I swallow, getting lost in those eyes. "Hanna Thurber," I reply, putting my hand in his. He lifts my knuckles to his lips, and suddenly it feels like I'm on stage again, roses being tossed at my feet with the crowd beyond the bright lights applauding for me.
"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Thurber."
Who the fuck is this guy?
Then, I remember my conversation with Nash last night. Before going full slut mode and trying to get him to sleep with me, Nash told me he had a business consultant coming to the island to stay.
"And what brings you out here, Hanna?" he asks as he buttons his tight-fitting shirt at the wrists. My fingers itch to reach out and button them for him, but I don’t—because that would be crazy.
"Oh, just a short retreat. Get away from the hustle and bustle of the city."
"Alone?"
My eyes meet his. "Yes, alone."
"And what is it you do for a living?"
"I'm a dancer. Ballet."
His eyebrows lift and the spotlight burn of his gaze literally warms my skin. A flush rises to my cheeks as I send him an easy smile.
"That is very impressive."
"It's really not," I stammer with a blush.
"Of course, it is," he answers matter-of-factly.
It's silent a moment as I bask in the warmth of his attention.
"Listen, Hanna. I have to run. I have a meeting with Mr. Wilde in five minutes, but I hope I see you this evening. Perhaps for drinks when the workday is done?"
"Of course. I'll be here," I answer sweetly.
Then his hand lands gently on my arm, and he gives it a subtle squeeze before passing by to the door and heading out toward the office.
"Ms. Thurber, can I help you with anything?" Thalia enters the room, pulling me from my silent reverie.
"No, thank you, Thalia. I'm fine."
I spend the rest of the day looking forward to the evening in hopes of seeing this new mystery man again. There's a studio in the basement Zara has kept for years even though she has her own dance studio on the mainland now. I find myself down there sometime after lunch. I don't put on my shoes, but I feel a little closer to being able to actually dance.
I run through some basic warmups, letting my phone play a random playlist while I move. Staring at the girl in the mirror, I try to find the same woman who danced on stages and wowed audiences. I was a shell of a person then. I can remember how fast everything happened, how I never had a moment to breathe, reflect, enjoy it, before it was too late, and I suddenly had all the time in the world.
Now, I see a girl I don't recognize. I have no idea who I am anymore. What defines me now that the role is no longer filled?
My form is terrible, but in my defense I'm not really trying. It's no longer as effortless as it once was. And after about an hour, I stop trying altogether. Turning the music as high as it will go, something by Sia comes on and I practically deafen myself with the volume.
Losing myself in the poetry of the lyrics and the music, I let go. There is no form, no technique, just pure movement letting the rhythm pull my body along with it. By the time the song ends, I'm breathless, lying on the floor, gasping for air.
Then, the tears come. Draining me dry, I sob, glad to at least be feeling something. I don’t even know why I'm crying, only that sometimes it comes, and I can't stop it. If I hold it in or keep myself from letting go, it festers and becomes explosive until I end up like I did last year. Mostly I think I cry because I'm alone, like always. Like maybe if I had someone to share in my sadness at least I wouldn't be so fucking lonely. But if I wasn't alone, maybe I wouldn't be so goddamn sad.
After my dance, I head back to the house to get showered up and ready for dinner. And yeah, I take a little more time on my makeup knowing I’ll see Ellis again. And yeah, I hope he's the kind of guy who might be willing to bring me back to the guest house to fuck me straight into next week. I need it so bad, this is what I've resorted to. It's been too long.