The Swan and The Sergeant - Alana Albertson Page 0,6

any movie star I had met over the years. The thought of being with a real man, muscles sculpted from carrying weapons, not practicing Pilates, made me quiver.

I glanced down at his left hand. No ring. The breath I’d been holding escaped.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, blondie. You look great, Sel.”

I shuddered. I was in my sweats without so much as a tinted moisturizer or lip gloss, and he thought I looked great? If Dima saw me now, he would scold me about my appearance.

I glanced down for a moment before meeting his gaze with renewed confidence. “Nationals are here tomorrow. Are you sticking around?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He gave a half-smile. “You’ve been to one competition; you’ve been to them all.”

I nodded. That was expected. But I hoped he would agree to hang out with me, even for a little bit. Though I knew that he had no reason to. He hated me. And with good reason.

I cleared my throat. “Maybe we can grab a drink tonight? To catch up.”

Bret took out his phone, his thumbs moving across the virtual keyboard. “I’d love to Sel, but I have plans.”

Plans? Was he still upset after all these years about the way I had ended our engagement? Probably. I had been such a bitch. Of course he wouldn’t want to hang out with me. But he had no idea what had happened. Well, that was my fault. I never told him. I couldn’t tell him. He would kill Dima if he knew.

And I hated to admit it, but I was almost shocked that he’d told me no. No one told me no anymore. I was so used to people fawning over me, that Bret’s rejection stunned me.

Who was I kidding? I didn’t deserve him after what I’d done.

My cheeks burned with fresh guilt. A hollow pain radiated in my chest. Ten years of wondering, imagining, dreaming of our reunion, and all I got was a weak hug? I couldn’t even get my first love to have a casual drink with me. And let’s be real—I didn’t just want to hang out with him. I wanted to spend the night with him. He was gorgeous.

I bit my lip and shrugged my shoulders. “I get it. Well, it was nice seeing you again.”

Benny Brooks snuck up behind us. “Bret, m’boy. Great to see you again. I see you’ve reacquainted yourself with Selena—why don’t you both come inside, and we can get started.”

Get started? What was going on?

Bret fidgeted. “I have to dance…with her?”

Benny’s lips turned upwards into a devilish grin. He opened the doors to the ballroom. “Selena, I want you to partner Bret for his tryout.”

Tryout? What the hell?

A thud echoed against the floor. My purse lay at my feet, and I scrambled to pick it up again. “Benny, uhm, you never said it was a tryout. You said you just needed to borrow me to run through choreography?”

“Sorry, sweetie. I thought it would be best if you dance with Bret for his audition. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that we’re hiring a new professional this season. A true-blue United States Marine! The audience will love him. They’re sick of seeing all the foreign wankers. And since you used to be his sheila, I thought it would be easier for him to dance with you.”

Bret grimaced. “Whatever you say, Benny.” Bret walked into the ballroom, sat on a chair, and took some dancing shoes out of the box.

“Tryout? Uhm, of course, Benny. No problem. I didn’t know Bret was dancing again or like ever.” My gaze darted over to Bret only for a moment. “But of course, you’d be lucky to have him on the show. He is…I mean, was, an amazing dancer.”

Could I speak in coherent sentences? That was a definite no.

I sat on a chair on the opposite side of the room from Bret and started attacking the soles of my shoes with my shoe brush, pieces of suede flying in the air.

Despite my childhood dream of Bret and I making a life together, I hadn’t been able to turn down Dima’s partnership offer. I had made an agonizingly difficult decision. Now, I was exactly where I’d hoped to be in my career.

But I’d never expected Bret would be sitting in the same room, waiting to dance with me again.

Bret

I laced up my dance shoes. What was I doing? I couldn’t dance with Selena again—no matter how good she looked, how good she smelt. I knew the producers would