he didn’t want to talk about it.
I was sure it was Dima who’d told the tabloids that I cheated. I knew Dima was angry, but that would be really low—even for him.
But though Dima had always convinced me that I was the one who cheated, now I was wondering if Bret was right.
Did Dima really rape me? In my mind, there was a big difference between rape and being taken advantage of, but the lines were blurry now.
At least I had no more secrets. I hoped and prayed that Bret would calm down and take me back. But I knew Bret. And that didn’t seem likely.
Clearly I was a mess.
And I needed to see a therapist and figure out how to process what happened with Dima.
When I’d composed myself enough, I called Benny and explained that I wouldn’t be able to go to Los Angeles today. I would take the day off. The thought of sitting for hours in an airport and then on a plane with nothing to do but stew about Bret sounded like agony. I could at least put off the flight until later that night.
But tomorrow, I would have to see Bret.
We had a group hip-hop dance practice.
The Next Day
Benny’s eyes lit up the minute he caught me bouncing through Brooks Ballroom studio modeling the new line of Dancing Under the Stars women’s hip-hop dancewear. He twirled me around, and we danced a few steps of the quickstep he had choreographed for Xavier and me.
I smiled and broke into some crunking moves. Benny had made me the official choreographer for the dance. That was the good news. The bad news was that I’d have to spend seven hours in the same room as Bret and Dima.
I knew this studio was Vika’s turf, but I took a cab straight from the airport super early to help the set designers give it a street vibe. I hung up some paper on the walls and got some hip-hop dancer friends of mine to spray paint urban graffiti, swapped out the blue velvet curtains for some black rayon ones, and hired a DJ to set up a real booth. The cameramen and sound guys were milling around the room after they hooked up the LCD flat-screen television I’d requested. Benny had brought in the newest designs for everyone to try on, and the crew even set up some strobe lights. I hoped everyone could feel the vibe.
Bret had arrived ten minutes ago but had gone straight to the back of the studio. He didn’t even look at me. My heart ached.
The other dancers started piling into the studio, two by two as if getting ready for a trip on an ark. As soon as they walked into the studio, the costume girl handed them workout wear to put on. But Eric and Nicole, who usually arrived at the studio arm in arm, carting matching Starbucks lattes, headed to opposite corners of the studio. Nicole looked pale, and her usual shellacked ponytail was askew.
Had Nicole found out about Eric being with another guy? Ugh, I hope she was okay.
“Alright, people!” I clapped my hands. This ball was mine, and I ran with it. “Let’s do this. We’ve got some hip-hopping to do.”
I walked over to the music booth and told the DJ what to play. “Is everyone here?”
“Dima isn’t here yet,” Vika said, her eyes glued to the door.
“He’s not?” I hadn’t even noticed his absence. I looked at the clock. It was nearly nine o’clock. Was he now avoiding me?
“I texted to him,” Vika mumbled, “but haven’t heard back.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll show up.” I gave Vika a reassuring smile, but she looked stressed. Time to distract. “I’m so excited about this group hip-hop thing. I love urban dance, and I’ve been experimenting with some crunking and breaking, so this is gonna be off the hook.” I glanced around the room. The cameramen were setting up. Benny kissed Vika goodbye. Vika gave me the evil eye when she saw me watching, and on the opposite side of the room, Bret paced around the floor.
“So,” I started, “we have to do an eight-count as a group in the beginning, and then the partners each do a breakout solo. The order for the solos is Bret, Jenny, Jared, Vika, Ricardo, Elizabeth, Eric, Nicole, Dima, and I will close. I’ll work on all your solos later, but let’s get started on the group part. We’re dancing to one of my favorite songs, Rob