this?” she asks me, tone sharp.
“It was my first few weeks, when Marcus was still walking me through the acts and introducing me to different performers.”
She nods, taking in my words, but doesn’t respond.
“Marcus didn’t tell you.” It’s not a question but she shakes her head anyway. Suspicion seeping into her crafted world ofCirque—its puppet masters playing with strings better left alone.
I don’t press the issue about Marcus, not wanting to add to Harper’s distress that someone so integral inCirquecould be involved. The best case scenario is that Marcus didn’t recognizethe signs and simply thought he was dealing with his staff as he saw fit.
All too soon the car is pulling up toCirque, dropping me back off in the garage to drive myself home. I still have so many questions, so many things I want to say. About her. AboutCirque. Everything.
“When is this meet up happening? Between Ben and his dealer?” I ask, changing the subject back to the task at hand. The impending terrible plan.
“Tomorrow,” she tells me, straightening up and rolling her shoulders out. A boxer stepping up for their next round.
I open the car door and stand, leaning back down to Harper’s waiting face. The temptation to pull her out with me is achingly strong, but I maintain my grip on the door frame. An anchor keeping me planted on this side of respectful and proper.
I want to tell her that nothing she is or has done will change the way I feel. I want to beg her to trust me with her heart and her darkness. That my soul doesn’t need protecting from her, it needs her to survive.
Words are easy, effortlessly thrown about when there is no risk, no fear nipping at your heels. Words will only get you so far.
She’s inched closer to the open door while I stood here, contemplating the next right move. She asked me not to react, to think, to take some time with what I learned. I already know my answer, but she won’t trust that it doesn’t matter how much time I’m given, the answer will stay the same. Five seconds or five years, it will always be her. I want her.
So, I do what I can instead and wish her a good night, taking her hand and brushing my lips lightly over her knuckles before shutting the car door and watching it drive away.
I will let her believe I’ve taken tonight tothink. To takesolace that she is giving me a way out. She thinks I could walk away, before lines are crossed and hands are stained red.
I told her once before that there is no moving on from her. Crossed lines and blurred morals shadowed my path toCirque, hands staining a deeper crimson with every decision that lead me here. If she will not trust my words, then I will show her all the ways her darkness calls to mine.
I will show her how wicked I can be.
23
HARPER
“Ithink this dress will always be my favorite,” coos Sadie from behind me, tightening the last bit of red silk strands that thread through the strapless corset, weaving together to sit in a long bow at the center of my back.
It’s also my favorite ensemble to wear atCirque, the only piece of clothing I had made to emulate one of the stage performances.
The frame of the dress is a corseted body suit, red silk sheets of fabric flaring out from the front and back of my waist to flow towards the ground, leaving a gap up to the hip at each side.
Without knocking, the door to my office opens and Colton strides in, clad in the typicalCirqueattire, black slacks and white pressed shirt with gold clasped suspenders, his coat discarded earlier in the night.
He only makes it one step into the office before he halts, eyes starting at my stilettoed feet and trailing up, following the slit in the dress from the hint of thigh up to the form fitted bust.
He finally makes his way up to my eyes and his jaw tenses,arms loosely hanging at his sides, but hands flexing and relaxing on repeat.
“I’ll be right back,” he calls, pivoting and bolting out the door. I laugh and Sadie gives me a puzzled look.
“Well, that was fucking rude, he could have at least told you how hot you look,” she scoffs, walking around to my side and looking after the door. “Which you do by the way, look stunning I mean,” she beams at me.
